Chaos Theory (5 page)

Stuffed down in the bottom is a single leather glove, smelling of horses and leather. It's odd to find only one; riding gloves come in twos, of course. If she'd lost one, she would have tossed it. Why did she keep a single glove? I pick up the soft well-oiled glove, and feel the small conical shapes inside. Plastic crinkles.

“Oh no.” I whisper, opening it to see inside. Tucked within is a clear plastic baggy of pills. Pulling it out, the pills match the ones Daniel had the other night. After an age of looking at them, I open the baggy, figuring, in for a penny…The pills are the same colors and shapes, labeled the same as Daniel's—a perfect set. I snap more phone photos, making sure that the printed codes are legible.

Behind the grooming bucket is an ice-cream-sized container of Bute, a powdered drug like aspirin for horses. The cover isn't on tight and picking it up, it pops open. No Bute. Baggies of drugs spill out, lots of baggies. Why would Daniel hide them in his sister's locker? Wait, he hadn't even been here. Trish said that Daniel visited the stable once and that was back in August.

The answer comes in a flash. These pills are Julia's. I reach for the banded clump of her hair, squeeze it gently, and then stuff it in my pocket.

Eight

It's eleven, and I'm rarely out past nine. When I walk in the back door, the smell of home-baked cookies fills the house. Uh, oh. Chocolate. I figured it'd be Friday before Mom's guilt drove her to box me in on my friend-in-trouble. The TALK is going down now.

In the kitchen, Mom and Dad sit under the breakfast nook's overhead light in silence. The cookies are on a glass plate that reflects the hanging light. Three mugs of hot chocolate wait complete with marshmallows.

It's inevitable. I sit, pick up my mug, and take a long drink.

Dad takes the lead. “Sandy called. She worried when she couldn't reach you. Your phone's been off.”

“I'm sorry. I was at the stable helping Trish with chores. We started talking and it got late.”

“And you couldn't call us?”

I'd decided not to call. Trish was already flighty. “I screwed up! Sorry!!” My frustration snipes out, and then wish I hadn't gone Sandy's exclamation route.

Pause. Reboot.

Mom starts in again. “Sandy wasn't just worried. She said you texted her Friday night that you were sick. Instead, she heard that you were at the hospital with a drug dealer named Daniel?”

Oh God. So much for privacy laws. The word is out and Sandy knows that I lied to her. I'd never lied to her. Even in sixth grade and in love with her boyfriend—I'd been up front about it. We laugh about it now. It turned out that little tubby Jake liked little prissy Linda better than either of us.

Back in the real world. “He's not a friend. I don't even know him.”

Mom stops sipping her hot chocolate. “Last Friday night, you didn't tell me you'd been at the emergency room.”

“Mom, I told you it was complicated.”

“Drugs? This Daniel's beaten up? The ER? You should have told me. We're worried about you. You're involved in something we don't understand.
And
you covered it up.”

“I didn't lie.” Yeah, but not the truth either. Now, I'd investigated Julia and found something that had to go somewhere. Who should I tell? Not Mom and Dad. That information is for the police and Daniel.

“You lied to Sandy, and you didn't explain to me what happened.”

Leaning back in my chair, I don't say anything. What is there to say—I followed a drug dealer, who's working with the police, but I think it was his sister dealing the drugs, and BTW she also committed suicide.

Daniel's life is fucked up. I hadn't promised to keep his secret, but it isn't right for me to share it. Spell complicated in giant capital letters.

Dad always lays down the law. “We wanted to give you time to do the right thing, but after tonight and Sandy's phone call, we've changed our minds. You have two options: tell us tonight or talk to Mrs. Chatford, the school counselor, tomorrow. One or the other.”

I bounce my head against the back of the chair several times, look Dad right in the eye, and then say, “Dad, I can't.” Silence. Slowly, clearly, and with certainty I say, “Dad, it's not my story to tell.”

Mom loses it. “It's a story you have to tell someone.”

I understand their point. Heck, if I were them, I'd be locked up in my bedroom—forever. That's when it hits me. They have my back. Sandy has my back. They'll always be right behind me ready to battle whoever comes after me. But that doesn't solve my dilemma. If this isn't my problem to solve, it certainly isn't theirs.

I can tell the school counselor, Mrs. Chatford, but she represents the school. She has the school's back.

