“So you see, Jake just loved me so much that he was afraid of doing anything to push me away.”
My eyes burn with exhaustion as I sit on the horrendously vintage couch along with Robbie, who is garbed in a Spiderman costume and petting Moxie. Budge, fresh from his shift at the Wiener Palace, stares out the window and sneezes at perfectly timed intervals. I can't take my eyes off his silky sheikh pants. They're puffier than an eighties prom dress.
“We want you kids to know that we are absolutely committed to each other and to this family. It's just that when you find someone like Jillian, you wonder . . . what does she see in me?”
I've been asking myself that on a daily basis.
“But not trusting her with that part of my life was dishonest, and it was wrong of me to keep something so important from Jillian and Bella.”
Mom smiles at her husband and wraps her arm around his Goliath waist.
Great. Now Jake is officially out of the spandex closet, and where did that get me? Nowhere. They can't take their eyes off each other. It's disgusting, is what it is.
“Achoo!”
“Bella, take your cat to your bedroom. You know the rules.” Mom pulls Moxie off Robbie's lap and hands her to me. “And Logan mentioned that Mr. and Mrs. Peterson stopped by this morning to see the cat.”
I shoot death-rays at my stepbrother, called Logan only by my mother. “Um . . . yeah, I didn't like them. You can't just give my cat away to anyone.” Maybe we should've asked them if they'd have taken Budge instead. “They said they had a little kid. Moxie doesn't like little kids.”
As if on cue, she jumps out of my arms and back into Robbie's lap, rubbing her face against his hand.
“Moxie wouldn't have liked
their
kid.” My mother just stares at me. “Seriously—they were all wrong. The woman had on mom-jeans and Keds. And the dad . . . Don't even get me started on his tie-and-shirt combo.”
“Achoo!”
I'm seriously about to let loose on Budge.
Mom sighs. “It's not like Logan is doing it on purpose. You know we have to do this.”
“No, we
don't
have to do this.” With another evil eye to my stepbrother, I grab Moxie and retreat to my room.
After a quick e-mail to Mia, I walk to my window and struggle until it lifts. Breathing in the fresh air, I smell the promise of rain. Wish it could wash away all my troubles here.
Stepping across the roof, I take a seat on my favorite branch and let myself lean into its strength. With the sticky air around me and a giant half-moon above, I flip through the pages of my Bible, going straight to the topical index.
And for some reason ”hideous stepbrother” is nowhere to be found.
I
don't know about this, Lindy. I'm so not in the mood for it.” She totally knows I have woes that are straight from a soap opera.
“Come on. You'll have fun. Seriously. And maybe some bonding time with God is exactly what you need.”
I halt outside the school library door and watch other Truman students file into the Wednesday FCA meeting. They talk, they laugh, they high-five and hug. They know each other.
And I only know three people on this campus. And one of them is Budge the cat-hater and doesn't even count. I miss walking the halls of my school and knowing everyone. I miss Mia and my gang of girls. I miss seeing Hunter anytime I wanted. And God and I haven't been so close lately either. It's like when I moved, I left Him behind too.
“Okay.” I pull open the wooden door. “Let's do this.”
Lindy leads me toward Matt, who's surrounded by a group of friends. They laugh over some shared joke.
“Hey, guys. I want to introduce you to my new
friend.”
Lindy's voice issues a challenge, and I feel my cheeks tingle with pink. “This is Bella Kirkwood.”
A tall African-American girl pins me with her dark eyes. “Former author of
Ask Miss Hilliard?
That was some interesting reading.”
Jesus may wipe the sin slate clean, but these people sure don't.
“I'm Anna,” the girl continues, her face still impassive. “And I bet you're really uncomfortable right now.”
Why lie? “Praying for a distraction so I can slip out the door.”
And then she laughs, revealing a mouthful of pink-banded braces. “It takes some guts to be here, Bella.” She slaps me on the back. “You're in the right place. If you don't find yourself treated right, you let me know. I'll take care of them.”
Like an idiot, I smile wordlessly at this Amazon of a girl. She must be close to six feet. “You must be one of Lindy's friends from the basketball team.”
She tosses her wavy hair and laughs. “I couldn't hit a basket if it was the size of a pool. I'm the captain of the cheerleading squad.”
