If a Tree Falls at Lunch Period (5 page)

One of her eyebrows raises up.

"
No!
"

She nods. Her face relaxes. "So this isn't any of your business, but you're in the middle of it any-hoo. That's my Walk." She slides the last piece of garlic bread onto his plate. "But hey, I sure rather have a big-hearted son than one with a shriveled old thing in there." She thumps his back. "Girl got a name?"

"Kirsten."

"Kirsten. What's her last name?"

"McKenna."

Sylvia's mouth drops open. She clamps it shut.

"What?" Walk asks.

"I haven't heard about her before."

"Remember Monday? We were late because you were driving the 350 like it has training wheels, then Kirsten's mom's minivan—that silver one—almost creamed the man in the drop-off,
remember?
"

"Vaguely."

"Kirsten was late, too. That's why we ended up helping Balderis today."

Sylvia nods her head, but she's biting her lip the way she does when Aunt Shandra wants to borrow money.

"You know something about her?" Walk asks.

Sylvia grabs the remote, flicks on the TV, and stares at it. "Nope," she says.

"Nothin'?"

She keeps staring at the screen.

"What?"

She sighs. "I met Kirsten's mom at that new-parent party. Didn't much care for her."

"Why?"

"Just didn't," she says, punching the volume up too loud.

Every time I look up at Balderis he looks so angry, I put my head back in my hands. I just want to get out of here. I don't care how. I'm going to start my life over again. Do they have witness protection when you're in the seventh grade?

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asks.

"I don't know how your wallet got in there, Mr.

Balderis."

"Why didn't you want to open your backpack?"

"Because I had all that food," I whisper.

My hand shakes as I unzip the second pocket of my backpack. I can't bear to take it all out, so I give him a quick look, then zip it up fast. I feel like I've let him inspect my underwear drawer.

My face burns. "The cookies, the chips ... they're for my sister," I mutter.

"Oh." He nods, stroking a sideburn. "Do you think someone planted the wallet in your backpack?"

"Brianna, not Rory. Rory is my friend." My voice cracks when I say this. I can hardly get the sentence out.

"Oh." He sighs.

"Are you going to call the police?" I whisper.

"No, I'm not going to call the police. Frankly I have no idea what to make of this, Kirsten. I'm going to write it up. Then I'll turn it over to Mr. Fishhouse."

Mr. Fishhouse ... the principal. This is good news. All he can do is expel me. He can't lock me up for the rest of my life.

"Let him deal with it on Monday."

Monday ... no problem. I won't be at school on Monday. I won't be at school ever again. "Can I go?" I ask.

He nods. "I'd like to believe you, Kirsten. I really would."

I stand up. "Yes, sir," I say. I've never called anyone sir in my whole life.

When I leave the door crashes closed behind me. It's one of those heavy spring-loaded doors that sound like the end of the world when they shut.

At church the next day Walk sees his cousin, Jamal, slumped down in a pew. "Hey, what you doin' here, Jamal?"

"Man got to go to church."

"Oh yeah. Since when?" Jamal shrugs.

Walk looks down at Jamal's new Nikes. "Where you get those? How much they cost you?"

"Two hundred. But I sell 'em to you for one forty-nine."

"We're not the same size."

"One forty-nine. You can wear two pairs of socks, man," Jamal says.

"Gotta wear five pair. You got bigger feet than God."

"God have big feet?" Jamal asks.

"Yeah, bro, don't you know anything?" Walk tells him. "The guy means well, but his feet are too big and they step all over people, squash them flat."

"You talk to the rev about this?"

Walk shakes his head. "My own personal theory, man."

Jamal laughs. "If you're interested, I got some business."

"Last time you say that, you sell the rug out from under us."

"That was once, man. And it was only because I got a good price for it." Jamal's smile shows all in his eyes. His mouth is straight as a toothpick.

"We livin' on the floor now. Hard as rock," Walk tells him.

"Look, I wanna show you something I've been workin' on."

"For real?"

Jamal nods. "How 'bout Tuesday I come over show you?"

"Can't Tuesday. Student council meeting."

Jamal snorts. "On student council
already?
"

Walk shrugs.

Jamal nods and nods, watching Walk. "You like that new school?"

Walk shakes his head. "I'd be back at City in a hot minute if it weren't for Sylvia. You know—"

"Yeah, you would," Jamal interrupts, his lids low over his eyes.

"I would! You don't—"

"Sure," he snorts, cutting Walk off.

The choir's up front. One voice humming in the microphone. Then—
boom
—both electric pianos and the chorus of voices lift the whole place up.

During the service, Jamal's head flops back. He's snoring and drooling on a brand-new, blue upholstered pew. Walk sees Aunt Tanesha glaring at Jamal. She's in the choir or she'd be on him in a flash.

A few minutes later, Aunt Shandra storms over clickety-click, clickety-click in her hot pink pointy-toed shoes. She slaps him on the side of the head, her bracelets jingle-jangling, then slaps him again. He wakes up for a minute, but by the time the rev is done, he's asleep again.

On the way home, Sylvia starts in. "So what did Jamal say?"

"Nothin'."

"I saw you talking to him."

"We talked about shoes."

"You need to tell me what you know. Shan's worried. Tanesha's worried. He's into something he shouldn't be." She shakes her head. "Kid's got his whole life in front of him if he doesn't screw it up."

