The v Club

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  next to them as the other guys settled into place around him.

  "Yeah, I did," Riley said, looking amused.

  Scot let out a snorting laugh and glanced at his friends, who all laughed in suit. The sun reflected off his close-shaven head. "Don't you have to be el virgino to apply for that thing?"

  "That's what the requirements say, Scot," Riley replied. "Why? You thinking of throwing your name in?"

  "Dude, please. I'm no virgin," he said. "Just ask Melissa." Scot waggled his eyebrows repulsively. "She'll tell you how it is. The Gibber can do it all night lo-ong." Scot did a weird slow-motion thrusting dance and then high-fived one of his little gang. "Yeah, I'll get right on that. Thanks," Riley said coolly before returning his attention to Eva.

  "You do that, Boy Scout," Scot teased, earning another round of laughter from his followers. "See ya later, Marx."

  The guys loped away, their red-and-gray varsity jackets blending together. None of them had even glanced in Eva's direction. Riley shook his head.

  "Like I said, there are some intelligent people in this school, but not many," he joked.

  Eva nodded.

  "So, I'll see you tomorrow, after school, at 4-H," he said, backing up a few steps.

  "Okay," Eva said.

  "Awesome. Thanks, Eva!"

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  Eva stood there dumbfounded, watching as Riley jogged away.

  Mandy ran her laps along the wall of the gym next to Kai, trying to think of a way to phrase the question she wanted to ask without sounding like the prim and proper priss she was widely acknowledged to be. Part of her wanted to just let it go, but a much larger part was dying of curiosity. She looked up at her friend's focused expression and opened her mouth to speak.

  Of course Coach Davis picked that exact moment to blow her whistle.

  "Okay, ladies, let's pair off and do some bumping drills," she called across the gym as the volleyball team lumbered to a stop, their sneakers squeaking and squealing on the polished hardwood floor. "I don't want to see any more wild passes like we had at the last game."

  Mandy jogged over to the ball bin, grabbed one, and rejoined Kai, who had snagged a spot at the far corner of the gym. She bent at the waist and hung her arms down, watching the ball and waiting as Mandy bumped it to her.

  "Thank God that Simon didn't answer your question about the purity thing," Mandy said. "I really don't think I want to hear a detailed description of what my guidance counselor considers to be impure."

  "Oh, please. The guy's probably a closet porn freak," Kai replied. "He probably sits alone every night and--"

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  "Ew, Kai! Make me vomit!" Mandy said, missing the ball completely as it hurtled past her shoulder.

  "But come on, can't you totally picture it?" Kai called as she ran to retrieve the ball.

  "Okay. I'm totally going to have nightmares tonight," Mandy said, covering her eyes. "Thanks a lot, Kai."

  "I do what I can." Kai grinned.

  "So," Mandy said, fielding the pass when Kai served the ball to her, "what made you ask him?" Casual enough. Just making conversation.

  Kai narrowed her eyes as the ball arced toward her and bumped it expertly back. "Just curious," she said. "Aren't you?"

  "Yeah, sure," Mandy replied, shrugging as she hit the ball. Her heart started to flutter nervously. Or maybe it was just normalizing after the thirty laps. "I just mean . . . you're not. . . concerned about it or anything, are you?"

  "Nope," Kai said before slamming the ball back with a direct trajectory toward Mandy's head.

  Mandy raised her arms and blocked the ball just seconds before it would have rearranged her nose. Her wrists stung and the ball bounced back toward Kai, who stopped it with her foot and then kicked it up to her hands.

  "Sorry," Kai said nonchalantly. "Your pass was too high."

  "Right. No problem," Mandy said. But she knew her pass had been fine.

  O-kay, clearly this is not a good topic for Kai, Mandy

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  thought as they started to volley again. But that didn't seem fair. Her own sex life was an open forum whenever she and her friends got together. Why couldn't she ask one little innocent question without Kai trying to knock her on the head?

  "So, listen, you know that if there's ever anything . . . you know . . . that you want to talk about. . . ," Kai said.

