So Not Happening (2009)

by Jenny B. Jones

  With legs that seem to move of their own volition, I retrace my steps back toward the stands.

  Kelsey Anderson. The girl who was at FCA, the one who dated Zach Epps.

  My heart pounding with dread, I continue up the steel stairs and walk toward the girl who sits alone, staring out onto the field like it holds her captive, transfixed. Her pale, haunted face tugs at my conscience. “He might he calling you to a Mary moment...” No, I totally don't want to talk to her. She's all spacey and weird. I don't even know her!

  I stop a few feet beside Kelsey. Clearing my throat, I rest my hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Kelsey.”

  She jumps. But says nothing.

  “I, um, just wondered if you noticed the game was over.” Oh my gosh. I need a script. Why do I say these dumb things? “I mean, of course you know the game's over since you're all alone out here and all, oh, but not that anything's wrong with being alone. I like to be alone sometimes too. Well, maybe not as alone as I have been in Truman, but in Manhattan I liked nothing better than to be by myself and with some Ben and Jerry's and—”

  “Zach would've done anything to have been here tonight.” Her fragile voice stops me like a shotgun blast. “He would've done anything for the team.”

  I take that as an invitation to sit down. “So Zach . . . was he a good player?”

  She slowly nods her head. “One of the best. He wanted to go pro.” Her lips curve at some memory. “Coach told him he had it in him too.”

  “And which coach would that be?”

  “All of them. They knew Zach was really gonna be something. He was their hope for state. Their star quarterback.” Kelsey lapses into silence again.

  “Is there someone I can call for you? Do you have some friends you could hang out with tonight?” I can't just leave her here alone.

  She shakes her head. “They've kind of moved on, you know?” Her hollow brown eyes finally meet mine. “I know I'm different—I'm not the same. They want to go to parties and shop and laugh. They care about clothes and boys.”

  Maybe you could introduce me to them?

  “But when the person you love the most in the world lies in a nursing home and dies a little every day, none of those things matter.”

  “No, I don't guess they would.” My words sound flat and useless. “Hey . . . um, Kelsey, you mentioned that Zach went to a party the night of the accident. What do you know about that?”

  She shrugs and returns her stare to the field. “Just another party with the football guys. Usually he got an invitation for me, but not the last few times he went. Not that night.”

  And he always had a ticket, an invitation, to get in?”

  She nods. “They would always pick us up somewhere then blindfold us. It was fun at the time. Mysterious.”

  “Did Zach ever figure out who threw the parties?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Kelsey, was anyone with Zach when he crashed?”

  “No, but I should've been.”

  My hand covers hers. “You can't think that.”

  She sniffs. “We had gotten into this huge fight. I thought he was cheating on me, going to the parties by himself, without me. When I'd press him for details, he wouldn't say a word. Just got mad and said I didn't trust him.” Tears spill down her cheeks. “Maybe if I had trusted him, he would've let me go to the last parties with him. Maybe I could've saved him.”

  “Did anyone see the crash? If it was on the night of the party, where were his friends?”

  “I have to go.” She draws the blanket around her. “I want to go tell Zach about the game tonight.”

  “Kelsey—“ I stand up with her. “Don't you think there are some things that don't add up here?”

  She lifts a shoulder and walks past me. “That's life though, isn't it? Bad things happen—things don't make sense. Like Carson Penturf.”

  “Wait—who's that?”

  “Carson played center. Until last fall.”

  “And then?”

  “Then he stepped off a cliff and broke his neck.”

  “The guy who killed himself last year, right?”

  She lifts a thin brow. “That's what they said. I have to go. Visiting hours will be over soon.”

  “Wait, I just have a few more questions.”

  “They don't like questions around here, Bella. They'll just call you crazy like they did me. Besides, you can't argue with a police report. Or the football team.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  “I have to go.”

