“It was in the paper this morning online. Andria, I’m surprised your mother let you come to school today.”
Ugh. It won’t be long before everyone knows. “I’ll be fine.”
Verla plays with the silver necklace around her neck. “My door is always open, honey. If you ever need to talk, you know I’m here. I’ll even share my chocolate.”
“I guess the paper didn’t say the name of the student accusing Craig.”
“No, they won’t be allowed to, since she’s a minor.”
But gossip gets around the school quickly, and by the time we’re seated in first block, Natalie knows. She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Kimber isn’t here today. They’re saying her family took her out of school and sent her to stay with her cousins in Florida.”
Kimber is gorgeous. And extremely talented on the soccer field. I hope she is strong enough to survive this. “I wish I’d known.”
“How could you have?” Natalie says, shocked. “None of us ever suspected this. Craig was the best soccer coach ever. Do you think maybe he just went a little crazy after Iris’s death?”
“She probably went after him,” Trista says. “That’s what Thomas is saying.” Thomas dated Kimber briefly last year. But she dumped him when she found out he was messing around with two cheerleaders.
“No, Craig is the adult and he is the one to blame.” They both look taken aback by my sudden fierceness. I don’t know if Iris’s story will have to come out, but if it will help Kimber, then I know Mom is willing to turn in the diary. Until then, I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone about Iris and Craig.
By lunchtime, more people are beginning to talk and stare, so Natalie and Trista keep me company in the library. Verla ignores us as we eat fruit snacks from the vending machine in the periodical section.
In English, we are finishing up our Antigone unit. Mr. Dawkins wants an essay arguing either Creon’s view or Antigone’s view about her brother’s death and burial. He’s giving us the period to write, but I don’t want to think about ancient Greek soap-opera drama right now. I have enough drama in present-day Athens, thank you very much.
I write poetry instead, lines that I copied from the desk in algebra. Lines from a Gary Snyder poem that Alex must have left for me.
I love the simple rhythm of the words, the smoky imagery of the Pleiades. I wonder if Alex was out running again last night. And then I wonder if he ran past my house. I think of Iris’s diary entry. “He’s too much for me to handle right now.” If he was too much then, what is he now?
He’s not in the library after school. I don’t know what he thinks about Craig’s arrest, or if he even cares. Verla hauls the last tote of poetry books up to my table.
“You guys have done a really fantastic job cataloging these books for me,” she says. “The school has decided to hold a poetry fair in here since April is Poetry Month. Sort of like a reading fair but the displays have to be about poets.”
“Sounds awesome,” I tell her. “Will the projects be for a grade or will they be extra credit?”
She shrugs. “I’m waiting to hear back from the English department on that. Of all of these poets, have you found a favorite?”
There are too many, I think, looking at the stacks of books we’ve already cataloged. I still love Sylvia Plath, but now I’m also fond of Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson.
I shrug.
Verla grins. “I know, it’s like trying to pick your favorite child.” But I don’t have kids, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t either. “Have some chocolate before you get started. Just don’t get fingerprints on the books.”
She doesn’t mention the missing Alex Hammond, and I don’t ask.
CHAPTER 18
The girls are still at practice as I leave the library. One of the PE teachers, Mrs. Coulson, is standing at the side of the field, whistle in her mouth. I’m glad Tris and Nat and the others don’t have to give up soccer because of Craig. Tris has been excited about the upcoming championship games in Macon.
Mom was waiting until evening to sneak into her office so she could get work done without a crowd, so I’m not in a hurry to go home. She’s probably been moping or making some paleo/gluten-free/bean concoction for comfort food. To me, comfort food is fried dill pickles. I hope I can talk the girls into going to the Indigo with me.
I’m not going because I want to see Alex. I swear it’s because of the pickles. And they have the best crushed ice in the drink machine. I love Diet Coke with crushed pellet ice.
Mrs. Coulson calls the girls over to the sidelines and gathers them in a huddle. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I see Trista’s stormy face. She catches my eye but doesn’t smile.
