Pretty Crooked (30 page)

My heart sank. I knew I couldn’t just convince her with words. It was going to take much more to show her I meant it.

Willa1997: I know I have to make it up to you.

MiZZJackson: It’s not just that. Kellie has already made my life hell for what I said the other day. You saw her post about me, didn’t you?

Willa1997: Yeah. I saw it.

MiZZJackson: If I still hang out with you, it’s over for me. Willa1997: But is she really worth it, Cherise? I think you’re too good for her. For them.

MiZZJackson: Look, you have no idea, okay? You’re just the new girl.

I winced. The words glared at me from the screen, sharp and dismissive. Okay, so maybe this messaging thing wasn’t helping. Maybe I needed another tactic.

Willa1997: Can we talk about this in person? It’s kind of hard over IM and my mom took my phone away. MiZZJackson: I don’t think so. I don’t think my parents are going to let me see you anymore.

The light feeling I’d had after reading my emails had drained out of me like helium from a balloon. I really liked Cherise’s mom. I wanted her to like me again. I wanted Cherise to like me again.

Willa1997: What can I do?

MiZZJackson: Nothing. I’m done, Willa.

Willa1997: If that’s what you want.

MiZZJackson: Yeah. It is.

Okay
, I started to type, but she had already logged off.

I signed off and sank back down onto my mattress, reeling with hurt. From my bed, I could see that there were still reporters outside, a full twenty-four hours later. I didn’t know what to think. How was it that the people who knew me best were the ones who were turning their backs on me? I mean, my own mom wasn’t speaking to me. And now Cherise. Yet the people who didn’t know me at all were the ones sticking by me.

Maybe, I thought, I should just embrace the whole Sly Fox thing. She was much more popular than Willa right now.

Sometime in the night—it was dark, and I was asleep—I heard a window opening. It took a few moments for it to register that this was a real noise and not just the sounds in my dreams. I sat up and grabbed for a robe.

“Mom?” I called. But no one answered.

Pulling the ties around my waist, I made my way down the hall to the front door. Until I hit something.

It felt like I walked into a body, a man’s body, and I screamed as we made impact.

“Whoa,” the man said.

“Who are you and what are you doing in here?” Dark images flashed through my head. I thought maybe it was a reporter sneaking in, and the idea chilled me to the bone. Why couldn’t they just leave us alone? My mom had been right about the media after all.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing my wrists. “Calm down. It’s just me. Tre.”

“Oh my God.” I clutched at my chest, trying to catch my breath. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I could make out his frame, and then the sculpted angles of his cheekbones and the long lines of his leather jacket and jeans.

“I just wanted to check on you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.” He had stuffed his hands in the pockets
of his jacket. I’d had no idea that he knew where I lived, but he’d obviously used one of his signature moves on my house. “Sorry it’s so late. Did I wake you?”

Once my near–heart attack subsided, I had to smile. I was thrilled to see him.

“Yeah, but it’s okay,” I said. “Come in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” One good thing about being arrested is that practically any other act of rebellion, like letting a guy break into my house at two on a Wednesday morning, seemed absurdly innocent.

I led him into the living room and he sat down on the couch. I didn’t bother turning the light on, as a little pale light from the street was leaking into the room. I sat next to him in the violet shadows.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Eh, not bad. You know.” He laughed a little. “Sorry for the late hour, but with my record and everything, I had to sneak in here. In case anyone was watching.”

I remembered what the lawyer had told me about not associating with other criminals. We could probably both get in a lot of trouble for hanging out, but just then I didn’t really care. I wasn’t about to turn him away.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, patting him on the knee. “It’s been a rough few days.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

My eyes welled up with hot tears. I realized that in all this time, no one had really been all that interested in
my side of the story, or how I felt. They were all focusing on the bad stuff. What I’d done. He was the first one to look beyond that.

“I don’t know. It was just—scary. Getting cuffed and dragged into the station. I was really freaked out. I didn’t know what was happening.”

He nodded. “And they’re pretty nice to girls in there. At least compared to guys like me.”

“It was horrible. You don’t even realize how good you have it until—”

“Until they want to take it all away. Yeah.”

He got it. He had been there. I exhaled. Just exchanging a few words with him helped me shake off the heavy feelings I’d been shouldering—the guilt, the fear, the shame. He wasn’t judging me at all. He was simply here beside me.

I slouched down on the couch, putting a fat white pillow behind my neck. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“Why are you being so nice to me? You took a big risk in coming here.”

“Want me to egg your house or something?” He laughed.

“No, no, no. Just, you didn’t think what I did was wrong?”

“Maybe I did at first. But I’ve come to see that your heart was in the right place. I mean, you had your reasons and they were actually kind of ethical at the core—unlike
me.” He shrugged. “I was just causing trouble for thrills.”

“Yeah, but did you get hate mail?”

He laughed. “When someone finds out his Ferrari has gone for a cruise through the barrio, he’s not gonna send you flowers. Believe me.”

I sighed. “I don’t know if I can go back to Prep. Even if they let me go back, they’re going to torture me.”

“Not necessarily. There are lots of people who think you gave the Glitterati what was coming to them.”

“Maybe.” I wasn’t sure it was going to be so easy. But maybe knowing Tre was at least behind me—even if he couldn’t associate with me in public—would help a little bit.

“So you have to do community service?” He stretched his long legs out in front of him.

“Yeah,” I said. “I start tomorrow morning at the animal shelter. Of all the options they gave me it sounded like the most tolerable. I’ve never had any pets, but I figured maybe I could bond with a Labrador or something.”

“It beats picking up trash like our friend Murphy.”

I felt my spine straighten. What was Aidan doing right now? When would I see him again?

“He said you called him,” Tre said softly. “He said you were really freaked out.”