  And she runs away on toothpick legs, her blanket flying behind her like one of Robbie's capes.

  chapter twenty-seven

  We left a list for you. And I'll have my cell phone, but Jake says it gets so loud in the arena that I won't be able to hear it. But remember, no Coke after seven. He needs to be in bed by ten. And I printed off instructions for the Heimlich and CPR, and—”

  “Mom,” I interrupt. “Seriously, just go. Robbie and I will be fine. I won't let him choke or OD on caffeine.”

  “I know it's only four o'clock, but we've got to be in Tulsa by five.” Jake scoops his youngest son into his hulkish arms. “We won't be back until you're asleep, so that's a long time to stir up trouble for Bella. You won't do that, right? You don't want to be banished to the poop deck, do you?”

  Robbie giggles. “No, Captain Iron Jack. I'll keep an eye on the ship while yer gone. Arghhh.”

  Pirate jokes. Perfect. This makes me want to hurl myself off the poop deck.

  The doorbell chimes as Mom and her wrestler walk to the foyer.

  “Flowers for Bella Kirkwood.” Mom closes the door and hands them over to my waiting arms. “Roses. Very nice.”

  With a big goofy smile on my face, I rip into the card.

  I'm sorry for my distance lately. Being without you makes me kind of crazy. Can't wait until we see each other again. Love, Hunter.

  “They're from Hunter.” I clutch the flowers to my chest then peck my mom on the cheek. “Don't worry about a thing. We'll be fine here. And, Jake, um . . . good luck or break a leg or whatever it is you people say.”

  Jake grins and pats me on the back. “It's definitely not break a leg.”

  Break a skull? Don't bust a seam? Have a concussion-free evening?

  I shut the door behind them as Budge stomps down the stairs. I turn my head so he won't see the giggle that his Aladdin-inspired uniform always sets off.

  “What?” he growls. “You think you're too good for the Wiener Palace?”

  I swivel to face him. “No, of course not.” My eyes narrow in on his name tag. “I can only hope to one day be called a Sultan of Pork.”

  “Not everybody has a dad who gets rich off of boob jobs.”

  “Not everybody cares what you think.” Immediately I feel bad. I know I shouldn't talk to Budge like that, but he totally pushes my buttons. “Actually . . . Budge, there is something I've been wanting to talk to you about.”

  He crosses his arms over his velvet vest, wrinkling his puffy sleeves. “You said you didn't care what I thought.”

  “When it comes to your hot dog career dreams.” And your genie pants. “But I would like to hear your take on some stuff that happened at Truman High last year.”

  His face freezes. Then reddens. “What's it to you?”

  “You know what I'm going to ask you about, don't you? About the football players?”

  “I don't know anything.”

  “Did you know them? Zach Epps or Carson Penturf?”

  “I said I don't know anything.” Budge crams on his sultan's hat, a tall silk thing with an enormous ruby sprouting peacock plumes.

  I follow him into the kitchen where Robbie sits with a coloring book. “The school isn't that big. Just tell me what the talk was when things started going wrong last year.”

  Budge jerks open the door and it slams against the cabinets. “Things went wrong? One guy jumps to his death and another's a permanent vegetable, and you call that things going wrong?�
��

  “Budge, wait. I'm sorry, I just—“ Slam. The glass panes rattle in the door.

  “Everybody knows not to talk to Budge about Zach.”

  Robbie's words go off like cannons in the kitchen. “What did you say?”

  He sticks out his tongue and selects another crayon. “My daddy says there are three things you don't bring up to Budge—my mama, girls, and his friend Zach.”

  I pull out a chair and sit next to my stepbrother. “So Budge and Zach Epps were friends?”

  Robbie rolls his eyes like I'm simple. “Yeah, for like forever. And you can't ask him about it.”

  “Has Budge ever mentioned Carson Penturf?”

  Robbie shades in a puppy's tail with a pink crayon. “Nah.”

  “Oh.” Dead end.

  So Zach and Budge were friends? But Budge is . . . Budge. I mean he's all about computers and video games and . . . eating Twinkies. And Zach must've been a star athlete. A jock. What could they possibly have had in common?

  “What are we having for dinner, Robbie?”

  He folds his fingers and shoots invisible webs toward a cabinet over my head. “SpaghettiOs.”

