Year of Mistaken Discoveries (17 page)

“Who did you say you were again?” the school secretary asked me.

“Amy Richardson,” I lied. I slid my identification farther across the counter so she could see it clearly. Considering I’d made the ID on the computer last night, it looked good to me. I used the Michigan Cancer Society logo off their website and made a badge, adding my title, Director of Youth Programs, underneath. To make it look even better, this morning on the way here I took it to the copy shop and had them laminate it. Everything laminated looks more official. I pointed toward
her ancient computer. “If you go on our website, you’ll see me listed there.”

She would see my name, at least. That was the whole reason I chose the name Amy. It was the real name of the youth-program coordinator. Now, the real Amy might have been forty-five, but thankfully the Cancer Society didn’t put pictures up of their staff. All I had to do was hope that I looked old enough to have the job, which was why I’d dressed so carefully this morning in one of my mom’s suits and pulled my hair into a French twist that I hoped added a year or two. The school secretary went to her computer and came back after a moment.

“Now, what was it you wanted?”

“The Cancer Society is doing a big banquet to highlight the importance of youth getting involved in community programs. We’re hoping to invite some people who made a real difference over the years. One of your past students—” I forced myself to look down at my clipboard as if I couldn’t quite recall the name. “Ah, yes, Lisa Moriarty. Lisa did an impressive job when she organized one of the first races to raise money. We would love to have her be a part of the dinner, but unfortunately we’ve lost track of her over the years. I was hoping, since she’s one of your alumni, you’d have her current contact information: phone, address, married name.” I waved my hand around as if what I was asking for was no big deal.

“We’re not supposed to give out contact information for past students,” she hedged, looking uncertain.

“Lisa is the only student from the Southside area that would be a part of the event. It shines such a positive light on your school,” I mentioned. “I’m sure school administration stresses volunteer work and community involvement for students. It would be a great promotion for you.”

“Community service is one of our core values. It’s in our mission statement.” I didn’t tell her that I knew that from the school website. The secretary looked past me down the hall. “I’d feel better if I could check with our principal, but he just stepped out.”

I pressed my mouth into a smile. He had to step out because I had called twenty minutes ago saying I was a student who needed to talk to him confidentially about someone who was selling drugs. I told him I couldn’t meet at the school and begged to get together at the coffee shop, Cops & Doughnuts, down the street. That had gotten him out of the office, but he was only going to sit down there by himself for a bit before he figured the whole thing was a ruse. I needed her to cough up the information now.

“Maybe I could call you later today with the details?” the secretary offered.

I tried to look disappointed. “Unfortunately, we have a press release going out this afternoon, so for me to include her and the school on it I’d have to get that information now. That’s my fault. I should have stopped by sooner, but things have been crazy with the holidays coming up. I just assumed if
I came with my identification . . .” I let my voice trail off. My finger tapped the laminated badge on the counter. I hoped it looked sufficiently official. Who wouldn’t tell the Cancer Society something? If you can’t trust people trying to cure cancer, who can you trust?

“Well, I suppose in this kind of case it wouldn’t be an issue.”

I gave her another smile that I hoped communicated that I wasn’t a troublemaker. She sat down at her computer, pulled something up on the screen with just a few clicks, and then wrote something down. I felt my heart speed up. The secretary passed me a small sheet of scrap paper. I did my best not to leap into the air and let out a giant whoop. I tucked it into the stack of paper on my clipboard as if it didn’t mean a thing. I was sure that she would be able to look at me and tell I was freaking out, but either I was able to look normal or she wasn’t paying attention.

“We don’t have a current address. She hasn’t kept up with the alumni association, but we do have her married name. You might be able to find her online.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll be sure to have the Cancer Society send a copy of the press release here.” I glanced at my watch as if I had a pile of pressing engagements. “I suppose I should leave and see if I can’t find her. Do you mind if I use one of your restrooms before I hit the road?”

“No problem, there’s one right down the hall.”