Who has Daniel's back? The cops? Where were they when drug creeps jumped him? If the drugs were Julia's, would they care? From their point of view, Daniel's trapped and has to do their dirty work or else. His parents? Logical choice, but he didn't call them from the ER.

Right then and there my mind is made up. I have his back. The guy doesn't want it, and I don't want it, but until this whole mess gets cleaned up to my satisfaction—I'm it.

Still, Mom and Dad have a point. Daniel can get seriously hurt—worse than at Broken Bone, and how would I feel then? Also helping Daniel can get me hurt—not only physically, but could hurt my college recruitment standing and even with the police. Mom and Dad aren't being unreasonable.

“Okay. I'll talk with Dr. Bartlett.”

Mom blinks. Dad's face goes still. Dr. Bartlett is a private counselor. After Grandma died, they made me see her. In other families, it might have been a rabbi or a priest. In my family, we went to counselors. It hadn't helped. Well, technically I hadn't helped by never opening my mouth. The sessions shut down after three weeks of stalemate.

“I'll talk with Dr. Bartlett and tell her everything.” Now Dad looks hopeful. I hate to break his jolly moment. “As long as we're clear about one thing—I'm her client, not you.”

“And that is because?” Dad asks.

“Client/doctor confidentiality. As your minor child, she'll have to keep you informed.” And they might expose Daniel to protect me. “If you sign off that what I say stays between her and me, I'll do it.”

Dad speaks slowly and with finality like he's giving me final rights. “She has to report to authorities if lives are at risk. You understand that?”

“Yes.” I lean forward. “Mom, Dad. This is a good thing. I need to talk this over and get someone's advice. This will help me. Can you live with that?” Plus, Dr. Bartlett is in high demand. There isn't any chance they can get me an appointment for at least two weeks. It buys time. And, when the beans spill, it won't be that bad. I'll get good advice from her.

Mom doesn't buy it. She reaches for a cookie and snarfs it down in two bites. She's going to gain some serious weight over this.

Then she talks with her mouth full. “No. You're under age. This is our call.”

Dad, on the other hand, thinks it over with full diligence, rubbing his thumb against his incisor like he's sharpening it. He turns to Mom. “April, do we have a choice? If Kami's at a moral impasse, if she honestly feels she can't share, what option do we have? Do we ground her for a moral dilemma?”

“Bullshit!” Mom says. Yeah, Mom's got a mouth on her. “She was with someone who got beat up! Drugs are involved. Her life is at risk!” She grabs another cookie.

“Yes. It is.” Dad turns back to me. “What kind of promise do we have that you'll stay safe, Kami?”

I say, “I never want to be at that hospital again. After Grandma, you know how hard that is for me. I can promise you that. Good enough?”

Dad reaches out for Mom's hand. “It'll have to be enough. You'd better head to bed, Kami. Tomorrow's a school day.”

It's two a.m. before I fall asleep to the sounds of Mom and Dad arguing in the kitchen.

***

“Sandy!” Her small Vietnamese ass escapes into students in the hall. I slam my book bag onto the ground by my locker. “Damn it!”

Gavin with the Emerald Green Eyes steps into my view. He leans his long, lean sexy bod against Sandy's locker next to mine. Daniel's eyes are sky blue, but Gavin's are emerald. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What does color have to do with anything?

He says, “What did you do to tick her off?”

I blow hair out of my eyes and wish that I'd gotten more sleep. I sent a text off to Sandy first thing this morning. Then another after brushing my teeth, then again before eating breakfast, after eating breakfast, and from the school parking lot, and then during every class break—all that comes back each time is,
Drop dead.

That's a lot of drop deads. I'm tempted to text back about her lack of creativity. Instead, I text,
Sorry! There's a reason, trust me.

Bull Shit!!!!!
Count 'em, five exclamation marks. And yeah, Sandy hangs with Mom, and once Sandy finds the exclamation point key, she uses it. At least it's something more than drop dead. There's a good chance it'll be all day before she talks with me. That brief view of Sandy's back is the closest I've gotten, and it's fifth period break already.

“Hey? Right here, standing in front of you?” Gavin says.

“Sorry.” But I say it to the wrong person and watch that point where Sandy disappeared. An image of Trish and Julia drifting apart flashes in my head. Crap. I have to make this right with my BFF.

“Want me to take a hike, Kami? I will. If that's what you want.” In middle school, Gavin's kid-voice changed to one you want to ooze into like a chocolate pudding bath.

