Broken (16 page)

“Celina Price?” Mom’s voice is shocked with outrage. Her face flushes red and the veins in her neck pop. I’ve never seen her like this before—not even when the allergist accused me of sneaking Bad Foods to cause a reaction and get attention, as if a seven-year-old would think that way.

Why would Celina do this to me? Besides, she went home before lunch—she couldn’t have taken the pictures.

But anyone could have forwarded them to the entire school.

My heart squeezes, about to burst with the pain of Celina’s treachery. Could someone I thought was a friend be so cruel? Why? What was the point?

Then I remember what Mitch’s buddies did to Celina yesterday. I know she didn’t do it. We’re both being set up.

“I knew that girl was trouble.” Mom’s on her feet, leaning into Mr. Thorne’s personal space so far that he backs up until he hits the wall. She whirls on the principal. “Curtis, I hope you’re taking appropriate actions.”

“Of course. We are, we are. There will be a full investigation.”

“By someone other than Mr. Thorne.” Mom narrows her eyes at him. “You were Celina’s counselor. I hold you responsible.”

“Me? I can’t—”

“You, Mr. Thorne.” She turns and grabs my arm. “I’m taking my daughter home now. She shouldn’t have to endure such a negative atmosphere of harassment and bullying. I’ll be back to consult further with you, Curtis, before the pep rally. By then, I’m sure you’ll both have a plan of action prepared to ensure those involved are adequately punished.”

I barely have a chance to grab Phil as she hauls me out of there. I practically have to jog to keep up with her.

She’s muttering, never a good sign. “I tried to help that girl and this is how she repays me. As soon as we straighten this out with the school, I’m going to have a word with her mother.” Anger laces through her words like arsenic.

“You can’t. Mrs. Price has cancer; she’s dying.”

She nods to the security guard at the front door as we push through it. “Dying is no excuse to let your children run wild.” She glances back at the school. “Curtis better have a damn good apology waiting when I get back. Or I’m going to sue, I swear I will.”

Oh boy. Suing is Mom’s ultimate weapon. I’ve lost track of how many doctors we’ve changed because they pissed her off and she threatened to sue them. Thankfully she never has—at least not as far as I know.

She beeps the car unlocked then looks at me across the hood as if she’d forgotten I even existed. “This little experiment of yours is over. You’re not coming back here. Ever.”

Mom drops me at home with strict instructions to take two extra stress vitamins and heads right back for another meeting with Principal Beltzhoven. I watch her drive away; she doesn’t even wave at me, she’s so focused on getting her lipstick right as she steers one-handed. Pulling out all the stops—even using her looks to make sure she gets what she wants.

I’m glad I’m not going with her. I’ve seen her rampages before. She gets so obsessed about the slightest little thing—a test needing to be repeated or a nurse late with meds or, her all-time pet peeve, doctors who make her wait and then don’t listen to her. As if she doesn’t know her own daughter better than they ever could.

But this is new territory for her and I can see she’s excited by the challenge. Defending my honor on her home field, in
her
school. Before she’s done, she’ll launch a single-mom crusade against the school, the football team, the entire district.

Then it hits me.

Celina’s going to get caught in the fallout. She’ll be the one to pay for this mess, not me. I’ll be locked up here alone at home, safely away from the taunting and teasing.

Mitch and his friends have to be the real guilty parties. Because I can’t believe Celina did this. It makes no sense. Or maybe I just don’t want it to make sense. I like having real friends.

Standing there, Mom’s car long gone, I try to decide what to do next. Because the other big thing that makes no sense and I still need to sort out is what happened to my brother.

Maybe Mom has his records somewhere? Or at least a baby book?

I need to know his name, see his face…it’s like there’s been this big black hole of emptiness inside of me and now I know what I need to fill it.

I finally close the front door, shutting out the outside world. The sound echoes through the empty house and I hug myself against the cold. The thermostat is set at sixty-eight and it’s a lovely September day, at least sixty degrees outside. Doesn’t matter. On the inside, I’m freezing.

Eyeing the stairs, I finally get the courage to climb up to Mom’s room. If there’s anything about my brother, she’d keep it in there.

I start up. My hand’s clamped to the banister so hard it rocks in its brackets. Three steps up and I hit the creak that sounds like a banshee wailing. That’s the one that always wakes me when anyone goes up or down at night. It’s also a great early warning system when I’m on my iPad and need a second to hide it.

Four steps up. I can’t believe I’m going to do this. Invade my mother’s privacy. But don’t I have a right to know my own twin brother?

Five steps up. Sweat slips under my bra, sticking it to my skin.

Six steps up.

Seven.