I stepped out of the office and moved down the corridor.
I wasn’t interested in the bathroom, but I was interested in finding the library. As soon as I cleared the office windows, I pulled out the clipboard. Lisa Deroche. She was married. Or at least she had been at one point. I committed the name to memory so that if anything happened to the paper, I would still know it. I did my best to walk quickly without looking like I was running or tripping over my high heels. I paused long enough to pull my hair out of the updo and peel off the suit jacket so I looked a bit more casual and closer to my own age. I kept the visitor tag the secretary had given me, in case anyone asked for it. I passed by classrooms without bothering to glance inside. The librarian looked up when I walked in. I took a deep breath and got ready to spin another giant whopper of a lie. It was a good thing I used to do all that creative writing with Nora; I needed all the imagination I could get.

“Hi. My family is in town visiting my grandma. My mom used to go to school here. She lost her yearbook years ago when our basement flooded, and I thought it would be neat to copy some pictures out of it for her for Christmas.” I rolled my eyes. “My parents are big on homemade gifts. Do you keep old yearbooks?”

“Sure. I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of a homemade present.” The librarian pointed me over to the reference section. “We keep all the old yearbooks over there. They’re on the shelf by year.”

I ran my fingers along the spines until I found the right
one. I risked a glance up, but the librarian wasn’t watching me. I pulled it out and flipped past the group shots of everyone mugging for the camera until I found the listing for seniors. My heart was beating so loud I was surprised that the librarian couldn’t hear it. There were two pages stuck together and I almost ripped them in my excitement, but it was worth it when I pried them apart. There she was, between Brian Moran and Theresa Morin. I swallowed hard. It was a typical senior photo; her hair was a bit overly fluffed, and she had that faraway look that seemed to be required of senior photos, as if you could see your own future just out of frame. My finger traced the lines of her face. We looked alike. There wasn’t any doubt. Lisa Moriarty was my mom.

“Do you want me to make a photocopy?” a voice said behind me, making me jump. The librarian stood there smiling. “Students are supposed to have a code from their teacher for the photocopier, but for your mom’s trip down memory lane, I’m willing to make a couple copies on the house.”

“Yes, please.” My voice came out tight and quiet. I almost didn’t want to hand over the yearbook, but if I clutched it and ran for the door, that was bound to cause some trouble. I held it out. “This is her. It’s my mom. Lisa Moriarty.”

She took the book out of my hand and looked at the picture. “Oh, I can tell. You have her eyes.”

I thought my heart would explode. “I do, don’t I?”

“My kids hate when I tell them how much we look alike.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

“Let me grab a couple copies.” She stepped behind her desk and pressed the open yearbook onto a small copier on the counter. Outside the window I could see snow falling. “Here you go.”

I took the pages from her hand.

“I looked in the index. Your mom was on the swim team, so I copied their team photo and another shot she was in.”

Now that I had seen her photo it was easy to pick her out of the team photo. She was in the back row. She was tall like me. It was her fault I towered over every guy in our class in junior high. The realization made me want to giggle. The other photo the librarian photocopied was a group of kids at what looked like a football game. She was sitting on the shoulders of a cute guy, and her mouth was open, laughing. There was a caption: “Seniors Lisa Moriarty and David Ketchum laugh it up.”

“I bet your mom will be thrilled you did this for her,” the librarian said. “It’s certainly going to be a Christmas surprise.”

“I hope so.”

chapter twenty-three

I
’ve always been a planner. I like making lists and crossing things off. I may never have skipped school before, but I had planned everything perfectly to ensure the chances of getting caught were almost nonexistent.

Almost.

First, I knew reputation was on my side. I wasn’t the kind of kid who skipped. I hardly missed school when I had a legitimate excuse. I was much more the type to stay after class to help the teacher with a project than sneak out. I could have danced out the front door of school yelling
I’m outta here!
at the top of my lungs, and most of the teachers would assume I was just teasing. The second reason I was sure I wouldn’t get caught was because my own mom had called the school, letting them know I was going to be out
sick. You can’t get a better excuse than your own mom.