  “Coming right up, little caped crusader.”

  My phone sings and I press it to my ear. “Hunter! The flowers are amazing.” I tap my stepbrother on his caped shoulder. “Why don't you fly off into the living room. I'll make dinner and call you when it's ready.”

  He nods. “I might have to take a coloring break and go save a few people. Is that okay?”

  “Only a few people. You have to be home by the time your dad gets back.” I ruffle his red hair, and he scurries out of the room. “So . . . it was a sweet surprise. I loved the card too.”

  “I've missed you, Bella. When do you come home next?”

  “It's going to be a few weeks. Seems like forever.” I dig for a can opener in a drawer. After asking Hunter about his day, I update him on the Brotherhood.

  “You be careful around all those athletes. I don't want to see you get hurt.”

  “Oh, you and Luke. I can take care of myself.”

  “Luke?” Static crackles on the line.

  “My editor.”

  “Is he old and ugly?”

  “Um . . . not exactly.” He's tall, muscular, and gorgeous. If you like the nerdy, intellectual, rude sort.

  “Do I have any reason to be concerned?”

  “Of course not!” Puh-lease. “He's nothing like you. He's obnox- ious. He's insensitive. He treats me like a total idiot. I would rather run my tongue across Jake's cow pasture than date Luke.”

  “I just wanted to make sure. This long-distance thing really is hard, isn't it, Bel?”

  I sigh into the phone. “It's only been a week, but it feels like forever since I've seen you.” The microwave dings. “I better go. I'm babysitting Robbie tonight while my stepdad whups up on some grown men.”

  “Miss ya.”

  “Miss ya right back.” And I slide my phone back into my jeans. “Robbie! Your gourmet pasta meal is ready!” I walk into the living room, where Superman flies across the television screen. “Robbie?” His coloring books lie open on the floor. I walk to the stairs and call for him again.

  No answer.

  Running up to his bedroom, I find cars scattered, action figures strewn, and Legos arranged in piles. But no Robbie.

  After two minutes of searching and yelling, I race outside, bellowing his name. I check the barn, the old truck, my car, the trees, the pond. Everywhere.

  I stand in the center of the pasture next to Betsy the cow, squeeze my eyes shut, and beg God for help. Please, Jesus. I seriously need a hand here. When I walk in that house, let Robbie be there. If something happens to that kid, I will die—throw myself in front of a tractor and die.

  Fifteen minutes later I collapse onto the couch, hoarse from yelling Robbie's name. My pulse races as I pick up my phone and call my mother.

  No answer.

  I hit redial until my finger aches.

  I text her an urgent message then watch the phone for a reply.

  What do I do?

  Long moments pass, and fighting the urge to throw up, I press the three dreaded numbers.

  9-1-1.

  “I need to report a missing child.”

  By ten o'clock, I've puked twice, talked to the police three times, and tried to call Mom a million times. And nobody at Wiener Palace will pick up the phone.

  At 10:05,the picture I gave the police from our mantel flashes on the evening news. The blonde reporter describes his last moments in the house, mentioning the fact that his stepsister was in charge of him for the evening. Great, way to paint me a loser.

  I've called Hunter and Mia both, but like everyone else, they don't answer. It's like I'm totally alone in the world tonight.

  An hour later, I jump off the couch when headlights shine through the windows. My heart sinks when I see it's Budge. He is going to rip my head off and feed it to the cows for a late-night snack. Um, hi. Remember your brother? Yeah, Host him.

  The back door slams, and swallowing back equal parts bile and dread, I meet Budge in the kitchen. “Budge, I lost your brother. I mean he's gone.” Snot drips out of my nose like water from a faucet. “I don't know what happened. One minute I was fixing him SpaghettiOs, and I don't know what's in those meatballs, but the next minute the cow and I are walking the fields yelling for him, but he wasn't there. And the police came and one was really short and I kept looking down at him and thinking, 'Wow, he's almost like a midget,' and then they took down all this information, and you just missed him on the news.” I wail my last few words.