"He's just doin' business like always. You know Jamal."

"Always trouble when a kid's got secrets like that. If he was proud of what he was doing, we'd be hearing about it."

Walk shrugs.

"You don't know anything?" Sylvia asks.

"Nope," he says. "Nothing."

My eyes are puffy. My nose is red. I look as if I've been thrown in the washer and slapped around in there. I've been crying practically since I got home from Balderis's yesterday.

My mother has asked me three times if everything is all right. "Just cramps," I tell her. That's the nice thing about your period. All you do is say the word and people back away. I know Kippy knows the truth, though. She has stacked four boxes of Kleenex outside my door.

I go online, again.

How could u do this 2 me?

Send.

What have I ever done 2 u?

Send.

I'm never going 2 talk 2 u again.

Send.

I will never ever 4give u. I might pretend I do, but I won't.

Send.

I've called Rory's house maybe fifty times. "You've reached the Dunkel household. If you'd like to leave a message for Rebecca, press one; Arthur, press two; Rory, press three." I hang up. Rory wouldn't call me back, anyway. My only hope is to get her mom.

Now the phone rings, but it's my father. "Kirsten? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine," I say. "Where are you?"

"I'm still at the fund-raiser. Will you tell your mom?"

"Uh-huh."

"How's school going? Starting out on the right foot this year?"

"Sure, Dad, sure."

When he hangs up, I call the Dunkels again. Still nothing. It's 5:30 Sunday night by the time the real Rebecca Dunkel answers. My voice pounces on her. "I need to talk to Rory."

"Kirsten. How are you?"

"Fine. Is Rory there?"

"She isn't. But I will certainly let her know you called."

I don't like the way she says this. Rory will never call me.

I wonder if I could walk to her house. But then what would I do when I get there? Sit on her? Let her hamster out?

Before I can figure it out, my mom comes in.

"Honey." She sits on my bed. "Are things going okay at school?"

Oh great, now she knows something. "Why?" I ask.

"Just wondering."

God, I hate when she lies.

She sighs. "I just happened to be talking to Rebecca and she said—"

"You just
happened
to be talking to her?"

My mother's head moves back. Her eyes move fast from side to side. "That's right."

I roll my eyes. "She said what?"

"There had been some problem at school. She wasn't sure about the details. Rory seemed pretty upset. Was there a problem?"

I can't tell my mom about the wallet
and the food.
I would rather die.

I take a breath. "Rory is acting weird."

She looks over her glasses. "You guys had a little tiff? Is that it?"

I shrug.

She seems to take this as a yes. Her lips pucker like she's thinking it all out. "Rebecca said she'd try to find out more. She said she'd call me back."

"Mom!" I plead. She means well, but I really wish she'd leave me alone. I don't need her help on this. I'm almost thirteen.

"This is important. They're my friends, too, Kirsten," she says.

When it's time for bed, she's back with her bowl of air-popped popcorn. She grabs my
Seventeen,
places it on my duvet, and sets the bowl on top of it. "Here's what's happening. Rory is starting to spend time with Madison, Brianna, Maya, and Lauren. She says you don't like these girls. Is that true?"

I shrug.

"Well, they seem to think you don't. Rebecca says they don't trust you."

They
don't trust
me
?

"Girls like to know that you're one of them. And when you strike out on your own the way you do..." She sighs. "People get suspicious. And I guess none of them liked that Nellie girl you were friends with last year. The one who moved away."

The tears well up in my eyes. "Sure, Mom. This is all my fault."

"I'm not saying this is your fault. It's just one of those things."

"Just one of those things" means: This sucks and you have to put up with it.

"But when people don't trust you, they stay away. Rebecca says these are nice girls. Brianna's mom, Jacqueline, is cochair of the auction. She's quite charming. And Maya's mom is a chatterbox—so bubbly and fun. Lauren's mom I don't know very well. But Madison's mom is a real go-getter.

"Rebecca says Rory's ready to branch out. Have a larger circle of friends, which I think is very healthy." She looks around my room. "Everyone wants to be popular, Kirsten. You can't blame Rory for that."

"I can't blame Rory? Whose mother are you?"

"You know I'm on your side, Kirsten, but if you want just Rory as your friend, I think you're going to be disappointed. You have to be a part of the whole group." Her shoulders settle into this.

I sink my teeth into the inside of my cheek. "Everyone knows Brianna isn't nice."

"Well, Rebecca says that you haven't been all that nice to
her.
She says Brianna is a natural-born leader, but she's very
sensitive
."

"Brianna
sensitive?
"

"She's very involved with the Save the Salmon movement. She cares deeply about..."

"Fish?"

"The environment," my mom says. "Look, the thing is, you just want to be one of the crowd for a while. One of the crowd, but you have to have a little something they want, too." She smiles. "You know, I saw the cutest boots at Nordstrom. You have a day off from school tomorrow. Why don't we hop in the car and take a ride to the mall and try them on?"

I know my mom's trying. I know she is. But I've seen the pictures of her when she was twelve. She was thin. She was beautiful. She was an ice-skating champion and she had a million friends. The only thing I'm good at is Nintendo 64, which no one even plays anymore. Plus I have every episode of
Friends
practically memorized and my closet is also very neat.