Pretty Crooked (22 page)

They were on to me. My left eye started to twitch uncontrollably. The delicious taste of food in my mouth went bitter and sour.

“Oh, did they?” I looked around the room, desperate for an escape. “I think maybe I’ll run to the ladies’ room now, before our main course comes.”

I needed to splash some water on my face. I needed to regroup. I needed to switch lives with someone.

Inside the bathroom, I stood over the marble sink and let the tap run. I looked up and the blond-haired girl in the mirror was sallow, eyes bloodshot, mouth straight
and tight. Fear was all over my face.

Okay, get it together
.

The water was cool and calming as it touched my skin. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. I would just stop now, like I’d said before. Forget hitting Kellie. I’d act normal, be extra-careful to cover my tracks, and I’d move on with my life.

I turned away from the sink to wipe my hands, and a fluffy towel was thrust in front of me. “Thank you,” I said to the bathroom attendant.

I glanced up, expecting to see an older woman, but it was a girl my age, someone who looked vaguely familiar to me.

“You go to Valley Prep, don’t you?” she said. She was chubby and her hair was pulled back into a braid. She was wearing some sort of uniform, a white button-down shirt with a vest. My eyes traveled down to her feet and I saw that she was wearing black sneakers that gapped at the soles.

“Yeah,” I said. “Do you?”

“I’m in your history class? My name’s Jocelyn. And you’re Willa, right?”

“That’s right,” I said, still trying to place her. Whoever she was, she’d blended into the background. “Nice to meet you.”

Actually, there was nothing nice about it. The bathroom was the last place I wanted to be meeting someone—especially someone I was supposed to know
already, someone who worked in the worst possible job ever while I was outside chowing down on duck confit.

“So … you work here?” I asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Six days a week.”

“It’s a nice place,” I said.

“I’m sure it must be,” she replied, and I felt the burn.

“So today was grades day, huh?” It was stupid but I was struggling for something.

Her face twisted up. “Yeah. More like doomsday for me. I think I need a tutor if I want to stay at Prep…” she said. Her voice trailed off, and I got the implication: She couldn’t afford one.

I thought of Kellie, and what she’d told me at her party. People like her would always succeed because they had the money to cheat their way through. Whereas Jocelyn couldn’t afford the help she really needed. It made me sick.

“I’m sorry,” I said, patting my hands dry. “It’s definitely tough.”

She stared down at her pile of towels. “That’s life, I guess.”

As I stood there I remembered how Mary had once said, “It’s just high school.” But how, also, in gym class that very morning, she’d mentioned that she’d gotten asked to the senior winter formal. She said she wasn’t sure if she would go. I’d made a mental note to send her some extra cash, just in case it was the limo fee or some
other cost that was holding her back.

“I’m afraid to say who it is, because maybe it’s a big joke or something,” she’d whispered in the locker room. But she was bursting to confess. “Okay. It’s Bradley Poole.”

Bradley Poole was a dark-haired, Polo-sweatered valedictorian who was president of the debate society and the drama club. His parents had started the Poole Foundation, which gave money to the arts and built schools in developing countries. He was as close to a dreamboat as you could get at VP.

Mary, of course, had never mentioned anything about the secret packages she’d been getting. And I was relieved—I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to keep a straight face. As it was, it was hard not to smile too much when I saw her excitement. I knew it wasn’t the clothes that Bradley liked—Mary was a pretty, sweet, smart girl—but they might have made him notice her.

“Well, you better get back to your dinner,” Jocelyn said, snapping me back to reality.

“I guess I should.” But the idea of going back to the table and pretending to enjoy my meal was unappealing now. I stood lingering there for a moment, eyeing Jocelyn’s tip basket. Was I supposed to give her a tip? I had no money on me. I didn’t want her to think I was cheap. I felt a sudden urge to explain myself, that we didn’t usually come to fancy places like this, that I’d never really had much money before now—but what good would that have done?

“I’m sorry but I didn’t bring any ca—”

“It’s okay,” she said, cutting me off. She looked as embarrassed as I felt. “See you in history.”

