I'm So Sure (13 page)
Hunter gives our order. “One caramel macchiato and one soy vanilla latte no whip.”
“You remembered my favorite drink.” There’s something nice about a person really knowing the small details that make you who you are. I miss that.
We take our drinks and walk outside into the cool air. It hasn’t snowed for hours, yet the sidewalks are still slushy. Times Square looms before us, and I link my arm into Hunter’s and lead him that way in a leisurely stroll.
My pocket buzzes. “It’s a text from Mom.” I pull up the message. “Jake made the cut tonight!” I clap my hands and laugh. “I really hated to miss
Pile Driver of Dreams
tonight, but I recorded it. Have you been watching the show?”
“I’m familiar with some of it.” Hunter stops and covers his face with his scarf.
“It’s cold, isn’t it?” I button up his top coat button. “Are you feeling okay?”
I look over his shoulder and my heart sinks. Mia. She walks toward us, a group of my former friends trailing behind her like faithful troops.
“Hello, Mia.” My voice is even. Controlled. Yet I want to scratch her eyes out. “So you’ve decided to apologize to me?”
“I’m sure.” She laughs. “Besides, it looks to me like we’re even.”
My head bobs with attitude. “I didn’t steal
anyone’s
boyfriend. Let’s get that clear right now.”
Mia holds up a hand. “Whatever. When his weird phase wears off, he’ll be crawling back to me. And it
will
wear off, Bella.” Then she lasers Hunter with her glare. “I don’t know what this is all about, but I know you, Hunter. Something’s going on. And maybe I won’t be there when you snap out of it.”
She and her Bratz doll posse saunter down the sidewalk until they’re swallowed by the crowds of people on Times Square.
“She is a piece of work.” I shake my head and laugh. But Hunter isn’t laughing with me. He stands frozen to the spot, staring in the direction of Mia’s retreat. “Hey, you okay?”
“Why did you forgive me?”
“Because you asked me to.”
“That’s all it took? But I don’t—didn’t deserve it.”
A few snowflakes pepper down, and I catch one with my glove. “Nope. You didn’t.”
“Is this one of those God things again?”
“I guess so.”
Hunter wraps an arm around me, and we walk again. “If you weren’t a Christian, what would you have done?”
“Kicked you in the giblets.”
He rests his head on mine and laughs. “Jesus
does
save.”
O
n December twenty-third I bow my head and give thanks to God. As in,
Thank you, Lord, tomorrow I’m going home
.
I have managed to stay out of Christina’s way, minus one shopping trip in which she thought she could buy my affection with a new pair of suede boots. It did not work. But when she added the new Burberry coat, I did almost bust out some love poetry on her behalf. Seriously, I’m pretty weak. And the coat is to die for. And I guess Christina’s not
that
bad. She seems to care about my dad.
I slip into my dress for Christmas dinner and take a turn in the mirror.
My phone rings, and I skip across the room to get it. Probably Hunter again. We’ve talked every day that I’ve been here.
I read the display.
Luke
.
“Do you have news?”
“Hello to you too.” His voice sounds good to my ears. “How is Manhattan?”
“Cold. What did you find out?”
“I couldn’t get a phone number from the caterer. But they said it was definitely a female who called them and cancelled.”
“I guess that’s a start. Is that all you dug up?”
“Bella, you should have more faith in me. I’m pretty good at this.” I hear the smile in Luke’s voice. “Whoever made the call said she was Lindy Miller.”
“Why would someone try and sabotage prom?”
“That’s the part we’ll have to figure out when you get back.”
I sigh and slip my feet into some heels. “I can’t get back soon enough.”
“Missing me that much?”
This makes me grin. “I’m missing Truman, believe it or not.” A few months ago I wouldn’t have thought it was possible. “I miss my family, my friends.” And Luke?
“I saw your picture in a paper today. Looks like you’re keeping busy in New York.”
“What do you mean?”
Knock! Knock!
Luisa sticks her head in the door. “Time for dinner. The old bird can’t wait much longer.”
“You fixed turkey?”
She pulls me to my feet. “I was talking about your grandmother.”
I press the phone back to my ear. “I’ll talk to you later, Luke.”
But he’s already gone.
I pass the creamed corn and wish for the millionth time that Christina’s sister, Marisol, came with a mute button.