Regret works its way past my guilt. “No. I'm just upset. We never fight. Well, we did in elementary school over a boy we both liked, but not for years. Don't go away on my account.” I lean against my locker. He's so close, and it's nice looking up at him. Both Gavin and Daniel are taller than me. And doesn't that almost take me on another trip down blue-eye memory lane. I shake it off, and concentrate on the hottie in front of me.

I ask, “Good basketball game Friday night?”

“Nah, we lost, but Sally dumped root beer all over Jimmy.” Emerald Green Eyes says it like it's a joke, but his body's tight, maybe a bit angry. “Jimmy makes a move on her, which we all know she wouldn't mind, but she's in the middle of that long trumpet solo? Jimmy puts his hands around her shoulders or means to.” Gavin shakes his head. “He's such a dimwit klutz. Instead he wraps them around her neck. Sally panics and her elbow hits Aiden's giant Sip N Go mug behind her. It comes apart, splattering down on her, Jimmy, and everyone else.”

Wish I'd been there and not at the hospital. “What a riot. What did Mr. Duncan do to 3J?” It's odd that Gavin calls his BFF Jimmy, not 3J. He's never made the switch to the middle school nickname everyone else uses.

“Mr. Duncan kicked Jimmy out of band for two weeks.”

“3J's lucky.” He plays tuba. “We can't be without a full oompa-pa contingency.”

“I don't want to talk about Jimmy.” Emerald Green Eyes smiles a long and slow grin like Robert Pattinson. Seriously, does he practice it? He readjusts his body against Sandy's locker and leans in closer. Where Daniel is Irish Spring and pine forest, Gavin is leather and suede. “So Friday night, I get the nerve to ask you out and you're a no show. Want to tell me about that?”

“Something came up.” And isn't that a weak and stupid answer. At least, he hasn't heard about my ER visit.

“Listen, Kami…” Gavin says it like it's important.

The number of students in the hall doubles, so does the noise level. Hall break is in high swing. My lab book is still in the locker—and standing next to it is Emerald Green Eyes. Priorities are priorities. I lean in to hear him better. Gavin's breath smells like Juicy Fruit gum, but he isn't chewing any right now.

Technically, his eyes, perfectly framed by long, dark lashes, are sRGB 34-139-34. I know this because I had researched them for an hour over holiday break. They're the shiny clear richness of brilliant emeralds mixed with flecks from a quiet Caribbean Island's water. After barfing from my lovesick nonsense, I'd shoved the crazy notes about his eyes into my locker. Its corresponding control marble—a solid emerald green—has never been seen again.

He says, “You'll be going to Fort Carroll for the BB game Friday, right?”

He looks over my shoulder. I turn to look too. 3J and Sally are coming down the hall.

“Yes. Miss another and Mr. Duncan will kick me out of band.”

“Sit with me on the bus. Let's make a night of it. Just you and me.”

I stop breathing, so when I start again it sucks in loud. I quip, “And the entire pep band.”

Gavin raises his right eyebrow and the corner of his mouth, nonverbally saying,
Seriously? That's how you want to handle this?
Sandy bashing my head alert! Emerald Green Eyes makes his move and I crack a stinking ha-ha joke. Correct course. “That'd be nice.”

“Good.” With a glance at 3J, Gavin moves his head in closer.

Oh God. He's coming in for a kiss.

Nine

I flirt with him since Thanksgiving and nada. Now? If I raise my head, tilt it, and…Well, that's what I do. Forget my lowly RL romance league and onward into fantasy league. His lips come down on mine and flutter against them. My soft breath escapes and lands square in his mouth. It sounds like a groan. Maybe it is.

Gavin pulls back a couple centimeters without any embarrassment. My face is hot enough to call the fire department. That quiet island of contented eyes? They're more like a sea from Homer's
Odyssey
, sucking me into riptides. And I want to drown.

He whispers, stating the obvious, “That was nice.”

“Ah huh.”

“Want to me to stop?” And he rakes his sexy half-closed eyes over my face.

“Nah uh.”

He lowers those wonderful moist lips down again. This time, I do groan. His short laugh echoes in my mouth. It travels down my nerve synapses to my toes that promptly curl up in my shoes. Then he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close.

I curse that damned bookbag at my feet that keeps my body from crushing up against his; deeply regretting that it keeps all those private body parts from touching. Everything would fit so nicely together. As he tips me back and moves those lips against me again, his hands play across my back and lower. Nerve synapses scream everywhere.