The doorbell shatters the silence. My heart lurches, landing in my throat as I gasp. I’m trembling so hard the banister shakes with me. I can’t let go.

The bell rings again. I turn. Through the sidelight, I see a guy. He raps his knuckles against the glass. He can see me as well.

It’s Tony.

Stumbling down the steps, I run to the door and open it.

“What are you doing here?” I gasp, my voice still throttled with fear. What if it had been Mom?

“I was worried about you, so I ditched.” He’s doing that bouncing thing again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he’d rather be running.

I wave him inside and shut the door. And it hits me. I’m alone inside my house with a guy. The thrill of it warms me up, brings a smile so wide I can feel the dimple in my cheek stretching. Funny thing. My heart isn’t pounding hard and fast anymore. It’s as if Tony is my own personal pacemaker, steadying me. “You ditched? For me?”

“Sure thing. Do it all the time.” He’s the one blushing now.

“Liar. You never ditched in your life.”

He shrugs with one shoulder, his backpack sliding down to his elbow, and grins. “So, you’re okay?”

My turn to shrug. I lean against the door. We haven’t made it past the slate floor of the foyer. But I have no idea where we’re going or what we’re supposed to do when we get there, so that’s okay.

“I guess. Mr. Thorne said the pictures came from Celina.” No more smiling. “I don’t think I believe him though. I mean, I thought she was my friend.”

His face went serious. “That’s what I came to tell you. I don’t think it’s Celina either.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, I doubt she would open a Hotmail account under
CelinaPriceSexy69
.”

“Yeah. That doesn’t sound very smart.” And if there’s one thing that I know, it’s that Celina is smart.

“Plus, when did she have time? Your mom told you what happened to Celina third period, right?”

I shake my head. “My mom doesn’t tell me anything.”

“Someone pushed Celina down the steps behind the auditorium.”

“Is she all right? Who did it?”

“She was pretty banged up. Thankfully your mom was there. She patched her up and sent her home for the day. She was pushed from behind and no one saw who did it.”

“Mitch. Or one of his friends.”

“Could have been anyone.” He scuffs his feet. “I’m glad she’s all right, but I hope she stays out of school for a while. It’s only going to get worse.”

“Why? Why do they torment her like this?”

He blows his breath out, which seems to collapse him down to my size. We still don’t go into the living room—too formal—instead, I lead him into the kitchen where we perch on barstools at the counter, side by side.

“It’s because of her mother,” he finally says. “Before she got sick, Mrs. Price arrested Mitch’s father for dealing meth and stealing money from his work. Even after she was sick, she left the hospital to testify at his trial. Now he’s in Rockview, serving three years.”

“But she was just doing her job,” I protest, angry on Celina’s behalf. Not to mention her poor mom.

“Maybe. But Mitch and his brother didn’t see it like that. They lost their house, had to move into his aunt’s basement. To get back at her, his brother tried to rob and beat up Celina’s father while he was working nights at Sheetz. Mitch was probably in the getaway car, but drove off before the cops got there. So now his brother is in jail. His trial is in a few weeks.”

“Oh my God. And Celina’s dad?”

“Fine. A customer called the police and—” He pauses, suddenly looking away and shifting in his seat. “Intervened.”

Silence as I process everything. I might not be good with a crowd, but I’m pretty good reading people one on one. “That’s why they’re targeting you as well. You were the customer. You called the cops and helped Mr. Price. You and he are witnesses against Mitch’s brother.”

Still not looking at me, he nods his chin up and down in a single jerk. “I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire.”

A few silly pictures of me seem like nothing to worry about. Not compared to physical assaults and threats of violence. Which would only get worse as the trial date grew near. Now I understand what Jordan was talking about during lunch.

“Thanks for coming over.” It seems empty; I should be offering him more than words, but I have a hard enough time even coming up with a few words.

“No problem. You’re only a few blocks from school and I cut through the soccer fields, made it even shorter.” He shifts in his seat. “I was going to walk over to Celina’s and check on her, but I thought maybe—” He leaves it hanging. “She actually lives just around the corner—my house is down the block from hers. But if it’s too far or you’re tired or…”

Again, leaving it to me. I am tired, but not in the way he thinks. Mentally tired, not physically. Mom won’t be home from the pep rally for another hour at least. But she has this habit of calling to check on me at the worst times—it’s why I can never sneak out for walks or anything when I’m home alone.

“Mom might call. If I don’t pick up, she’ll flip.” It sounds lame even to me.

“She calls on this line?” he asks, pulling the base unit close to him. “That shouldn’t be a problem. You can forward it to your cell.”

“I can?”