“And then I want a new iPod phone. And a MacBook. And this dress I saw at Barney’s. And these Prada boots. And tickets to . . .”
Dad catches my eye and winks. He leans down and plants a quick kiss on Marisol’s nose.
“Isn’t she adorable?” Grandmother beams.
Grandpa’s hearing aid whines. “She’s giving me gas.”
Me too. I mean, first Mom got replaced and now me.
What, am I not cute enough? Not bratty enough?
I think more angry thoughts and chug my water, wishing it was some good Southern iced tea.
When Luisa brings in dessert, a chocolate trifle, it’s everything I can do not to jump out of my chair and dive in headfirst.
“Luisa, please stay.” My dad stands up. “There’s something I’d like to share with the family.”
Oh no. No way
.
I watch in horror as my dad goes to Christina, bends on one knee, and reaches for her hand.
“Dad, can I talk to you in the kitchen?”
“Not now, Bella.” His eyes never leave Christina. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. And I’ve lived a long time as a selfish man. But this lady right”—he holds her hand over his heart—“this special lady here has changed all of that. She’s seen me at my lowest, and I hope that she’ll join me on my way back to the top.”
“Dad, I don’t feel so good.” A slick sweat explodes on my forehead.
“Later, Bella. Christina, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” He slides a ring on her finger.
Little Marisol claps her hands in glee. I want to hurl my fork at her.
Christina lifts her hand up to the light. She laughs and wipes away some tears. “I would be honored to be—”
Blughhhh!
I puke in my dessert plate.
“Ew!” Marisol wails and bursts into tears.
“Well, I never!” Grandma holds her napkin over her taut face.
Grandpa pats me on the back. “One time I puked for two days straight. Come to think about it, it was right after I married your grandmother.”
My guts feel like they’re splitting in two. I’m hot. And cold. And—“Bella, are you okay?” My dad puts his hand to my head. “Say something.”
“Congratulations.” And clutching my stomach, I race to the nearest bathroom.
O
nly twice in my life have I wished for death. The first time was in the second grade when Brian Wickham pulled down my skirt in front of the entire Sunday congregation and everyone saw my Care Bear underwear. And the second was last week when somehow I contracted food poisoning and heaved my guts up for a solid day.
Dad repeatedly said he was sorry.
Christina said the salmon dip I’d grazed on before dinner had gone bad.
Grandmother
tsk
ed and said that would teach me to snack before meals.
And I think I said something like, “
Ack! Gag! Barf!
”
After that everyone pretty much left me alone. How was I supposed to know the dip was out so it could be thrown away?
Because I was hugging a toilet when my flight left on Christmas Eve, I couldn’t get back to Truman until days later. I missed Christmas with the family, but Mom made everyone rewrap their gifts and have a do-over for my benefit. Robbie loved it, but Budge practiced his twenty-five-variations-on-eye-rolls the entire time. The camera crew filmed every second.
Between Christmas vacation and missing eight days of school for snow, January evaporated like a snowman in Arizona.
Pile Driver of Dreams
exploded into a reality show hit. Everywhere I went people were talking about it. Jake even started getting fan mail. He had some close calls in the show, but is hanging in there.
US
magazine called him a fan favorite in its review.
The snow days also gave our prom wrecker little time to stir up any more trouble. And lots of time to think of new catastrophes for February.
“Robbie, make sure you take all your stuff with you from the bus. Don’t leave anything behind.” Mom Velcros Robbie’s lunch sack closed. “It’s just Tuesdays and Thursdays. You can handle that, right?” She ruffles his hair and puts a kiss on his sad face before he shuffles to the living room.
Mom now has an early morning class at the Tulsa community college. And Tuesdays and Thursdays are the days Budge and I both have to leave early, me for chemistry tutoring, and Budge for a meeting with his dork gamers, otherwise known as future millionaires whose money will one day make them hot.
Mom rests her hand on my shoulder. “Bad news, Bel. Jake got a good look at your car last night. You need a new alternator.”
Perfect. “How much is one of those?”
“More than you’ve got. So until you save up, you can catch a ride with Budge.”