I move my hands down his back too, and isn't that nice?

“Geez, get a room,” a passing student gruffs out. Other students laugh.

“Shut up, Nile.” Emerald Green Eyes says as he eases back, but he doesn't let go of my waist.

We weave back and forth in each other's arms to music no one else can hear. Then he says, “We'd better get to class.”

“Yeah.”

“Friday night?”

I nod. As he starts down the hall, it hits me. “Wait, Gavin?”

He turns back.

“Where will we sit?” Back of the pep band bus is make out section. I never sit there, and not sure I want to sit there, and…

“Where do you think?” says Gavin with the Emerald Green Eyes. He dives into the students and is gone.

And I thought he'd been too gorgeous to be straight? Now, on top of all the other complications in my life, I just added back-of-the-bus worries.

Back of the bus…Going won't be bad, but coming back in the dark? Plastered up against Gavin? Am I ready for that? Geez, Sandy—angry or not—I need you.

Grabbing my phone, I text.
Knock it off. NEED YOU. Gavin asked me to sit w/him on the bus Friday night. Help????
I look at those four question marks and consider editing the Sandy-speak, don't, and then send them off into her world.

For a minute, I think she isn't going to answer. Then,
Mad at you!!!
Then,
Gavin, huh? At last!
She's mad enough that Gavin's move only rated one exclamation mark.

I know. Meet after school at my locker?
Then, remembering the bigger picture and my new plan, text,
Bring Sam?

Again, she makes me pay for my lie.…wait, wait…Then,
Why Sam?

Explain later.
It's call-in-the-cavalry time.

The pass bell rings and I am so late. Running in to chem lab, Nile's voice crests above the noise twenty-four students make settling down to work. “Kami! How was the lip-lock with Gavin?”

I don't have a comeback. That says it all. Everyone in high school will know about the kiss before school is out. Half the lab students stare at me and the other half snicker. My lab partner Cindy whispers, “Good for you. Ignore them. You flirted with Gavin all fall.”

And how pathetic is it that everyone noticed?

She lights the Bunsen burner that bursts to life with a whoosh of sound and flame. “It's about time he made his move.”

I stare at the dangerous blue/white flame. And what do we do with that? I can't remember a thing about today's experiment.

She giggles. “So the great and mighty Kami is not prepared. I've got your back. You just record the numbers.”

Even Cindy who I hardly know has my back. Poor Daniel. “Thanks.” And isn't recording the numbers what I've done all my life? Plug those little unemotional numbers into safe known formulas. My life is a high-wire act looking down at the world, and the people below are like distant data sets. Well, those data sets are leaping up to bite me in the butt, forcing me to fall smack into the chaos below.

Cindy says, “Hey, good luck on your locker experiment. I saw Sam's vid.”

“Sure,” I say, but it doesn't register. My mind is on hunky, sexy Gavin who almost full-body kissed me—on his first kiss. And he's good at it.

***

In my locker hallway, Sam comes running with a shit-ass grin. “Have you heard?”

Heard what? Talk about a loaded question. Sam always brings the library with him—the smell of old books and new pages.

“My YouTube vid about your locker is viral. Mrs. Chanski is zonkers. Gotta get a follow-up post.”

“My experiment? Why? It isn't a cute kitten. It's just a locker.”

“We've got six thousand hits as of this morning, more by now.”

Whoa. Hold on. “There're only twelve-hundred kids in our whole school.”

“Who each have connections. Social media is all about connections. They like it. They link it. They tweet and retweet. They Facebook. They share. And we're viral. Do you know how big this is for me? People are linking my personal web page to find out who I am!”

“All because of my locker?” Still, if they're talking about the YouTube vid, then they aren't talking about my hot kiss.

“All because of your chaos locker. They love it.”

By this time, Sam and I reach Sandy's locker, next to mine. Seeing me, she crosses her arms and taps her cute cowboy boots on the tile floor. At least she's here. “Sandy, I'm sorry. Things happened so fast Friday night. You were at the game. I knew you'd come to the hospital—”

Sam the Great Reporter interrupts me. “Hospital? You were at the hospital? That's why you weren't in Pep Band?”

Sandy jams earbuds in, but she's listening—I know it, although I'm surprised that she hasn't shared that gossip item with him. Sandy really does keep her BFF secrets. That's important, because I can't do this alone. In two weeks, maybe only one week, it's spill-the-beans-to-Dr.-Bartlett time.

