Chapter Five
Christine was a planner. To prepare for Halloween every year, she devoted the month of September to making a Pinterest page for costume and makeup ideas, she spent one weekend mapping preferred and alternate trick-or-treat routes for Ben (marking houses to avoid, houses of notable decoration and houses that give big candy), another weekend for sketching jack-o’-lantern designs. She had already saved in Evernote 37 potential scholarship options. And she kept a desktop planner and sketchbook in her study nook at home, plus another sketchbook in her backpack for use at school and on the go. The sketchbooks were filled and replaced about once every six weeks. Sometimes Christine used her iPad Mini for notes and sketches, but using a pencil and paper seemed to help her think better.
Late Wednesday night she used the iPad, though, since it was almost midnight and her mom would be worried if she came out into the dark hallway to check whether the doors were locked, the windows shut and the garage closed and in the process spied any light spilling from beneath Christine’s door. The iPad could be set to a very dim brightness setting, and the touch of her finger on its display made no sound that could be heard beyond the walls of her bedroom.
Christine was making a Plan. It was a preliminary one yet nonetheless a Plan with a capital P, for she was on the verge of taking action to get to the bottom of what her dad was up to. Whatever it was, she was going to find out. She’d uncover as much evidence as she could and then she’d confront him. Stick his nose in it. Make him squirm. The thought of this made her feel as though charged with an electrical current. On the one hand, she was a “good girl,” and wanting to make anyone squirm did not befit a good girl. This made her wonder whether she was sliding down a slippery slope, changing the essence of her self, losing it. On the other hand, her dad was having an affair, which meant he was willing to risk his family, to lose everything, Mom, Ben and Christine, for what? – some other woman? What a joke! He had changed. And since he had changed, the family had changed, too. And Christine was part of the family. She was bound to change. She was along for the ride, and there was no stopping this roller coaster. The only question that remained was who she would end up being. Of that little detail Christine wanted to maintain control.
Maintaining control meant becoming a detective. It also meant not playing her hand too soon. Sure, she could confront her father now. Tell him about how she got his accidental text and figured something was up, how she watched him and Coach Alexis meeting by the dumpster behind the gym, how she read the email from her so-called coach asking to “do it again” and demanding “no more talk about your wife” (as if she could pull her father’s strings and make him dance like a pathetic puppet). If Christine did this, if she told her dad now, he might figure out some way to deny it all, and cover up the evidence. Maybe he’d delete emails and texts, talk to Coach Alexis – no, she couldn’t call her coach anymore; she’d call her the Axe, because the woman was an axe splitting her family apart – and they’d agree on some tall tale that they’d tell anyone who’d start asking questions.
Forget that.
So, the Plan. Inspired by Peter’s simple approach to detective work and by Joanie’s – er, Dr. Watson’s – words of advice, Christine had decided that the key to her success in the role of Sherlock was to snoop by moving around with a purpose, by looking like she was on an errand someone had assigned to her. What errand could she do at the gym? Chalk. She could be out looking for the Axe’s premium chalk supply to replenish the chalk in the chalk bowl. Well, if Christine secretly dumped the chalk out of the bowl and looked for some more in the office, that might be believable, right? She could say that someone had mentioned that there was some more in the office.
Thursday after school, at gymnastics she did some stretching and warmups and then she went to the bathroom to psyche herself up. She needed to focus. Ironically, the Axe had taught her a few focusing techniques that had really helped. Time to use them against her. First she visualized success. She pictured where she would go, how she would open the door to the office, how she would hold her head, the expression on her face, the way she would open drawers, the innocent look she’d give if anyone questioned her. Next she inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. Inhale, exhale. Cleansing breaths that brought plenty of oxygen to her brain and muscles. Finally she shook her body to loosen up, one leg at a time, then both arms, her hands, and then she rolled her neck this way and that. She rubbed her hands together. Looked in the mirror. Put her game face on.
“Let’s do this thing,” Christine said to her reflection.
She didn’t do it exactly the way Peter had taught her and Joanie. She wasn’t a janitor, after all. A janitor should keep his head down. But a gymnast looking for chalk shouldn’t. So she’d kept her head up and moved with a purpose, repeating to herself, I’m looking for chalk, I really need that chalk, where’s that chalk. This way, she hoped, her entire body would reflect the tiniest authentic details of a girl on a chalk-finding mission.
The first sign that things were going well was that when she sauntered past the drinking fountain, two girls there, Dina and Melody, only said, “Hey.” If Christine had looked suspicious or even just different in some way, Dina at least would have made some snide comment like, “What up, Golden Girl!” Just because Dina was the sort to sniff out anything unusual and make sure everyone else sniffed it too.
Standing outside the Axe’s office, an empty chalk bag in hand in order to look more believable, she lost her composure for just an instant when her eye caught the nameplate beside the door: Alexis Winger. The full name, which she didn’t usually hear since pretty much everyone called her Coach Alexis – or the Axe now, for Christine – seemed so official. Briefly Christine thought, “I’m breaking and entering.” That wasn’t true. She was just entering. But it seemed just as bad. “No, don’t think,” she thought. And then, “I need that chalk, where is that chalk?”