  Budge doesn't even blink. “You lost me at meatballs.”

  I take deep, shuddering breaths and wipe my eyes. “I said”—I pause as a sob closes my throat—“your brother is—”

  The door flings open again and Robbie waddles in dragging his red cape. “S'up?”

  “Wh-what?” I point at the six-year-old. “It's Robbie. That's your brother.” I rush to Robbie and wrap him in my arms. “Thank You God, thank You God, thank You God.”

  “Stop squeezing me. Lemme go. You can't kiss superheroes. You're going to suck my powers out!”

  “Bella,” comes Budge's deep voice. “Step away from the child.”

  I look up, still clutching my stepbrother. “Where have you been? I've looked for you everywhere. The police have looked everywhere.”

  Robbie shimmies out of my grip. “I went to the Wiener Palace.”

  “What?” I pin Budge with my evilest glare. “He was with you the whole time? I've been entertaining the Truman PD and watching your brother on the Tulsa news, and you had him with you at work? Are you kidding me?” I'm yelling.

  “Yeah.” Budge picks a piece of lint from his vest. “Good job keeping an eye on my brother.”

  “But how did you get to Budge's work? Why would you leave and not tell me?”

  “I rode my bike. It took a really long time, but I'm pretty strong like my dad. And I told you I was going to go save some people.”

  “I might have to take a coloring break and go save some people.”

  “I thought you were teasing!”

  Robbie frowns and shakes his head. “Being a superhero is not something to joke about. It's my responsibility to the world.”

  I kneel down to get in his face. “Unless you were there passing out antacids like a Rolaids fairy, I can't imagine why you went to the Wiener Palace.”

  Robbie scuffs his toe along the linoleum floor. “Budge needed me. You made him sad, and he needed me to cheer him up.”

  I jerk my head toward Budge. “And you couldn't have called? What kind of crap is that? I've been out of my head with worry.”

  He shrugs. “Not my fault you couldn't hack ten minutes alone with my brother.”

  I clench my fists at my side. Do not punch your fist through his nose. “You've got issues, you know that, Budge? You're mean, you're

  thoughtless, and you don't care about anybody but
yourself.”

  The front door opens and closes. Anxious voices call from the living room.

  Mom and Jake.

  Budge laughs and pushes past me. “Looks to me like you're the one with the issues.”

  chapter twenty-eight

  The Holy Church of the Sacred High School has a great choir. It's like watching Sister Act. Well, minus the nun outfits. But these people know how to sing some Jesus.

  I sit next to Lindy and Matt, opting for some time away from the family. While I didn't really get in trouble last night over Robbie's disappearance, Mom wasn't exactly what I'd call happy with me either.

  As I clap along to the up-tempo song, I watch Budge sitting with his friends. He stands with his arms crossed, not singing, looking like he wants to be anywhere but church. Jake totally grounded him for not calling me last night when his brother showed up at the Weiner Palace. And of course, Budge is furious with me. Like it's my fault. If this is the kind of stuff I've missed not having siblings, I can't say I feel deprived.

  “What do you say we pick up a pizza and go hang out at the city park?” Matt asks after the service. “Do you want to go?”

  “I'm in a dress.” I turn to Lindy. “You're in a dress.”

  “Oh. I guess I'll have to pass. I would hate to muss up my skirt.” She flips her hair and her perfume floats between us. “It's Moochie, you know.”

  I cough. “Gucci.”

  Matt's face falls. “Come on, Lind. We haven't thrown the football around in forever. You're always too busy doing your nails or worried about messing up your pedicure or something.”

  Lindy looks to me, waiting for me to throw her a life preserver.

  “Maybe a day at the park would be fun. Get a little sun while we eat. Sure, why not?” I link my arm through Lindy's. “Maybe you can do some boy-watching too. A nice day like this—who knows who'll be out there?”

  “I'm not going out there so you two can gawk at the guys. Let's just go hang out and have a good time, okay?”

  We step into the aisle, and I lean close to Lindy's ear. “He sounds jealous, doesn't he? It's totally working.”