“Sure. I’ll show you.” I watch as he punches in a few buttons and adds my cell number.

A world of possibilities dangles before me. My umbilical cord finally cut.

“Tony, you’re a genius.” I slide off the stool and give him a hug. He tenses at first then squeezes back. Tentatively, as if he’s as surprised as I am and not quite sure how to do this either. “Let’s go.”

A few of the hospitals I’ve been in have outside areas for the kids. My favorite is Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh. The whole hospital is brand new, built entirely with kids in mind, so no matter how sick you are, you can still be a kid. I love it there.

I’d sit outside watching the sun throw my shadow around and do nothing but breathe. Not air that’s been sterilized and deodorized and purified. Real air.

Invariably I’d have a Set Back or Near Miss or Something Bad would happen and I’d end up tied to a hospital bed, stuck inside again. But those few moments outside, under the sun—that was the feeling I tried to recreate when I built my imaginary beach to escape to.

Now, thanks to Tony, I’m living it.

I have many words to describe how I feel but none of them are the right word. Maybe because I’m feeling too much.

Thrilled, terrified, trepidatious, tingly, thunderstruck…the alliteration is addictive. I want to take each feeling, every sensation, and taste it like a forbidden delicacy rolling across my tongue.

Excited. Elated. No. Exhilarated. That’s the best of the bunch. The way I can’t feel my feet actually hitting the ground and have to keep looking down to make sure I’m not floating. The feeling of being too big for all that is inside me, yet too small to contain it. Like some kind of emotional Zen koan.

Once when I was little, my dad took me to the park (one of our secrets from Mom) and we rode the teeter-totter. I scooted way back and he was forward far enough that at one point, with a lot of work, we balanced perfectly, both suspended, our legs dangling—his bent to keep his feet off the ground. We never found that magic tipping point again, but somehow for those few seconds, the world stopped long enough for me to see Everything. Not with my eyes, with my soul.

The universe sang to me. Yes, if you shift your weight and work hard enough, you can find the answer to anything. Everything is possible. Even a little girl who weighs next to nothing suspending her father in midair.

Then one of us shifted or exhaled or blinked and Dad was back on the ground, his weight holding me hostage.

But for that one moment…

That’s how I feel now. Walking beside Tony, my cell phone in my pocket and Phil inside Tony’s pack, the fresh scents of fall swirling around us, intoxicating.

Each breath leaves me dizzy.

Alive. That’s the word I really want. For the first time in ages, I don’t feel numb or distant or like I’m a disease instead of a girl.

I feel alive.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, breaking the spell.

I pull my gaze down. I’d been walking with my chin aimed up so I could watch the way the breeze makes the treetops rustle as if they’re dancing a waltz. My mouth is hanging open because I’m breathing through it—the better to savor every smell and taste—making me look like a total dork, I’m sure.

Straightening my posture and trying to appear somewhat normal, I nod. “I’m fine. Why?”

“You just had a funny look on your face, that’s all. Anyway, I was saying. About the bio project. I couldn’t find your genetic test results in the folder your mom gave you.”

“Hmmm…” I’m distracted by a squirrel in a neighbor’s yard, busy taunting a cat pressed against a window. “Try the online files. And while you’re at it, could you keep track of any mentions of my twin brother? I want to learn more about him.”

He stops. I stop. “You have a brother? A twin?”

He glances back at my house as if expecting to see someone waving for help, locked up in the attic or something.

“He died.” How can I sound so matter of fact? But it’s hard to know what to feel when I can’t remember him outside of my dreams. “When we were little. My father never told me about him. I guess he was trying to protect me. I don’t even know his name.”

His eyebrows draw together like they’re trying to fight their way off his forehead. “Your twin brother died? And no one ever told you his name?” His tone makes me stop. All my life, I’ve been surrounded by death. In a way, I understand it better than life. But Tony’s words make me realize how much I’ve lost.

Blinking hard and fast, I start walking away so he won’t see my face. With his long legs, he catches up easily. He touches my arm, lets his hand slide down, and intertwines his fingers in mine. I didn’t realize how cold my hand was until his flesh warms it.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

I take a deep breath and pull myself together. “Neither did I. Not until I began reading those records. Guess these past few days have had something good come from them.” I glance at our hands. More than one thing good.

“You talk like you’re not coming back.”

We start walking again. I take my time, but there’s no easy way to say it. “My mom says I have to stay home. No more school.”

“Your mom says.” He stops again. Faces me. “What do you say?”

I blink in surprise. No one ever asks me. What I want to do with my body, what I want to do with my life. But I know the answer. Without hesitation, I say, “I want to stay. I want to go to school. Most of all, I don’t want Mitch and those guys to think they’ve won.”

