So Not Happening (12 page)

“What you probably heard were a few football players discussing game strategy.”

“Behind a Dumpster? Luke, this could be big. I smell scandal.”

“I smell old cafeteria burritos. Go home, Kirkwood. Don't give this situation another thought. Sort through your notes from this afternoon, and we'll discuss the progress on your research first thing tomorrow in class.” And he turns on his perfectly polished leather shoe and walks away. Dismissing me. And my juicy news. As if we're both nothing. Totally insignificant in his little world.

I reach for a crumpled piece of paper in my purse. Checking it, I punch in the numbers on my phone. Voice mail.

“Lindy, this is Bella Kirkwood . . . I'd like to take you up on the offer we discussed today. I'll see you tomorrow at lunch. Can't wait to hang out... and meet Matt Sparks.”

Mom picks me up, and we're both quiet on the way home. She doesn't even ask about my appearance. When she turns on the dirt road, the dry dust swirls around us like a fog.

“Bella, I'm really sorry about Moxie. I know she means a lot to you.”

Just everything.

“I want you to know that I placed an ad in the paper. It will start running tomorrow.”

I turn my head and look out my passenger window.

“Did you hear me?”

“What do you want me to say, Mom?”

She pauses. “Anything. Tell me what you're thinking.”

“I don't think it would change anything.”

We pull into the driveway and I jump out, slamming the door behind me. Seems all I do anymore is slam doors.

“Grab a plate!” Jake calls when I enter the house. “Spaghetti's on.”

My stomach rolls. “I'll pass.” I've seen enough spaghetti for today.

Mom's voice stops me on the stairs. “The whole family is sitting down for dinner together. Wash your hands and take your seat at the table.” I turn around, and the set of her jaw tells me she won't be taking no for an answer.

With a long, overdone sigh, I walk past her on the staircase and plop myself into
my
seat at the table. I feel two eyeballs on me. Slowly I face my younger stepbrother.

“What are you staring at?”

His brown eyes narrow. “You look like you've been wrestling in pig slop.”

“And you look like you've been eating paste again.” I brush a white fleck off his cheek.

“Guilty.” He shakes his head. “I try to be strong and resist, but it calls out to me.”

At least you're admitting to your addiction, Robbie.”

“People don't understand the burden I carry.” He passes me a bowl of salad.

Budge shuffles into the kitchen, glares in my general direction, then sits beside his brother. “You stink.”

“Beans for lunch.” Robbie rubs his stomach. “Sorry.”

“Not you.” He punches his thumb toward me. “Her.”

“Shut up, Budge.”

“You shut up.”

“Cat hater.”

“Prissy Paris Hilton wannabe.”

“Computer techie gamer dork.”

“Spoiled brat of a—”

“Enough!” Jake's hand comes down and the whole table shakes. “Now whether you two like it or not, we are a family. And we
will
get along. But I will
not
have you yelling at the dinner table.”

Burp!

All heads turn to Robbie.

“Sorry. But this disharmony is affecting my digestive system.” He shrugs. “It's very delicate.”

“Bella,” my mom says. “Would you like to pray for our food?”

“No.”

Her lips thin. “Fine. I will.”

My mom is going to pray? Until we got to Truman, my mother hadn't even been in a church in nearly three years. I usually went with friends. Sunday became just another day for my parents to work. Well, that's what Dad said he was doing. Work probably went by the name of KiKi or Barbi.

At her amen, food is passed again.

Robbie slathers butter all over his roll. “So how was work today, Dad?”

Jake smiles al his son. “It was fine. We had a machine break down for a few hours, but I fixed it. We had a quota to meet, so it was a sticky situation.”

I would think it's always a sticky situation in the maxi-pad business.

After dinner I go upstairs to shower, do my homework, and spend some quality time with my cat. We sit together in the window seat until darkness spills over the sky like black ink.

A breeze blows my hair and shakes the oak limbs outside. Moxie jumps off my lap at the scraping noise.

I study the window screen that looks like it's made of metal floss and has seen better days. With light fingers and a heavy heart, I grab the edge of the screen. It pops out easily, and I place it on the floor. Then, grabbing the Bible on my bedside table and my phone for a light, I climb out onto the roof.

Caution in every step, I w o r m y way to the edge and grab hold of a big thick branch. And I nestle into its crook and sit.

An hour passes before I'm through telling God all the things I'd like Him to fix and come back inside. I set my alarm and nestle into the cool sheets with Moxie purring at my ear.

At 3:55, the buzzing clock blasts me from a dream. I drag myself back to the window seat, my eyes struggling to stay open.

Five minutes later, I watch my stepdad get into his truck. And with the headlights off long enough to get out of the driveway, he steers his truck toward the road.

Jake Finley is up to something.

And I, Bella Kirkwood, intend to find out what it is.

chapter sixteen

G
ood morning.” My mom kisses me on my cheek as I reach in to get a bagel.

“Hey.” It's the best I can do. She's
choosing
to separate me and Moxie, so excuse me if I don't exactly feel like blessing her with some kindness. How come the Bible doesn't address this issue? Where's the chapter that deals with parents who throw your pet onto the street? Or daughters who see their stepdads sneak off in the wee hours of the morning?

“Good morning, new sister.” Robbie pours more syrup on his Eggo. “Did you know today is National Towel Day?”

“Um . . . no.” The collection of facts in this kid's head scares me.

“Well, it is. I thought we could all go around the table and tell why we're thankful for the bath towel.”