  Mandy flushed slightly. "Oh, yeah. I know. Thanks."

  "Do you know who you're going to ask for recommendations yet?" Kai asked.

  "Not sure," Mandy replied, relieved. "Maybe Ms. Russo, maybe Davis, I don't know. You?"

  "No idea. But you shouldn't have any problem getting them," Kai said, popping the ball back to Mandy. "You're, like, universally worshiped around here."

  Mandy smiled and bumped the ball back, her negative feelings erased. Kai had been nothing but supportive when her friends had found out she was going to apply for the Treemont scholarship--she was the one person who hadn't looked shocked or suspicious. The least she could do was grant Kai the same favor and not pry into her personal life.

  No matter how weird she was acting.

  Kai tossed her purple-and-blue volleyball up and down as she cut across her front lawn toward the mailbox. Practice had just ended, and she was feeling good and loose and definitely ready for a shower. Mandy's little

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  inquiry at the beginning of drills had pissed her off, but she'd taken it out on the volleyball court for two hours and now she was feeling much better.

  It wasn't that Kai didn't want to confide in Mandy. After being bumped all over the world her entire life, Kai was a pretty good judge of character. And of all the friends Kai had made in all the places she'd lived over the last few years, Mandy was definitely one of the most trustworthy and open-minded. It was just that Kai didn't like to divulge much to new people, since she never knew how long she was actually going to know them. The idea of leaving a string of acquaintances with intimate knowledge of her personal life scattered across the greater USA was pretty creepy, actually.

  But Kai forgot about all of this as soon as she opened the mailbox and saw that it was crammed full of thick packages. "Yes!" she whispered under her breath. She dropped her volleyball on the grass, jimmied the stack of white and brown envelopes out, and cradled them in her arms so she could flip through them.

  "Cornell . . . Michigan . . . Colorado . . . Stanford . . . Miami . . . UCLA ..." She slapped the packages together and jogged inside, her duffel bag whacking against her thigh. She couldn't wait to tear into this latest horde of application materials. While the rest of her class seemed stressed beyond belief about filling out their college apps, Kai couldn't wait to get started. Just the idea of going somewhere that would definitely be

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  home for four whole years in a row made her kind of giddy.

  Kai bounded into the house and hurled everything onto the island in the center of the kitchen. The applications fanned out and knocked over a box of cereal that was still sitting there from that morning. She grabbed a bottle of raspberry iced tea out of the fridge and popped it open.

  "Kai!" her mother called out, walking into the kitchen with Kai's baby brother, Yukio, cradled in her arms. She paused in the middle of the kitchen, clucked her tongue, and shook her head. "You leave the kitchen a mess in the morning, and you come home in the afternoon and make it even more of a mess."

  Kai put down her iced tea and gathered Yukio from her mother's arms, smothering him with kisses. Yukio squirmed and giggled and pressed his pudgy palm against her face.

  "More applications?" Kai's mother asked, gathering the envelopes into a neat pile. "How many schools do you plan to apply to?"

  "At least fifteen or twenty, Ma," Kai said, scrunching up her nose and rubbing it against Yukio's. "You guys always said I should keep my options open."

  "Yes, but it costs so much money just to apply," Kai's mother said, pulling the wooden clip out of her bun and letting her long hair
tumble down her back. "We are not made of money, Kai."

  "Oh, so that explains why the maid hasn't been here yet today!" Kai joked. Her mother was a photographer and her

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  father was a lawyer who had moved them across the country, landing them in this state or that to help the helpless before moving on to someplace new. It had never been a secret that the 'rents weren't exactly down with financial planning. As far as Kai knew, they didn't even have a savings account.

  "Well, have you been looking into scholarships? Loans?" her mother asked.

  "As a matter of fact, I'm applying for this big scholarship at school," she said, putting down her bottle again and rubbing at a sudden knot in her shoulder.

  "Good," her mother said with a nod. "It's never too early to plan."