“Yes. I was with Daniel—“

“Triple D?” Sam asks.

“What?”

“Drug Dealer Daniel? Triple D.”

That grates. Where is Sam the Unbiased Reporter? “If he's a drug dealer, then he's an inept one. Three goons beat him up at Broken Bone. If I hadn't been there to stop it—”

Sandy rips the buds out of her ears, giving up the pretense that she isn't listening. “You stopped someone from beating the crap out of Daniel?”

“Yes, and not so loud. No one can know about this. No one. That means no gossip line, Sandy. ”

“Hey, gossip and BFF secrets are different. I never told anyone about Jake.”

Oh damn. “About that. I might have, well, I did tell someone about that.” It was only sixth grade after all and only a hint about it—not gory details.

She looks at me with pointy eyebrows. “Enough proof about who can keep a secret longer than you can.”

“BFF, I need your help, and will you help too, Sam? You're the reporter.”

Sam the Eager asks, “I post the story when it's all wrapped up?”

“You'll have to ask Daniel. It's complicated. His sister committed suicide and this is all tied up with that.”

Sam the News Breaker jumps onboard fast. “Promise, but if Daniel's willing, then I want an exclusive. If he's not, then I'm still with you and it's all off the record.”

Sandy's not forgiving Daniel, “I'll do it for you.”

No exclamation point—the real Sandy no one else knows. Maybe Sam doesn't even know that Sandy.

I snort, “Yeah—and your new infatuation with film noir.”

She asks, “And your infatuation with Gavin?”

The reminder sends scary ripples through me. What am I going to do? “I. He. We kissed and it was…” I've degraded into stutters and incomplete sentences.

My BFF reaches out and pulls me into her arms in a fierce hug. She whispers, “You can handle this, sweetie. And I'm here to talk it over when you need me.”

OMG. I love my BFF. “I'm counting on it.”

But even more important is that I'm not alone anymore with Daniel's problem. People talk about having a stone around their neck? Well, they peeled a giant boulder off mine. “I have a place we can talk without someone overhearing.”

***

Forty-five minutes later, we're in the college library. Sandy creeps through the front doors with eyes that shoot around like ping-pong balls. She never went to the public college lectures. I figured she wasn't interested, but now I suspect she doesn't know she's welcome. How can you live in this small town and NOT visit the campus? Then again, Sandy's real name is Mei-Ling Ng and her grandmother was a boat refugee. She's cautious by nature.

I take her hand. “It's a public library in a land-grant college. We're allowed to be here.”

She isn't convinced, but when no one challenges us, she relaxes. I lead them up the stairs, through the stacks, and into my sanctuary. We pile our bookbags on the coffee table and plop down on the furniture. Outside the window, the thirty-seven-degree Iowa heat wave melts the snow off massive oak branches while students rush from class to class below us. The Iowa sky is blue and endless.

I tell them everything: meeting Daniel here and at MA, the passing of the note to his handler, Friday night at Broken Bone, and the hospital.

My BFF forgives me. “Kami. You could have been hurt!!!”

“I'm sorry about the lie. It was a snap judgment call and a bad one. I didn't want to drag you into this.”

Sam chews a fingernail. “This cop said you wanted to buy drugs? He assumed that with no evidence at all? Daniel didn't imply it?”

“No. He defended me, but that cop wasn't listening. He told Daniel to keep me away if I was that innocent.”

Sam the Impartial says, “From his point of view, it makes sense.”

Sandy leans over and thumps his upper arm hard enough to make him yelp. She asks, “So Daniel doesn't know you're on the case?”

“On the case?” I ask with a grin. “Time to wean you off those black and white movies.”

“Your movies—your fault. Besides, if you watched anything other than PBS, you'd know cop shows say the same thing. So Daniel's a snitch for the police?”

“Right. I backed off because of possible rumors. MIT was fading in the wind.”

Sam presses. “But then something happened? You got involved again or you wouldn't have called us in.”

“There was a photo of Julia. I…”

“…got hooked.” Sandy knows me so well.

“Yeah. Trish from the stable and Julia Jamison were once BFFs. What could it hurt to find out about Daniel's half-sister? I met with Trish to talk about Julia at the stable, a place Daniel never goes. Then Trish led me to drugs—a whole lot of drugs—in Julia's riding glove.”

Sandy gasps. Sam's mouth drops open.

“Guys, the drugs were Julia's.”