One more
, I was thinking on my way back to the table. If I moved quickly, I could try to pull off one more. If they were going to catch me anyway, it would be worth it.

When I sat back down at the table, my mom was smiling at me. “How was the bathroom? Did they have nice soap?”

“There’s a girl from VP in there,” I said. “Working.”

“A friend?”

“No, I just met her.”

“Well, that’s unusual. I wouldn’t think…” Her voice dropped. What she was going to say was this: “I wouldn’t think anyone at VP would be working in a bathroom.”

The server set our entrées in front of us: filet for her; fish for me. My mom was cutting into her steak when I saw her eyes widen. She reached forward like she was getting up, but her hands flailed and she knocked over her champagne. The glass exploded into glittering bits on the floor.

I twisted around and saw a man in a dark suit moving toward us. He was wearing an old-fashioned hat with a brim and his strides were long and purposeful. The server was already at my mom’s feet, sweeping up the glass.

“Not now,” my mom hissed. At first I thought she was
talking to the server, but the man was coming closer. I knew right away he was the man I’d seen in the parking lot.

“This will just take a second,” he said quietly but firmly.

“I’m having dinner with my daughter and we don’t want to be interrupted,” my mom hissed.

He removed his hat and smiled at me, making eye contact for the first time. I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were but there was something pleading and insistent in his expression. Then he tipped the hat to her. “Fine. We’ll talk later.”

When he walked away, my mom exhaled heavily and clutched at her shoulders.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“No one,” she said quickly. “How’s the bass?”

She was trying to front, but I wasn’t having it. “Why did you look so freaked out, then?”

“Just someone I know from the art center, is all.”

This was my chance. She’d given me an opening. “Is he someone you’ve been hanging out with?” I ventured. “Like dating?”

She pulled back. “Me? Willa, I don’t really date. You know that.”

“But it would be cool if you did. I mean, it would be fine with me,” I said.

“Well, I appreciate that. But you know, the time just isn’t right. There’s a lot going on. I’m not really looking.
No, he’s just a guy.”

Her voice had a nervous edge to it. I studied her face to see if she was lying to me, but then she took a drink of water and her glass clouded her expression.

She put the glass down. “Why are you asking me about my love life all of a sudden, anyway?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been out a lot lately, and then this guy just shows up and I figured—”

“There’s nothing going on, Willa,” she snapped. “I would tell you if there were. I hardly know that man. I think he wanted to sell us something.”

The mood had changed then. She seemed to retreat. We finished eating without talking, but I didn’t have much appetite anymore. Why was she so resistant to telling me anything? Did she think I was stupid? But I knew that I couldn’t press her any further. After all, I had secrets of my own to protect. We were safer in our respective silences.

“Another drink, miss?” the server prompted.

“No, thanks,” my mom said. Then she asked for the check.

On our way out of the restaurant, I could sense her tensing up again. The man in the suit was standing by the door. Up close I could see he had dark stubble and he was wearing a silver tie.

“Excuse me,” she said to him brusquely. The man just nodded and moved out of the way to let us by.

At home, in my room, I paced back and forth. Who the hell was that guy? Why was he at the restaurant and why was my mom pretending like she barely knew him?

Then, something occurred to me: Could the man be my father?

No, it couldn’t be. Could it? But why was he coming over to our table and why was she shooing him away, like she didn’t want me to see him?

I sunk down on the mattress, grasping around me for some support. The very thought of it was overwhelming.

All these years, we’d never heard from him. So long as I never expected to meet him, it was like he didn’t exist. But what if he was real? What if he lived around here? What if they were in touch somehow?

But why? Why now?

I dropped my head into my hands, rubbed my temples with my thumbs, and stared down into the carpet fibers. I wasn’t ready for this.

Then my phone buzzed. A text from Cherise.

Call me ASAP. Big news.

I hit the call button, hands shaking, but as soon as the phone started ringing, I regretted it. I wasn’t sure I could take any more news today.

“Cherise, what’s up?”