“I was,” I said, remembering Aidan’s voice on the phone the other night, how strong and caring he’d been.

“A lot of us were worried but I know you’ll be fine,
Willa. You’ll get through this,” he said, standing up. “Well, I should probably get going.”

“You sure?”

“It’s late. But I’m glad you’re okay. If you need anything, give me a call.”

“Okay,” I said, hugging him. The vaguely sweet smell of his leather jacket mingled with the scent of his aftershave, which was just a little spicy, like pepper. I hadn’t realized before how strong his arms were.

He was a good friend. I wondered idly if he was still with his girl. She was lucky, whoever she was.

We pulled apart, and I walked him to the door.

“Your mom must be a heavy sleeper,” he said as he stepped out into the night and got into his car.

My mom
. She couldn’t be sleeping through all this. Not through my scream, at least.

I peered out and saw her car wasn’t in the driveway. I looked in the garage and it wasn’t there, either. It was now three
A.M.
and she had been out since mid-morning. Worry gripped me violently. Where could she be? I grabbed the house phone and dialed her number.

No answer. No voice-mail greeting. Of course: She was going to get us new phones. Her old one was disconnected.

I sat back down on the living room sofa, facing the front windows that overlooked the street. It was dark and quiet as always. I wrapped a throw around me and waited. Every time a passing car spread its light across
the room I stood up and looked out the window, but none of them was her.

At five thirty, I was back in the kitchen with the cordless phone, getting ready to call the police. I tried to think about what I would tell them. I wasn’t sure, after my own run-in with the law, that they would believe me or take me seriously. Besides, what if it turned out to be nothing?

Just then, the key turned in the lock and my mom came through the door.

“Where’ve you been?” I practically yelled.

“I had to figure a few things out,” she said. She took a deep breath and placed her handbag on the counter. She seemed calmer, more purposeful than she’d been in the past few days, but small and young and vulnerable at the same time. She sat down at the table, pulled her hair out of its band, and folded her hands in front of her.

“Are you okay? What’s going on?” I was nearly hyperventilating, even though she was home safe with me.

“Everything is fine,” she said gently. “I’ve been thinking about what you did, and I have to say something that I should have said much earlier. No matter what, I love you, Willa. You know that. I love you unconditionally. And I know you were just trying to do something good. It was stupid, for sure.”

I sat down next to her and draped my arm over her shoulder. “I know.”

“But I want you to know that I can forgive you. It’s
definitely going to change our lives and our plans for the future. But we’ll get through this.”

“I hope so,” I said, feeling my own voice break up. I was so scared that we would never be able to move past this moment.

“I’ve always tried to raise you to be responsible, you know? I wanted you to have good values. Maybe, in a way, I gave you too much freedom. I didn’t give you enough boundaries where you needed them.”

I could see the pain in her face and realized that maybe what she had been grappling with wasn’t so much the anger at me—though I knew that was there—but some kind of guilt that she had done something wrong.

“No,” I said. “It’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself for what I’ve done.”

“But I’ve only wanted the best for you. And I still do. I’ve really wanted you to be self-sufficient and independent and smart and strong.” Her eyes shone with tears. “You are. This thing—this was wrong, but I know that in general you can take care of yourself and make good decisions.”

She stood up and I did too. She put her arms around me and kissed me on both cheeks—with force, almost.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you so,” she said into my hair. Then she pulled away. “We should go to bed. The sun is coming up already. We’ll be feeling the pain tomorrow.”

“I have to report to community service,” I said.

“That’s right. What time?”

“Noon.”

“That’s not too bad,” she said, smiling. It was the first time I’d seen her smile in days, it felt like. “Well, get some sleep.”

“Good night,” I said.

Back in bed, I realized that in the midst of all that had happened, I’d never asked her what we were going to do for Thanksgiving. It was only a few weeks away. Now that she had forgiven me and things were better, I wondered if we could start planning for the holiday. It would be like clearing the slate. When I woke up, I would offer to make a pie, or some stuffing.

I had things to be thankful for now, definitely: There was my mom, there was Tre, and there was Aidan. I wasn’t alone. The thought cheered me a little as I drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I’D NEVER BEEN so excited as I was on my way to the animal shelter to report for community-service duty. Okay, maybe that was an overstatement, but I was genuinely looking forward to it—not only was I going to get out of the house and interact with other humans, and thus have a reason to shower, I was also going to play with cute animals. It was the beginning of the rest of my completely legal, totally rule-obeying life.
Bring it on
, I thought as I hopped out of the car and waved good-bye to my mom.

It was amazing how much you could crave the little things after being locked up, how much you could enjoy your freedom when you were back in the world.

The animal shelter was a 1950s brick building with columns, set off from the street and the rest of the town by its old-school architecture. I practically bounced up the stone steps that connected the sidewalk to the
entrance. I felt like I was entering a place where I was safe—a place where all the hubbub about Sly Fox didn’t matter.

Inside, I was directed beyond the front hall with its desk and little waiting area to a meeting room, where about ten people were gathered on folding metal chairs. Most of them were older, like senior-citizen older, but there were a few people in their twenties. I wondered if any of them were here for community-service requirements like I was or if they were just here out of the goodness of their hearts.

A woman in a polo shirt embroidered with the shelter logo stood at the front of the room. She was about forty or so, with short brown hair that was pulled back into a barrette. She introduced herself as Jan and told us she was the volunteer coordinator. She asked us to go around the room and introduce ourselves.

This took a few minutes, and everyone smiled at one another politely. When it was my turn, I just said my first name and prayed that no one would recognize me from the news. Maybe it was my imagination but I thought I saw two women react, exchanging a glance. So maybe the Sly Fox thing would follow me in here. I had to face facts: Unless I moved away, this would probably be happening for a while.