Just as she felt herself slipping back into the here and now, out of the grasp of her doubts, and she placed her hand on the doorknob, Christine noticed someone approaching down the short hallway that ran from the gym to the offices. It was a custodian. She didn’t know his name because he didn’t where a name tag and since he was quieter than Peter she never talked to him other than to say hello.
“Hello,” she said.
“Can I help you?” he said. His English was perfect, though he did have an accent. Latino, Christine thought.
“Nope. Just looking for some chalk.” And she thought, “You need that chalk, it must be in this office, get the chalk.” She gave the custodian a small smile, opened the door and without hesitation crossed to the Axe’s desk. She thought of closing the door behind her but that would be hard to explain. Why would she need to close the door on an innocent errand run? Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the custodian move along. Once he was gone, she allowed herself a quick sigh. Good. A second success. She wasn’t home free yet, but so far so good. She didn’t quite feel like a detective. She did feel special, though. Like she was trying on a new high-tech lighter-weight skin and her eyes had been popped out and upgraded with the latest model. Different. In a good way.
She took hold of the middle desk drawer handle. Lifted up gently. Gave a slow pull. Succeeded in opening the drawer without a squeak. She didn’t know what she was looking for. Papers, letters, email printouts, maybe. Anything out of the ordinary. In this drawer were only office supplies. She tried another, found a stash of business cards. Flipped through the top ones. Most were from what she assumed were parents. One was from a cleaning services place. A couple were from gymnastics equipment reps. One was from the University of Idaho: Kerry Anderson, Student Athletics. A scout probably; maybe the one coming on Saturday. A cell number was scrawled on the back side: 419-0912. She memorized it, just in case.
In the next drawer were a bunch of files. Invoices mostly. Finances and such. Christine riffled through these until she found one file labeled SAVE. Interesting. She opened it. It was filled wi
th loose leaf sheets and computer printouts that contained some kind of shorthand. Each page had a small table or two with rows of numbers and some initials. For example:
E.R. 1910013 5000515 10000522 10000529
These could be incriminating. She couldn’t just take them. Not now. She’d need a backpack or something to hide them in. She’d have to think about it, maybe come back later, bring them to the bathroom stall, snap photos with her phone. In the meantime she’d just memorize this one string of numbers and try to puzzle it out later.
That was when the Axe appeared, silently.
“There’s no chalk in that file,” she said, her voice low and threatening.
“Sorry,” Christine said, her voice breaking. She closed the file, put it back, closed the drawer. Chalk, chalk, chalk. “The janitor must have told you. Sorry about the file. Curiosity killed the cat.” She forced a laugh. “No, I’m just like that. My mom always says, ‘Christine, just get to work. Stop dawdling.’ Coach Jill said you kept some here. I need the good kind. You have some, right?”
“Listen, Christine.” Her voice was taut with the force of repressed anger. “You are never to come in here or to any place except for the gym, the locker room and the bathrooms unless you have been invited and escorted. Clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We have a strict behavior policy at the academy. I am going to call this a warning. There won’t be another. I would hate for you to miss the meet on Saturday. It is very important, as you know. I am expecting you to impress the scout. If you don’t compete, you can’t impress.”
Christine felt a bit dizzy. She couldn’t miss the meet. The scout had the power to recommend a girl for a scholarship. Christine could get a full ride. It would save her from student loans that could saddle her for decades, would save her parents from debt and worry, would give her the option to not hold down a full-time job every summer and throughout college.
“I understand,” she said.
“Good. Now let’s find you that chalk,” the Axe said, snatching the chalk bag that Christine had set down on her desk.
In the gym, she led Christine to a stash of chalk kept in an unlocked locker. Christine pretended to be surprised it was there. A handful of girls, Dina and Melody included, looked on. They could tell that something was going on. Christine no longer had the demeanor of a girl on a mission. She looked more like a dog who had been caught stealing food off of the dinner table.
Not wanting to stand any closer than was necessary to the woman who was ruining her family, Christine kept a few feet back while the Axe filled her chalk bag for her.
“Catch,” she said, and tossed the bag.
Christine caught it. The chalk exploded from the top of the bag. A mushroom cloud of white dust enveloped her. A good amount went right up her nose as in the moment of surprise she inhaled without thinking. She coughed and hacked. She felt herself spilling the rest of the chalk down her front side. Her eyes teared up from the dust cloud. She heard peals of laughter from the onlooking girls, Dina laughing loudest.
“Oh, poor thing,” Dina cooed. “You dropped your chalk. Can I get you some more?”
Christine was crying now, tears of humiliation to add to her tears of pain. But she focused on the numbers still rattling around in the back of her brain. 419-0912. 1910013 5000515 10000522 10000529. They might come in handy yet. She couldn’t control the awful embarrassment of this moment, but she was determined to control what she could.