“It’s Aidan,” she said, breathless. “He got kicked out of Prep.”

My whole body went numb, and I was motionless, frozen in shock.

“Willz? Are you there? Did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” I said. “I’m just … surprised.”

But was I, though? I knew this was coming. He’d told me himself. He was
trying
to get kicked out. Well, now he’d finally gotten his wish. And now I’d probably never see him again.

I fell back against my pillows as the weight of the news hit me a second time, and with this wave came a more powerful blow of despair. No, this was way too much.

“That’s the crazy thing. Nobody knows what happened. But it had to have been something serious. His family is like
royalty
in this town.”

“So he’s kicked out for good? Not just suspended or anything?” It all seemed so final.

“Yeah,” she said, her tone growing concerned. “You sound upset. I thought you’d be happy. I thought he got on your nerves.”

“It’s been a long day,” I said, huffing out a heavy sigh. I wanted to tell her about the man in the restaurant, but then I thought better of it. I wasn’t ready to share with her the possibility that it could be my dad. I needed more time to think through everything. My emotions were springing all over the place. “Cherise, do you know a girl named Jocelyn at Prep?”

“Jocelyn? I don’t think so. Are you okay? You really sound weird.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “But I should probably go. I have some research to do.”

I hung up the phone and sat down in front of the computer, my head full of noise. Focus. I needed focus. As I scrolled through the VP student directory and Google search results, clicking here and there to read more, I started to feel a little calmer. I started to lose myself in this work, which was the only escape I knew.

Maybe I couldn’t do anything about my mom, or Aidan, or any of the crazy thoughts in my brain, but this was one small thing I could do, and for now, that felt like enough.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“YOU UNDERSTAND I’VE never actually done this myself, right?”

I did. All of Tre’s lessons came with this warning, which I took to be like one of those legal disclaimers on commercials (“Please drink responsibly,” or “See your doctor if your erection lasts more than six hours”). At this point, it didn’t have to be said but I guess he felt the need to let me know he was protecting himself and possibly me. And he definitely didn’t want me to know why he had been in a boot camp.

When we first started meeting, I’d wondered about it constantly. I couldn’t help it. We’d be practicing some technique, like the Ronaldinho—a Spanish pickpocketing method named for a soccer star, which involved a hug—and my mind would wander. How did he know all this stuff? My money was on some kind of thievery, given all of his expertise in the area. Had he worked with
an apprentice? Had he researched it all on the internet? Or was it kind of a mind-meld situation, where, once you were locked up with a bunch of other delinquents, you absorbed all of their tricks?

For a while I’d tried to ask him what I hoped were subtle but leading questions, like, “Wouldn’t it be hard to pull off a razor slice in broad daylight?” Or, “Does the hugging really work with total strangers?”

He’d just give me a frown and say, “I wouldn’t know. Stop snooping, Willa.”

So I had to give it up, because he was never going to tell me, and I no longer cared.

Okay, fine. I was still an eensy bit curious.

Now we were sitting in Tre’s car after school in front of the gated community where he lived. It was called Magnificent Estates—the founders clearly hadn’t wanted to leave too much to the imagination. I could see through the front gate to a central landscaped garden with a fountain and a shallow pool. A stone-paved street circled around, leading to some houses—there couldn’t have been more than five in the whole development—and beyond them, a golf course. Why people around here insisted on building golf courses in the desert and standing around playing in one-hundred-degree weather was beyond me, but there was a golf course everywhere you went, practically. It was a rich-people thing.

“My dad loves to play,” he said, shrugging his enormous shoulders inside his polo shirt. “He says it’s very
meditative. I guess he’s been playing with Aidan’s dad at some club.”

The very mention of his name—like some magic code—made my insides ripple. Ever since Cherise told me he’d been kicked out, I’d been wondering what happened to him and now I couldn’t resist pumping Tre for information.

“So do you know the story with that?”

He shook his head. “He’s gone—that’s all I know.”

“But where is he?” I pressed. “Is he at some other school?”

“Haven’t heard from him. Why?”