They’re talking about Craig. Waiting for them is probably a bad idea.
The huddle of girls breaks up, and Natalie runs over to me. “Hey, you doing all right?”
I nod. “I just wondered if y’all want to go get food with me. We could walk over to the Indigo Dragon. My treat.”
She grins. “I’m so hungry I don’t even want to stop for a shower. Let me grab Trista.”
Trista is starving too. The rest of the team heads for the locker room, but we start walking toward Main Street. Indigo is only a short fifteen-minute walk from the school.
“Ugh, do you have deodorant in your purse?” Trista asks Natalie as she sniffs her shirt. It’s only slightly damp.
She pulls out a stick, and they share it.
Ick. “Are you sure y’all don’t want to shower first?”
Trista laughs. “Don’t want to get my hair wet. Besides, those chicken poppers that Alex’s mom makes are the bomb of the mother-effing bay.”
Natalie rolls her eyes but grins. She stuffs the deodorant back into her bag. “I wonder what the soup of the day is.”
“Whatever,” Trista says. “It’s too hot for soup.”
But the chill on her moist skin is enough to make her change her mind when we get to the Indigo. “Oooh, I need a big bowl of black bean soup.”
The place is quiet this time of day. Alex isn’t out front. One of his moms is working the counter. I tell myself it is not disappointment I feel creeping outward from the center of my chest. I still get to eat fried dill pickles. There’s no reason in the world why I should feel disappointed.
And the ice. Can’t forget about the awesome ice they have here.
We give Mrs. Hammond our orders, and I pay with my debit card. Mom says to only use it in emergencies and she monitors my account, but I think today qualifies as a Category 5 shit storm. A basket of fried dill pickles with Cajun ranch dipping sauce and a giant Diet Coke. I add two orders of banana pudding to share at home with Mom. She needs real comfort food too.
As we sit down in a booth by the window, Tris and Nat across from me, a few more girls from the soccer team walk in. Erin, freshly showered and looking perfect, waves as she and the others go up to the counter to order.
Natalie frowns and is suddenly very interested in her chili cheese fries.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. I need to hear some normal high school drama. Anything to take my mind off my own family’s disaster.
“Caleb,” Trista mutters, stealing one of Nat’s fries. She is still waiting for her burger to come out.
I glance back at Erin and the other girls at the counter. A few of them are glaring at us and whispering. “Is he still seeing her?” I ask.
Nat’s face is suddenly pale, her eyes a little too bright.
“What did he do?” I ask Trista.
She shrugs as Erin and Melissa walk over to our booth. “It’s such a shame about Mr. Craig,” Melissa says.
“Do you think Kimber is going to get in trouble?” Erin asks. “I mean, she practically threw herself at him after last week’s game.”
“What evidence do they have?” Natalie asks me. The entire girls’ varsity soccer team stares at me expectantly.
I shrug. “The cops said a parent had filed a complaint. And they came and took Craig’s
computer.”
“What was on his computer?” Erin asks, wide-eyed.
“No clue.”
“Seriously?” Melissa’s glare does not intimidate me. Instead it pisses me off.
“Seriously. I have no idea if there’s Candy Crush or child pornography on his computer. I have no idea what my stepdad does in his spare time. Besides coach girls’ soccer and watch old James Bond movies.”
Everyone is silent. I feel the wall between me and them growing thicker. I never was a part of their group. And now with Iris gone and—with any luck—the soccer coach of the year gone, I never will be.
Which doesn’t bother me. Not too much.
I try to slide out of the booth, poking Trista. “Let me out,” I whisper.
But she doesn’t. “Y’all need to back the fuck off. Whether Craig is guilty or not, it’s not Andria’s fault. We all worshipped Craig. Can you imagine how hard this must be for her? For her mom?”
The tense dramatic moment is destroyed by Alex sliding a plate with an enormous hamburger and french fries across the table toward us. He doesn’t look at me, but glances at Trista instead. “The banana pudding will be here shortly.”