I knew the time was going to be tight since I’d gotten a later start than I wanted, but Southside was only an hour and a half from East Lansing. The plan would have worked perfectly if the snow hadn’t started to dump down. The fresh snow, combined with the wet roads, caused a huge accident on the highway. Everyone was stuck while they cleared the accident, and then, since no one wanted a repeat of what had happened, traffic crawled along even after we passed the spot. I watched the clock in the car ticking forward. I bounced in the seat, trying to mentally wish the traffic out of my way.

I finally got off the highway and raced down my street. It was already starting to get dark, and houses were turning on their holiday lights. I whipped into the driveway. Neither of my parents’ cars was out front. I’d made it. I took a deep breath. As I got out of the car, I heard my name. I spun around and saw Brody getting out of his car across the street. He shuffled through the snow.

“You went to Southside, didn’t you?”

“I can explain,” I said.

“We agreed to do this together. Remember? It was a rule. I would have gone with you on Thursday.”

“I know, but I couldn’t wait.” I wished I could explain to him why, but I knew he wouldn’t understand. “What are you doing here?”

“When you didn’t show up at school this morning, I tried
calling you and didn’t get an answer. I drove around, trying to figure out where you might be. I was going to go to Southside, but I didn’t know what story you gave to the school, and I didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

I winced. He was going to get in trouble for skipping. “I should have told you what I was planning. On the upside, it’s a good thing I went today. We’ve got someplace else to go on Thursday.”

“Why? Is there another Lisa?”

I shook my head. “Nope. I was right: Lisa Moriarty is the one. I saw the yearbook. I look like her, way too much to be random chance. I got her married name from the school. I figure we hunt her down online this week and then go meet her.” I passed him the papers from the school. He looked them over.

“What if she lives in Florida or something?”

“She doesn’t. I don’t know how I know, I just do.”

“How did you do it?” Brody sounded amazed. He flipped through the pages.

“Come inside; it’s freezing out. I’ll tell you everything. When my folks come home, the story is that you brought by my homework, okay? They think I’m sick.” I pulled him toward the front door. “You’re going to be impressed. I swear, Wonder Woman couldn’t have done a better job.”

I swung open the front door and stopped short. Brody ran into my back, causing me to slide on the melted slush on the tile floor. My mom was standing in the foyer, her arms crossed
over her chest. “I see you’re feeling better,” she said.

I swallowed, scrambling to think of something to say. “Um. What are you doing home? I didn’t see your car.”

“Is that the question you think is pertinent? My car is in the garage. I think the more relevant question is, why weren’t you at home?”

My brain was coming up with excuses as fast as another part of my brain would reject them as bad ideas. I was going to have to lie on a much more regular basis if I planned to pull this off in the future.

“Avery and I skipped to spend the day together,” Brody said. “It was my idea.”

My mom and I both turned to face him. “And you are?” Mom’s voice was cold and clipped.

Brody shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m Brody, Avery’s friend.”

“Friend,” Mom said.

I recognized her tone from when she was in court. She wasn’t fooling around. “Brody and I are going out,” I admitted. “There wasn’t much planned for today because of the holiday, so we decided to go to his place and watch movies.”

“I’m disappointed in the both of you. School isn’t an optional activity.”

“I convinced Avery to skip. It wasn’t her idea,” Brody said.

“It’s not his fault,” I said. I couldn’t let him take the blame. I tried to tell him with my eyes that I really appreciated that he’d
come up with a believable lie, but I didn’t want my parents to not like him.

“I think you should go home,” Mom said to Brody.

He squeezed my hand and nodded. “See you later,” he said.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I said. Mom opened her mouth to tell me that I’d do no such thing, but I forced myself to stand up straighter. “I’ll be right back,” I told her.

Brody and I stepped outside. The snow seemed to act like soundproofing. It was quiet.

“Thanks,” I said.

Brody shrugged. “If I’d been smart, I would have said we spent the day working in a soup kitchen or something.”