I sigh into my bite of oatmeal. “I’m broke. Christmas wiped me out.” And this job-a-thon for the school paper isn’t helping. I totally need to clear Ruthie’s name and get the rest of her payment. “Mom, don’t you ever just miss money? You always act like it’s so easy.”
“Easy?” She snorts. “Do you know how long it’s been since I got a new pair of shoes? Me, who used to attend Fashion Week? I have friends in Manhattan eating lunches that would take my whole week’s paycheck. So, no, it’s not easy. But I told you it would be an adventure.” Her face softens. “And can you imagine life without Jake and your stepbrothers?”
“No.” Except when Budge hogs the bathroom.
“I know you’ve been looking for another job, but you know who’s got openings, right?”
I blink. “I’m
not
working at the maxi-pad factory.” My dad wouldn’t stand for that, would he? “Besides, job hunting is just part of teen life—good material for the column. I’ll find something soon.” I look toward the stairs and yell. “Let’s go, Budge!”
Robbie returns and gives Mom’s skirt a tug. “I think I have a fever.”
Mom touches his head. “Nope. Feel okay to me.”
“I think I have food poisoning like Bella.”
I turn to my stepbrother. “Does it feel like a hand is reaching into your stomach and trying to French-braid your intestines?”
“No.”
“Then it’s not food poisoning.” I flatten out some wrinkles in his Superman cape. “Are you sure everything’s okay at school?”
“It’s fine.” He shoves away from the table and grabs his backpack. “I’m gonna watch TV until the bus gets here.” He slinks out of the kitchen and back into the living room.
I stand outside in the backyard as Budge pulls his car out of the garage. Though the initial shock has worn off of having a stepbrother who drives a hearse, it still appalls me to have to ride in it. I mean,
dead
people were in this thing. Their germs are soaked into the steel gray lining of the car. I don’t want gross corpse-y germs up my nose!
I get in the car and immediately turn down his screamo. “I need an update on Ruthie McGee.”
Budge jumps, his elbow hitting the horn. A foghorn sound follows. “W–what do you mean? There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing.”
My eyes narrow. “First of all, I
know
you went over to her house Friday night. But I mean what’s going on with tracing the anonymous e-mails she’s gotten?”
“Dude, I’ve tried for over a month. I can’t crack it. It’s like some wizard sent those e-mails.” He turns onto David Street, running over a curb. “I have to pick up my friend Newton.”
Budge pulls into the drive of a small white house. An old dead Christmas tree sits with the trash at the curb.
Newton Phillips slams out of the front door, yelling back at his mother. “I’ll do the dishes when I get home! When I’m rich, you’ll be sorry you bossed me around!”
I watch him stomp to the hearse. “Newt’s got attitude.”
He hops in the back, greets me, then does some secret handshake thing with Budge that only techie dweebs can follow.
Budge looks in his rearview. “Dude, I totally found out how to create a multileveled vortex in that second dimension.”
The rest of the ride consists of me humming along to screamo so I don’t have to pay attention to gamer talk. By the time we get to school, I want to cut off my own ears and stuff them down Budge’s throat.
Walking into journalism later in the morning, my eyes are automatically drawn to Luke, who has his shirtsleeves rolled up and is already in work mode.
“Your interview with sophomore Tracey Snively was riveting stuff,” he says as I sit down at my Mac.
I look up from my screen only long enough to glare. “Yeah, your idea to visit her in her home of thirty cats was sheer brilliance. Really gave the article a special edge. Plus I horked up fur for days.”
“Well, something has increased our sales.” He throws a paper down on my table. “Maybe it’s this.”
I ignore his sarcastic tone and pick up
Entertainment Weekly
, and there’s another picture of me and Hunter from my Christmas visit in New York. It’s a close-up of the two of us in front of the Buddha at Tao. This instant celebrity business is so weird.
“Thanks,” I snap. “I’ll add it to my growing scrapbook.” What’s his deal? It’s not like Hunter’s my boyfriend. He’s totally not. Actually, I don’t know what he is. We’ve called each other almost every night since Christmas. He seems so different. Changed. And he says he’s gone to church a few times by himself.
“Was there something else?” I ask.
“As a matter of fact there is. Why don’t we step into Mr. Holman’s office for a moment?”
“Fine.” I follow him into the empty room. Luke shuts the door.
Uh-oh. This isn’t good.