“Thanks. Can you bring me some ketchup?” she calls. He’s already halfway back to the kitchen.
Without another word, he disappears in the kitchen then comes back out with a bottle of Heinz. This time, he does look at me. But his eyes look sad. Full of pity.
Trista nudges me. “You haven’t even touched your pickles. Pickles are supposed to make everything better.” She steals one and dunks it in my Cajun ranch dressing.
“Tell your mom we’re thinking about her,” Erin says, as she and Melissa take their to-go orders and head out.
Natalie is frowning, lost in thought.
“Hey,” I say, leaning over. “What is going on?”
“Caleb called me last night, apologizing for the way he’s been acting. I thought he wanted to get back together. He said he was just hanging out with Erin because I told him I didn’t want to see him. But I don’t know if Erin really likes him or not. I don’t want to lose her friendship over him. I don’t know if he’s really worth it, you know?”
My heart hurts for Natalie. She deserves someone who worships the ground she walks on. “Does she know about Caleb’s history with you?”
Nat shrugs. “If she knows that he called me last night, she certainly doesn’t act like it’s bothering her.”
“Should we tell her?” I ask. “If he’s stringing both of you along, he needs an ass-kicking.”
Trista snorts. But before we can plot any kicking of Caleb’s ass, the door opens and the devil himself walks in, accompanied by his shadow.
“PLUTO!” Caleb shouts across the café. Hank is slinking in behind him, both boys looking particularly moody.
Alex pokes his head out from the kitchen. “Find a seat, guys. I’ll be right there.”
Trista waves them over to our booth. Of course. Caleb sees Nat and brightens up. He tries to sit down next to her, but she slides away from him.
“I’ve been trying to call you,” he says, oblivious to the wrath he has incurred.
Trista and Hank are oblivious to everything but each other’s tongues.
“Ready to leave?” I ask Nat.
“But we just got here,” Caleb says, stealing one of Nat’s chili cheese fries.
She pulls her plate out of his reach. “You should leave, Caleb.”
I stare across the table at her in shock. Natalie is usually quiet in her stubbornness. I’ve never heard her stand up to a boy before.
Caleb nudges her, just as shocked that she’s saying no to him. “Come on, baby. I thought we were past all of that. I said I was sorry.”
Trista pulls on Hank, and they move to another booth, leaving me as the lone, awkward witness to this conversation. I think about excusing myself to go to the bathroom, but Natalie looks up at me, her puppy-dog eyes pleading. I stay, and tear the napkin in my lap into tiny shreds.
“What did you tell Erin?” she asks him.
“What are you talking about?” He tries to grab her hand, but she moves it away. “I told you she meant nothing to me.”
“But do you know what you mean to her? Did you tell her you wanted to get back together with me?”
He puts one arm across the back of the booth and tries to nuzzle the side of Natalie’s neck. “I don’t care about her, Natalie.”
“She deserves better, Caleb. And I’m beginning to think I deserve better, too.” She pushes him out of her way and slides out of the booth. She narrowly misses running into Alex, who’s carrying a tray of drinks. With a huff, she storms off to the bathroom.
Caleb looks at me sheepishly and shrugs. “Is it that time of the month?”
“Here,” Alex says, setting a root beer down for Caleb. He knows his friends well. “Is Natalie all right?” he asks me.
Caleb leans his arms back and stretches. “Forget about her, man. I need some food.”
I roll my eyes and slide out around Alex. “Excuse me.”
He takes a step back, but not far enough back for my comfort. I smell Mexican spices and chocolate on him. I want to ask if he’s been baking, but I don’t want him to think I’m flirting with him. I’m not.
I have to check on Natalie. She needs me right now. I can hear Alex across the café as I push the bathroom door open. “All right, dick. What do you want to eat?” he asks Caleb.
I’m giggling when I push open the bathroom door.
Natalie stands over the sink, glaring at me in the mirror.
“Alex just called Caleb a dick.”
She doesn’t smile.
