I'm So Sure (2 page)

The doorbell rings, and Jake and Mom rush to open it.

Budge, my other stepbrother, takes that moment to come down the steps. In his Wiener Palace sultan uniform, no less. “What’s going on?” The feathers on his turban droop.

Budge and I were sworn enemies from day one. But ever since I lifted the lid on the craziness that killed his best friend last fall, Budge has been extremely nice to me. We talk all the time. Like last week he said, “Hey, moron, can you pass the milk?”

That’s some good progress.

“You’d better call the Wiener Palace and tell them you’ll be late.” I jerk my thumb toward the three men standing in the entryway. “You’re not even going to believe this. Your dad’s been selected to be on a wrestling reality show. And we’re part of the deal. Basically our lives will be on TV for millions to see. No privacy. No control over their manipulative editing. The entire world watching our every move.”

Budge shakes his head. “Dude, that is—”

“Humiliating, embarrassing, and intrusive?”

“C
ooool
.” He scratches his red ’fro. “I’m gonna be on TV. Chicks
love
stars. This is gonna be awesome.”

Awesomely horrible.

An hour later we’re all stuffed into our outdated, 1970s living room. I sit on one end of the orange couch beside a beaming Mom and Jake.

“So I think we’ve got everything settled. Just have your management look over the contract and give me a call.” Mr. Noblitz shakes Jake’s giant hand.

“I need to talk to my family first,” my stepdad says. “I’ll let you know what we decide.”

When the door shuts on Mr. Noblitz, Jake gets down to business. “Why don’t we pray about this?” He reaches for my mom’s hand. She reaches for Robbie’s.

Budge and I stare at each other.
Fine
. I clasp his wrist with two of my fingers and bow my head.

At Jake’s amen, Mom begins. “This is an amazing opportunity.”

My stepdad beams. “Jillian’s right. This could take me straight to the top in professional wrestling. But it’s going to be an invasion for all of us.”

“Who cares?” Budge says. “I’m in.”

“Me too!” Robbie squirts invisible Spider-Man webs across the room. Though he leans toward Superman, my stepbrother likes to incorporate all superheroes in his daily routine.

“Bella?” Mom asks.

What else can I say? “I am not totally thrilled about this . . . but okay.”

While my mother throws an impromptu party downstairs, I steal away to my room and shut the door on all the madness.

God, I know this is great for Jake’s career, but what about me? What could possibly be the purpose in all this? Oh, sure, our family could be a witness to the wrestling community. But couldn’t we just send them some tracts?

I fall back onto my bed and stare at the ceiling. My cat Moxie bounds onto my stomach and butts my chin with her face.

My phone rings and I answer without even looking at it. “My life just got flushed down the toilet, Bella speaking.”

Familiar laughter fills my ear. “Bel?”

I sit up.
No. Couldn’t be
.

He wouldn’t dare.

“Bella, you there?”

He did. My rat-fink-cheater ex-boyfriend called me.

“What do you want, Hunter?”

“Don’t hang up. I just want to talk.”

“So talk.”

“Wow. I’ve missed that sweet voice.”

“Hunter, did you need something?”

Seconds of silence. “I miss you.” He laughs. “I’m totally blowing this. I . . . just wanted to talk to you again. I miss, um, you know, hanging out. I miss us.”

“Really? Every time I miss us, I think about you all kissy-faced with my best friend.”

“That was just a moment of insanity. I was lonely when you left New York. Mia and I—we’re over. We were never anything to begin with.”

“Oh, okay. That makes it all better. Well, thanks for calling and telling me that. Gotta go—”

“Wait!” He sighs into the phone. I picture him in his room, running his hands through his thick hair. “I know I said too much. Look, Bel, I just want to be friends again. You have every right to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”
I wish rabid pigs would carry you away, but there’s no hate
.

“I have something else to tell you.”

Oh, boy.

“I have, um, a disease.”

“Ew! Well, that’s what you get for being such a male ho.”

“Not
that
kind of disease. This is . . . more serious. It’s not good.”

“What?” Okay, cancel the pigs. “Are you going to be okay?”

“It’s treatable. But it’s going to be a long haul and nothing is certain. Bel, I just . . . it’s really important that I make everything right in my life.”