That coaxes a smile from him. “Then we’ll just have to change your mom’s mind.”

Hah. He doesn’t know Mom. But I don’t ruin the moment by saying so. This magical stroll with Tony has taken me into the realm of fairy tales and daydreams; I’m in no rush to return to reality.

“So, you’ve met Celina’s mom?” I’m asking more than that. Tony understands.

“She’s pretty cool. You’d think with everything going on—worrying about Celina and Cari, that’s Celina’s sister, and their dad and the stress of her job and being sick and now, well knowing that she’ll be gone and they’ll have to figure stuff out without her—you’d think she’d be like emptied out with everything, but instead it’s like she’s shrunk on the outside but bigger on the inside.” He shakes his head as if irritated he can’t explain it. But I know exactly what he’s talking about. It’s how daring to leave the house with Tony makes me feel. “You’ll see. I try to visit when I can—usually on weekends so I can help Mr. Price. He’s pretty quiet. I’d say he’s in shock, but he’s been like that ever since I met him over the summer.”

“You didn’t know them before? I thought you were neighbors.”

“I knew Celina—we’ve been in the same school since kindergarten. But I never met her dad or sister. Her mom came by the school a few times. Safety programs, stuff like that. I’d heard rumors about her sister. She’s never been in the same school with us except for when we were in elementary school. Sad to say, but back then we teased Celina about having a retard as a sister. None of us understood about autism or thought about how she felt.” He scuffed his foot against the sidewalk. “Once we were in junior high, we all pretty much forgot about Cari. Celina kinda, I don’t know, blossomed. Got solos singing in the choir, was top of her class, won the science fair. But then when her mom got sick, well, it was like she was juggling but couldn’t keep track of the balls any longer. Everything came crashing down.”

We turn the corner, walking in unison, not saying anything. Still holding hands, which I am definitely enjoying. I like how Tony is usually so quiet, but when we’re alone he opens up to me. It makes me feel special. If he’s like this around other people, I don’t want to know.

My phone rings, breaking the spell.

I have to let go of Tony’s hand to fish the cell out of my pocket. It rings again. Not good. Mom expects me to pick up right away when she calls.

“Hello?” I answer just before it rings a third time.

“It’s me,” Mom says. I cup my hand over the microphone, hoping there’s nothing that gives it away that I’m outside. “Wanted to let you know that I’m going to be late. Did you take your medicine?”

She’s talking about the vitamins. Which I haven’t taken since yesterday, much less the extra doses she told me to take. “Of course,” I lie. “I’m going to take a nap, so no rush on dinner.”

There are sounds of the band warming up. The pep rally must be getting started. “Eat without me. I need to talk to Curtis, and then I’m not sure. This is all so stressful. I might take you in to see Dr. Cho tomorrow. Maybe Monday. Do you think you can last that long?”

She talks like I’m dying. Well, I am—but I feel fine right now. I guess when any little stress usually throws me into a Set Back, she’s conditioned to take no chances.

“I’m okay. Let’s see how I do over the weekend.” I know there’s no sense denying her a trip to the doctor, no matter how unnecessary, so I try to deflect her. “I figured out that it wasn’t Celina who sent the pictures.”

“I did as well. I’m still not sure she didn’t play some role in the matter, but after some checking around, I’m pretty sure I know who’s behind it.”

“Mitch Kowlaski.” Whoops. I should know better than to act like I know more than she does. She hates that. “I’m guessing,” I add hastily.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get to the bottom of this and take care of everything. No one is going to do this to us and get away with it. Trust me on that. You just take your medicine and rest.”

She hangs up without saying good-bye. I stare at the phone. I’m used to Mom taking control of my life, but does she have to treat me like I’m still a baby?

“Your mom?” Tony asks.

“Yeah. She’s trying to run my life for me.” I sigh. “As usual.”

“Sounds like my folks.” He rolls his eyes. “Everything I do, they want to know all about it. And when I tell them, all they do is talk about what it was like when they were kids. Like the world hasn’t changed in twenty-five years? Get real.”

We stop in front of a large Victorian painted lavender-gray with a wide porch, complete with swing. A white picket fence and archway with a lovely trellis covered in vines leads to the walk up to the house. It reminds me of my bedroom—nothing fancy but a lot of love went into everything.

The lawn is filled with curving plant beds, purple and gold pansies blooming along the edges, and the porch steps are lined with pots of bright colored mums. It’s the kind of house where you expect a grandma holding a tray of freshly baked cookies to greet you at the front door.

Only as we walk up to the front door, we hear screaming.