If we were keeping points based on my ability to impress the good people of Truman, I would be at a negative five hundred.
Lindy jabs Anna with her elbow, her voice hushed. “There's Kelsey.” In a blaze of whispers, the group around me watches a blonde girl across the room. She sits in a chair, staring in a zombielike fashion as her friends chatter on. This Kelsey seriously needs a cheeseburger. She makes Keira Knightley look like a sumo wrestler.
Lindy quietly fills me in. “Kelsey Anderson hasn't been back to school since the end of last year. Her boyfriend, Zach Epps, was a star football player, had a full ride to OU . . . Then he wrapped his car around a tree. He's been on life-support ever since.”
“Kelsey fell apart,” Matt adds. “They say she goes and sees him at the nursing home in town every day.” He shakes his brown head. “It was a really bad year for the team.”
“Must've been hard for all the players.” I twirl all this information around in my head.
Matt shakes his head. “Zach wasn't our only loss. Last October we also had a teammate commit suicide.”
Anna looks over our heads toward Kelsey. “It's like the Tigers are cursed.”
“Okay, guys. I'm glad to see everyone.” My English teacher, Mrs. Palmer, stands at the front of the room as we all quiet down.
“She's our advisor,” Lindy whispers in my ear as we take a seat on the carpeted floor beneath a display of Manga novels.
“Today we have Grant Dawson from Truman Bible Church.”
Matt leans in. “He's our youth pastor.”
Oh yes. At the Church of the Holy Cafeteria.
Grant takes Mrs. Palmer's place in the center. “Good morning, Truman Tigers!” The crowd cheers in reply, Anna being the loudest. “You know, it's not even close to Christmas, but today I want to talk about Mary—the mother of Jesus. She led such a cool life, she's worth talking about anytime of the year.” He opens up his Bible and reads a few passages.
Beside me Lindy picks at her fingernail polish. I slap at her hand. “Stop that,” I whisper. “You'll ruin your manicure.”
“It's driving me nuts. And so is this t-shirt. It's too tight.”
“It's perfect. Shows off all your curves, and it screams 'style.'”
“It screams, 'My chest is trapped and can't get out.'”
I roll my eyes and tune back in to the pastor.
“Did you know Mary was just a teenager when she had Jesus? Can you imagine being handpicked to be the mother of God at your age?” Pastor Grant asks the room.
I can't even remember to floss at my age.
“But see, guys, God uses teenagers—does it all the time. After an angel told Mary about her new future, what did she do?”
Hyperventilate?
He pauses and scans the crowd. “She rejoiced. She got excited. And then she not only obeyed God, but she went and praised God to others. Mary
knew
God was leading her on a totally different path. He was really taking her out of her comfort zone.”
I can totally relate. Mary got a manger, and I got Truman.
“But she knew God's plans for her were huge and that it was totally possible the Lord wanted to use her.” Pastor Grant runs his fingers through his spiky, highlighted hair. His large eyes are intense, like he's trying to send us a message with mind power alone. “What about you? Has God asked
you
to step out of your comfort zone? To be somewhere you don't want to be for a bigger purpose?”
Does a Dumpster count?
“As you go about this semester, I want you to be praying about God's purpose for you. Guys and girls alike—He might be calling you to a Mary moment. The question is ... will you be like her—and tell Him yes?” Pastor Grant closes his NIV. “Let's pray.”
As I lower my head, I catch a glimpse of familiar black hair a few rows over.
Luke Sullivan.
He's here? Like, he's a Christian? Surely not. I would've sworn he was a minion of Beelzebub. Anybody who makes a girl climb into trash bags cannot be walking in a path of righteousness—can I get an amen? Maybe he's just here for the paper.
I ask him during second hour.
His eyes darken. “What do you mean what was I doing there?”
I spin a pencil in my hand. “Well, you're not an athlete, and I have my doubts that you're a believer.”
“That's funny”—he lifts a darbrow—“I would've said the same about you.”
Oh, now I'm just offended. “Of course I'm a Christian.” How rude.
He shrugs. “Couldn't tell.”
I make a strangled noise as my mouth drops. “Right back at you,
Chief.”
“And for your information, Miss Kirkwood, I
am
an athlete.”
“Sudoku is not a contact sport.”