  Kai leveled her mother with the patented wry Kai stare. "This from a woman who never has a job in place before moving to a new town and doesn't own a calendar. Do you even know the order of the months?"

  "Very funny. But we're not talking about me. We're talking about you," her mother replied.

  "Okay! Okay! Don't get all parental on me now," Kai said, handing Yukio back to her. She and her parents often acted more like friends than parents and child. But lately, ever since Yukio had been born, they'd been asking questions they'd never asked before, like when she would be home, who she was going out with, when her report card was coming. It was like welcoming the new baby had awakened some long-dormant protective hormones in them. And Kai wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

  The front door opened and closed, and Kai looked at

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  her mother. It was a bit early for her dad to be home, and when she saw the excited expression on her mom's face, she instantly knew something was up.

  "Huroyo? Kai?" her father called out.

  "In here!" her mother said giddily.

  Her father stepped into the doorway. As always, the blond tuft of his hair was sticking straight up, and his glasses were resting atop his forehead like a headband. He grinned at Kai as if he was about to present her with a lifetime supply of Oreos.

  Kai's stomach clenched. Oh, no. I hope this isn't what I think it is. Please don't let us be moving again.

  "Kai." Her father smiled mysteriously.

  Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.

  "Kai, you remember Andres, don't you?"

  Kai blinked. Once. Twice.

  There he was--Andres Cortez. Andres Cortez of Toledo, Spain, with his sun-darkened skin and his long black hair and that cleft in the center of his chin, standing in the middle of her house in Ardsmore, Pennsylvania, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  "Surprise!" Kai's mother and father called out.

  Kai's jaw dropped open. And she froze.

  "Hello, Kai," Andres said, stepping forward and taking her hands in his. He leaned in and kissed the side of her face, sending a thrill of excitement down the entire left side of her body--a reaction that made her sick with herself. "How wonderful it is to see you."

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  "What are you doing here?" Kai said, barely able to speak.

  "Andres is going to be staying with us for a while," her father explained, walking up and laying his arm companionably over Andres's shoulders. Kai cringed.

  "I have to go shower!" she announced. Then she turned abruptly and ran for her basement bedroom. Maybe her parents' protective instincts hadn't been honed quite enough yet--otherwise they never would've brought this guy home.

  Mandy parked her car next to her father's BMW. She wondered if this was a bad sign or a good sign. Her father almost never made it home before dinner, let alone before she got home from practice.

  He probably just wants to spend some extra time with Mom and me because of all the stuff that's going on, she told herself. Stop being so pessimistic! Mandy jumped out of the car and ran inside. She was going to shower, change, and head over to Eric's to have some pizza and "study." And maybe, if everything felt right, she would tell him about her decision about her birthday.

  Screw Mrs. Treemont and her scholarship. They're never going to find out anyway, she thought as she opened the front door. I am a sexual being! I cannot be denied!

  Mandy was giggling to herself when she heard something that made her stomach turn. There was yelling coming from inside the house, her father's baritone

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  coming through clenched teeth, her mother's voice high-pitched and on the verge of losing it.

  "When were you going to tell me about this? On my first trip to the ... ?"

  Leaving the door open, Mandy took a tentative step into the parlor so she could hear more clearly.

  "Now, Shirley, no need to be dramatic," her father replied. "Don't you think I feel bad enough that you and Mandy have to go through this?"

  Mandy's heart pounded double time in her chest. She took another few steps across the parlor, feeling like she'd regressed to the seventh grade--probably the last time she'd heard her parents fight. A sudden door slam made her jump.

  "Don't you walk away from me, Charles!" Her mother's voice came more clearly this time. Her parents had entered the sunroom just off the parlor. Mandy instinctively ducked next to the door so they wouldn't see her.

  "How can you be so blase about this?" her mother demanded. "You tell me I'm going to be dragged in for questioning and--"

  "You're not going to be dragged anywhere," Mandy's father replied. "Calm down."