“Hunter, I forgive you. We’ve gone over this.”

“It’s not enough.”

I close my eyes and breathe.
Fine
. “Whatever you need, Hunter. I’m here.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Bella, I’m in Oklahoma.”

chapter three

H
appy Tuesday, Truman Tigers! It’s time for your morning announcements!”

I tune out the student on the TV and doodle my name in curlicues on my notebook. I should be studying my notes, but I’m busy replaying Hunter’s call in my head.

A movement catches my eye outside the door, and I see Lindy Miller, all wide-eyed and spastic hands, gesturing for me to come into the hall. Lindy ducks when Mrs. Palmer glances in her direction.

I make my way to the front of the classroom. “Um, Mrs. Palmer? Can I go blow my nose outside?”

She puts down her pen and frowns. “You can’t do that in here?”

“I tend to make goose honks when I blow.”

She waves me away and returns her attention to the student news program.

I grab a Kleenex and sail out the door. “What is it?”

Lindy looks like she just missed the game-winning shot. “I . . .” She covers her red face. “It’s bad, Bella. It’s really bad.”

My heart drops to my toes. “Tell me.”

“The class president moved today!”

Oh.

“Er, sorry.” I pat her on the shoulder. “I didn’t know you and Harry Wu Fong were that close.”

“No!” she hisses. “Don’t you get it? We have, like, three months until prom. The class president is in charge of that. With him gone, the vice president takes his place. And—”

“You’re the VP.” It all makes sense now. A few months ago, my tomboy friend Lindy got a total makeover. Kicky haircut, golden highlights, waxed brows, new clothes. All to impress her BFF Matt, who still has no idea she wants to be more than friends. Though she rarely wears the makeup I bought her, she still looks great. But she has
no
idea what to do with making anything pretty—like an entire prom. She hates froufrou stuff. Why she’s friends with me, I’ll never know.

“No, I’m not the VP. Now I’m the stinkin’ president!” She wrings hands that can grip a basketball with no problem. “I don’t know how to organize a prom. Harry Wu left me his notes, but aside from reserving the Truman Inn banquet room, there’s nothing done, and prom is practically tomorrow!”

“Relax, would you? You have plenty of time. And you know I’ll help you. Plus, I’m pretty sure you have a prom committee or something, right?”

“I have minions?” She relaxes a little. “This might not be so bad. I totally get to boss people around, don’t I? How hard could prom planning be anyway?”

“It will be fine. I organized lots of formal events at Hilliard.” That’s my old private school in Manhattan. My former best friend, Mia, still goes to school there. This is the same
friend
I caught making out with Hunter not so long ago. I was always willing to share anything with Mia—purses, shoes, a new hat. But my boyfriend’s lips? A girl has to draw the line somewhere.

Confident that Lindy is over her panic attack, I return to class.

Mrs. Palmer lifts a brow as I pass by. “Took you quite a while.”

“Major drainage.”

On my way to journalism class, I make a pit stop at the girl’s bathroom and touch up my face. It’s become a ritual. Reapply gloss, give my hair a shake, and make sure nothing is dangling from my nose. It’s not that I care what Luke thinks. Seriously, I don’t.

Maybe a little. But I’d never go out with him.

Mr. Holman, the newspaper advisor, intercepts me at the classroom door. “In my office, please.”

I trail behind him and find Luke already seated.

And ticked.

His arms are crossed, and he glares at me over his tortoiseshell glasses. His inky black hair is slightly mussed, like he’s run frustrated hands through it.

I sit down in the vacant seat beside Luke, while Mr. Holman perches on the corner of his desk. “Bella, you’ve done some topnotch investigative reporting for the paper.”

“Oh.” I nod demurely. “Thanks.” Take
that
Luke Sullivan!

Mr. Holman casts a furtive glance at Luke then continues. “I’d like to have you writing your own column. We decided that a regular feature on teen life in Truman would be a nice angle. Maybe start with a series on the life of a working student. We think that would be a great idea.”

“
We
didn’t think so. Mr. Holman did.” Luke breathes through his nose like a bull ready to charge. “You’ve only been on staff since

August. You still need to work on the basics, in my opinion. You’re not ready for your own column.”