He huffs and walks away, his azure eyes piercing. Oh,
he'll have
me investigating toilets for that one.
At lunch I can't seem to quit watching Kelsey Anderson. I know I shouldn't. From the look on her face, she's obviously struggling just to be at school, so I'm sure a cafeteria of people staring at her doesn't help.
“Here are your tickets for the party tomorrow night.” Matt passes out a purple piece of paper to me and Lindy.
“We have to have tickets?” Lindy fidgets with the waistband of her skirt until she catches my frown.
“It's a private party. Very exclusive. This is the first year I've gotten an invite. And you can't tell anyone you're going.” Matt stuffs his own ticket in his pocket. “We're to meet at the old graveyard on Knotts Hill. From there we're picked up.”
“Sounds kind of creepy to me.”
“It's going to be fun, Lindy. We'll just go for a little bit, see what it's about, then come home. No worries.” But even I'm wondering about meeting in a graveyard. Ick.
“Let's ride together. I'll pick you girls up. Seven?”
The bell rings for fifth hour. I grab my backpack. “Why don't you pick me up last.” I send Lindy a secret smile. “I'll need a little extra time to get ready.”
I wave a final good-bye, turn around to find a trash can, and find myself nose to chest with Luke.
“You are always in the most inconvenient places,” I say to his Abercrombie polo.
“Have a little date tomorrow evening?”
“No.” How long has he been standing there?
Then he dismisses the topic like it's already left his oversized brain. “One of our reporters is sick and is going to miss her deadline.”
He honestly didn't know I was a Christian. How sad is that? I mean, I don't care what this guy thinks or anything, but I at least don't want to be discounted as a potential believer. I mean, what is it about me that says,
“Soooo
not a Christian”?
“So I'll have it later, right?” Luke pats my shoulder and snaps me back to the present conversation. “Thanks for being a team player.”
“Wait—what?”
“Your article on recycling. I want it in my in-box by Thursday at 8:00 p.m.”
“I—I can't.”
He parks his khaki-covered hip on a table as other students file past us. “Can't or won't?”
“Can't. I'll work on it tonight, but I'm going to need at least the weekend. I'm busy Thursday.”
“Busy meeting in the graveyard? Are you really so hard up for entertainment here that you're going to go traipsing over people's final resting places?”
“Yes.”
Duh.
“And you were eavesdropping.”
“I was merely waiting to get your attention and didn't want to interrupt. We have to have the story, Bella.”
“You can't just give me a day's notice.”
He steps closer, and I instantly compare his slight stubble to Hunter's always-smooth face. “This is a real working paper we run here. And it's not just a class, but a job. So like a real paper, sometimes we have to pitch in at the last minute to make sure it gets done. If you can't handle that—”
“There's a class called Tire Changing 101 with my name on it?” I poke his chest. Oddly enough, there's muscle there. “Save your threats, Luke. I have gone above and beyond to be a
teamplayer.”
And I totally pull out the quotey fingers here. In his face. “I've done everything—
everything—
you've asked. I've sat in moldy food. I ruined a pair of suede flats. I sunburned my face while digging around in decomposing refuse.” My voice rises, though we're inches apart. My breath comes in ragged heaves, and I'm so focused on this one boy that the rest of the cafeteria has faded away. “I will stay up late Friday night and try to finish the piece, and that can either be good enough or you can send me to whatever class you want. In fact, I'd be
glad
to be rid of you.”
“Would you, now?” His voice is as quiet as mine is loud.
His eyes hold mine for seconds. Minutes.
But I finally step away. “I have to go text my
boyfriend
before class starts.”
“Don't you think I hate the fact that our deadline depends on
you,
Bella?” His tone is like a low saxophone and tingles my skin. There's no spite in his words, but I feel their prick all the same. “But irony of all ironies, you
are
our salvation here.”
“You do whatever you have to do, Chief. But I'm done with threats and I'm done giving up all I've got for somebody else's sake.” My mom, my dad, now this stupid paper.
And I adjust my backpack and push past him. I rush to the bathroom and hole myself in a stall, punching in a text to Hunter.
Why didn't U return my call last nite? Need 2 talk.
I shove the phone back into the pocket of my jeans, open the door, and give myself a final check in the mirror. My face is flushed like I've run the Boston Marathon.