  "I will not calm down! What's next!? Are they going to want to question Mandy?" her mother shouted. "Are they going to make her explain every bottle of nail polish she's ever bought? How could you do this to us?"

  Mandy swallowed against a dry throat, her mind reeling.

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  How could you do this to us? That didn't sound like the type of thing you said to a person who was innocent. But no, they're just fighting, Mandy told herself. Everyone says stuff they don't mean when they fight.

  "Charles--"

  "I'm done with this conversation, Shirley," her father said.

  "But I--"

  "No more!" he roared. "Not tonight!"

  Mandy could hear them coming in her direction. She rushed back to the foyer on the toes of her sneakers and slammed the front door so that they would think she'd just arrived--that she hadn't heard a thing. Moments later both her parents entered the foyer, carefree smiles plastered on their faces. The only evidence that anything had transpired was the pallid quality of her mother's skin.

  "Hi, pumpkin!" her father said, wrapping her up in a bear hug. "How was your day?"

  "Fine," Mandy managed to say. This is too weird.

  "Did you get back that history paper?" her mother asked brightly.

  History paper? Is she kidding?

  "I got it back yesterday, actually," Mandy said. "I got an A."

  "Oh, that's wonderful, sweetheart. You were so stressed about that!"

  "I think we should celebrate," her father said, his arm

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  wrapped around her shoulders like a vise. "Ice cream for dinner, Shirley?"

  Her mother laughed lightly and Mandy just wanted to scream. What the hell are they doing?

  "Actually, I promised Eric I'd go over there for pizza tonight," Mandy told them. "We're gonna study for calculus."

  "Well, then, we'll celebrate another time," her father said, his smile never faltering. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "I'm very proud of you, Mandy."

  "Thanks," she replied.

  It wasn't until she was halfway up the stairs that she remembered her promise to tell her dad she loved him the next time she saw him. She almost went back down again, but the very idea made her cringe.

  For now, all she wanted to do was escape.

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  Chapter 5

  Debbie leaned back from her sewing machine, looking over the seam she'd just finished off. She tugged at the silky fabric and smiled. Her father was going to love this traditional sherwani suit. He would wear i
t to her cousin's wedding next month, and everyone would ask if he'd bought it when he went to India last summer, and he would smile proudly and say, "No. My daughter made it with her own two hands. She is very talented." There was a sharp rap on her door and Debbie had just enough time to shove her work in progress into her hamper before her father walked in.

  "Mail call!" he said, dropping a couple of envelopes on her bed. Debbie's breath caught in her throat and she had to concentrate to keep from lunging across the room. There was something fat and white in the pile. Could it be?

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  "Deborah . . . sewing? Again?" His already lined face sprouted even more wrinkles. "Did I tell you Bob Schneider got you a list of topics to study for the Math and Science competition? He's on the advisory board for the competition, you know."

  "I know, Dad," Debbie said. Her father acted like having a friend who worked in the chemistry department at Penn State was as noteworthy as being butt buddies with J.Lo.

  "Debbie, watch your tone," her mother scolded, bustling in with a clean load of laundry.

  "Sorry," Debbie replied.

  "I'll go and get the list," her father said, shuffling out.

  "Super," Debbie said under her breath.

  Ugh. Another math and science talk with Dad. They were her two least favorite subjects, and in a wacky twist of fate, they were also her two best subjects. Back in middle school, Debbie had loved math and science, and she and her father, a physics professor at Lock Haven University, had bonded over the shared interest. But in the past few years she'd become bored with proofs and equations and theorems and hypotheses. Now whenever her father brought it up, all it did was remind her of how far apart they'd grown and how he didn't understand her at all anymore. How he didn't even try. "I looked over the paperwork for the Treemont scholarship," Debbie's mother said.

  "Oh, yeah?" Debbie tried to be nonchalant.

  "Yes. But you won't need it if you win the Math and

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  Science scholarship," her mother said as she sorted the laundry into piles on Debbie's bed.

  "Yeah, but if I win the Treemont, I don't have to go to Penn State. I can go wherever I want."