My spine stiffens, and I feel my cheeks flush pink. “I think I can handle it.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “This will not be some fluff piece. It’s serious. This isn’t
Seventeen
magazine. We’re a reputable paper. We have—”

“Colleges watching us. I know.” Boy, do I know. I hear that mantra in my sleep.

Mr. Holman stands up and wipes at a jelly stain on his shirt. “We’ll announce it on the morning news program and give the students an opportunity to e-mail you with their ideas and work stories.”

I can’t help but smile. “Sounds great. Thank you.”

“Mr. Holman?” Another staff member sticks her head in the door. “I need you to check my copy.”

He rests his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll start this tomorrow. It will be a great addition to the paper. Really liven things up.” Mr. Holman walks out of the office and into the small class.

The tension stays behind.

The fluorescent lights hum. The heater blows. The clock ticks.

But Luke Sullivan doesn’t move.

I gather my things and rise. “Alrighty then. Just gonna get started on—” Suddenly he’s at the doorway, blocking my exit. I catch a hint of his cologne.

“If you were truly interested in being a serious journalist, you would know that you need to stick with the basics and continue building your skills. This isn’t like the little advice column you wrote at your old school.”

Little?
“Since when is helping people
little
?” Ugh, sometimes, this boy. One minute he’s got my skin tingling with his charm, and the next he’s barking orders like a drill sergeant, and I want to kick his shins. Jerk.

His eyes bore into mine. “I won’t cut you any slack on your deadlines.”

“Nobody asked you to.”

“And you realize you’ll need a job. A few of them, in fact. You’ll need to make the arrangements and get local businesses to hire you temporarily.”

“Yeah, I was totally going to work that angle. I know you’re really busy with your Harvard girlfriend, so don’t worry about me monopolizing any of your time.” Omigosh! Did I just say that? Rewind! Rewind!

His left cheek dimples. “Are you jealous?”

“No, actually I’m sad.” I give a slight smile. “For her. I can’t imagine what it’s like to go out with you. You probably tell her what to order on your dates. Or maybe you woo her by reading aloud from the
Wall Street Journal
.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Luke leans over me until there are mere inches between us. “Have fun joining the working class.” And he walks out.

“I—I will!”
Take that
.

Okay, if it weren’t for the fact that he saved my life last quarter, I’d really let him have it. But no, he simply
had
to show up at just the right moment and rescue me from a homicidal football player intent on killing me. I totally could’ve handled it myself.

All right, so I was drugged to the point of drooling and on my way to permanent nappy-time, but whatever. I would’ve figured something out.

Lunch rolls around, and before I can beeline to the caf, I hear my name on the school intercom.
Great. What now?
Maybe the principal wants to talk to me about my ideas to redecorate the building. It’s in serious need of a makeover. A little style would help everyone’s test scores.

I push through the office door and the secretary greets me. “You’ve got a visitor.”

I turn around and there in a torn vinyl seat is Hunter Penbrook.

For a minute I remember what I first saw in him. His dashing good looks. His impeccable dress. His sense of fun.

But then he cheated on me. And now he’s just a picture on my bulletin board for target practice.

He stands up. “Bella, it’s good to—”

“What do you want, Hunter?” I grab his hand and lead him outside to the courtyard. I motion for him to sit on a picnic table while I remain standing.

“Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Who are you staying with? Why are you here?”

“My dad had some business in Tulsa, so I took the rental car for the day. We’re leaving tonight, but I had to talk to you.”

“Uh-huh. So tell me about this medical condition you have.”

He shakes his head and looks away. “I really don’t want to talk about it. They think something is seriously wrong with my stomach, but don’t have any clue what it is yet. I’ve been to the ER a few times. My dad is making them run every test known to man.”

“But you could die?”

He shrugs it off. “There are a lot of things uncertain right now. But Bel, I want to make things right in my life.” His hand rests on my arm. “I needed to tell you in person that I’m sorry for all the hurt I caused you.”

Right now I’m kind of regretting the darts sticking out of his eyes on my bulletin board. “I’ve forgiven you.” Okay, I haven’t forgotten it, but when you see your best friend’s face mashed to your boyfriend’s, it’s a little hard. “Maybe you just need to forgive yourself.”