“Actually, Robbie, I thought we could discuss something else.” I wait until Robbie, Budge, and my mother are all looking at me. “Like why Jake s n u c o u t of the house at four this morning.”

Mom's eyes widen.

“I'm sorry, Mom. I couldn't keep it to myself any longer. But I watched him sneak out of the house. Your husband is up to something, and we deserve to know what that is.”

Her face falls. “Oh, honey . . . I had wanted—”

“Things to be perfect? I know. I'm sorry. But they're not.”
Far
from it.

“I had wanted to surprise you.” She looks over my shoulder as Jake enters the kitchen through the back door. “Jake, it seems that Bella-”

“I know.” I shake my head in disgust. “I saw you leave this morning.”
The jig is up, dude.
“I think you owe my mom an explanation.” And then we'll be packing our bags and getting out of your way.

And then my stepdad . . . laughs. He laughs! “There's just no getting anything by you, is there?”

“No.” Okay, confused here. Now Mom is laughing.

“Come with me.” Jake gestures toward the back door. He sees my hesitation. “We'll all go.”

The whole family, minus Budge, walks outside.

And there in the driveway, the same dusty path that I watched Jake travel only hours before, sits a lime green VW Bug. With a giant red bow on top.

“Surprise!” My mom squeals and pulls me into her arms. “Isn't it great? Jake found it!”

“Yeah ... great.” I watch him through narrowed eyes. “So this is what you've been working on?”

“I've been a busy guy. We got it last week, but it needed a few repairs.” He pats my car. And a killer stereo system.”

Mom pulls me close, her mouth at my ear. “Don't you feel silly now—all that suspicious talk?” She giggles. “You always did have a big imagination.”

“These are
all
the notes you have?”

Luke paces in front of me, running a tanned hand through his black hair. The other newspaper staff members are busy writing, but me? I'm getting my daily dose of Luke harassment.

“Um, yes. Frankly, for two hours of swimming through trash bags, rotten food, and old boxes, I thought I did good to come up with
that
much.”
Jerk.
“What did you think I was going to find—the secret recipe for the cafeteria meat loaf? The formula for world peace? The whereabouts of Michael Jackson's old nose?”

He stops, lifting his eyes from my notes. “Very funny.” He leans in, his arms braced on each side of my chair. “Bella, if you can't take it here, you know where the counselor's office is. She would be glad to change your schedule again.”

I blink into his ocean blue eyes. “I sat in trash for you. I think I passed your stupid test, so let's get on with the real stories.”

“You've got one.” He rises up, crossing his arms over his chest. “Stick to it.”

“What are you working on? Maybe I could help?”

He coughs to cover a laugh. “My story is a piece I've been working on for two years. Our advisor is entering it into a national contest. I don't think I need
your
help, but thank you.”

Maybe he ought to do a piece on humility, the arrogant little—

“Luke, are we going to talk about the conversation I overheard at the Dumpster yesterday?
That's
the real story here. Not the shameful way the school doesn't recycle.”

“If I catch you pursuing anything but the trash article, you're off the paper. And within a few days, the only electives open will be Professional Weightlifting and Parenting 101.”

“But something is going on, and I—”

“No.” He thrusts my notes back in my hand. “This conversation is over.”

Your oxford shirt is so over.
Ohhh, he makes me so mad!

A few hours later, I slip into the cafeteria, my lunch bag under my arm. I think I saw a little too much in the Dumpster to risk school insults.

I weave through the tables. I catch a few glares, stares, and some stray insults.

“Hey, Bella.”

I sigh with relief when Lindy Miller calls out to me. Part of me thought she'd stand me up. That I would spend yet another day here at Truman High without friends. A total loser and loner.

“Bella, this is Matt Sparks.” I shake hands with her sandy-headed BFF, then introduce myself to a few more people at the table.

“You're the girl who wrote the bad blog about Truman?” Matt asks.

“Yeah.” I continue to stand, not sure I'm welcome here. “It was a mistake. It was a really bad time for me, and I . . . messed up.”

He considers this. “It's going to take awhile for them to warm up to you.” His eyes pan the whole cafeteria. “Not everybody's as forgiving as Lindy here.” He bites into a French fry. “Or me.” Then he smiles.

And I sit down. “So you play football?”

“Yeah, and Lindy here is a beast on the basketball court.”

She blushes pink. “I wouldn't say that.”

“Oh, I would. She could totally be WNBA material. Hey, Jared.”

I turn around, and behind me stands Jared Campbell, the first person who spoke to me at Truman. Before the Great Disaster.

“Hey.” His gaze drops to me before focusing on Matt. “Just wanted to remind you to bring your physics notes to practice.”

I scrutinize his every word, trying to see if he sounds like either of the two voices I heard yesterday. It's so hard to tell.

“Jared, do you know Bella?” Lindy asks.

“Yeah.” His face is a neutral mask. “We've met.”

His words contain no heat, and I'm encouraged. “How are . . . things?”

“Fine.”

I decide to push my luck and keep talking. “How about that pop quiz in English, huh? I did not see that coming.”

“Jared, come on.” Brittany Taylor arrives and links her arm into his. If looks could kill, I would be splattered on the wall. “I have a seat for you over here.”

He throws up a weak wave, then allows Brittany to escort him away.

I break the awkward silence. “I'd love to see the team practice sometime. I kind of missed out on the whole football thing going to an all-girls school. Maybe Lindy and I could watch you guys today?”