“I really do deserve better, don’t I?” she asks, her hand on her hip. “Caleb’s birthday, I baked him a whole batch of Mom’s Death By Chocolate cupcakes and got him tickets to see Mogwai. Know what he did for my birthday?”
I shake my head.
“He spent the whole evening playing video games with my little brother and Hank.”
“He didn’t take you out?”
“He brought over a bag of Doritos, handed it to me with a ‘happy birthday, babe,’ and then opened the bag up himself.”
“He really is a dick,” I say. “When we get to college, we’ll find smart, affectionate, polite boys. Maybe even a foreign student with a sexy accent.”
Natalie still doesn’t smile. “That’s over a year away. And there are no good ones left at Athens High.”
“I know,” I say, sighing as I lean back against the wall. “And none worth fixing up.”
She stares at me in the mirror. “Not even Alex?”
I feel my cheeks grow hot. “What do you mean, not even Alex?” I don’t know if I could handle Alex moving on with Natalie. They . . . they wouldn’t be right for each other.
“You two have been spending an awful lot of time together lately. And it’s been six months now. Don’t you think it’s time he started dating again?”
A knife twists in my chest. A stupid knife that shouldn’t even be there. “Do you like him?”
Natalie’s eyes grow wide. “Me? God, no, you doofus. I meant you should go out with him!”
“That would be too weird,” I say, ignoring the relief I feel in my chest. “And didn’t you say he’s still not over Iris?”
She shrugs. “Maybe you could be the one to fix him.”
“I’m not that handy.”
Natalie’s eyes grow soft. “Andria, sometimes I think you’re broken, too. Iris’s death was harder on you than anyone else. What if you can fix each other? What if your demons can fight his demons?”
“What if his demons defeat mine? Then what would happen to me?” Maybe that’s what scares me the most. Losing what I have left of Iris. Even if it’s only the pain of missing her.
Natalie sighs as she turns back to the mirror and plays with her hair. “Okay, I’m going back out there. I have a psych paper that needs an outline and I brought my notes.”
“I’m going to
walk home.”
“You don’t want to call your mom?”
I shake my head. “She wanted to wait until this evening to go in to her office and work, when she wouldn’t have to deal with a lot of people. I’ll be fine.”
“This has got to suck for her.” Natalie frowns.
“I think she’s in shock. But she’s tough. Look how she dealt with Iris’s death. She’ll be okay.” I hope.
“Let me know if I can do anything.” She moves to give me a hug, but I turn and push the door open before she can reach me. The last time any of my friends hugged me, it was at Iris’s funeral. I’m done reminiscing for the day.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say over my shoulder and hurry back to our booth to grab my things.
Caleb is gone, and Trista and Hank are sharing a basket of chicken poppers. Hank smiles, and I am astonished when I see the affection in his eyes when he looks at her. When he’s sober, he really is in love with Trista. And it makes me happy for her.
I do not search for Alex. I get my book bag and tell Trista and Hank good-bye.
“Is Nat okay?”
“She’ll be out in a second,” I tell them. “Just keep Caleb away from her and she’ll be fine.”
Trista gives Hank’s hand a quick squeeze and slides out of the booth. “Let me go check on her.”
I turn to leave, and my book bag accidentally bumps Alex, who has snuck up behind me with two bowls of soup.
“Watch out!” he says, a split second before black bean soup sloshes all over me. “Dammit, I’m sorry.”
I jump back, but the soup is already soaking through the sleeve of my hoodie. I pull it off before I get third-degree burns. The shirt I’m wearing underneath is safe. Mostly. But there’s a giant wet spot across my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m the one who wasn’t paying attention.”
He doesn’t look injured. “Let me take these back to the kitchen and get you cleaned up. Follow me.”
Trista is already dabbing me with paper napkins. Ineffective, but I appreciate her effort.
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” I say. Fortunately, I caught most of the soup and there’s little spilled on the floor. I grab another napkin and wipe up the drops.
“Come on,” Alex says, gently pulling me by the arm. “Into the back with you, where there’s a spare T-shirt you can borrow.”