My Own Worst Frenemy

by Kimberly Reid

  Chapter 12

  Marco managed to avoid me all day Sunday. He and Malcolm had already left the warehouse by the time I got to work, and when Paulette and I returned from the last client assessment, his car was gone. By Monday morning, I still haven’t thought of how I’ll apologize, mostly because I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for. A lot of what was said, and insinuated, came from him. But I started it and whatever I said wrong really ticked him off, and I couldn’t sleep all last night thinking about it. I’ve been trying to distract myself with my classes, hoping the right words will come to me by French class.

  PE should keep my mind off Marco since I can spend the next fifty minutes hating it. It isn’t that I’m lazy, I just hate to sweat. And I get tired. That means I tend to be a slacker when it comes to PE. It’s the only class I’ve ever gotten a C in since first grade. My sophomore year I would have had a perfect grade point average if not for PE, which makes me hate the class even more. Even worse luck is the fact that Lissa is in my PE class. When I walk into the locker room, she’s talking to one of her clones, whose back is to me. Lissa breaks into a smile, but not because she’s happy to see me. It’s the kind of smile that only the evil can make, a smile that says something is about to go down. But before I can prepare for whatever she’s about to do or say, I’m thrown off by the clone when she turns to face me, because it’s a new one. And somewhere at home, she’s got a Louis Vuitton dog carrier.

  “Chanti, this is Annette, a friend of mine.”

  Lissa’s entourage is like a Benetton ad—it includes just about one of everybody. I’m guessing Annette is Korean based on the charm dangling from her necklace, a single letter of the alphabet. I don’t actually speak Korean so I could be wrong, but Aurora Ave isn’t far from Little Seoul and I know what the letters look like from all the business signs. I also spend a lot of time going over the menu at the Korean barbecue on Center Street. She has probably never driven a single street in Little Seoul. Whatever her nationality, Annette somehow manages to look a lot like Lissa. How do they do that?

  She also looks bothered, like it’s some great effort to be introduced to me. Like I even care who she is. I already know more about her than I need to.

  “Annette just started today. She got mono at the beginning of summer, so she’s just now back. Chanti’s one of the scholarship kids.”

  I don’t say a word to either of them, and just walk to my locker. This doesn’t stop Lissa from talking to me, of course.

  “So Chanti, Headmistress Smythe’s pen still hasn’t turned up. Any developments on that?”

  “Not unless you have it, seeing as you had as much opportunity to take it as any of us.”

  “Like I need to steal a pen.”

  I nod at the still-silent Annette. “Like she needs to carry a dogless dog carrier around the mall.”

  Yeah, I thought that would shut her up.

  I figured I was done with Lissa and Annette until they come up behind me while I’m running my laps on the track. Well, fast-walking my laps. Seeing as how they’d already lapped me twice, I knew their slowed pace had everything to do with me.

  “What did you mean about the dog carrier at the mall?” Lissa asked.

  “She knows what I mean. Ask her.”

  They flank me so I get to hear them in stereo.

  “Look, I’m not sure what you think you saw, but that’s not why we wanted to talk to you,” Annette says. “Lissa was just giving you crap before. That’s just how she is.”

  How she is what? Evil?

  “All we really wanted to do was ask if you’d heard about the party Annette’s throwing Friday. It’s to celebrate her having a life again after that whole mono thing.”

  “My parents will be out of town,” Annette says. “It should be fun.”

  “I’m busy this weekend.”

  “The party will be at 218 Prado, nine o’clock—in case you reconsider. I hope you do,” Lissa says before she runs off.

  Bethanie will probably hate me because I got an actual invitation to the party, even if it is just a bribe, instead of a casual mention in conversation just to let you know there’s a party, but you aren’t invited, which is all Bethanie got. That’s why I won’t tell her about it, because it would be mean, like something Lissa would do. And she might try to talk me into going so she can come with me. That’ll happen when Bethanie starts shopping discount. Meaning never.

  “Where’s my bracelet?”

  This question follows a shriek, which comes from a girl on the other side of the locker room. I look over to see it’s Zoë, the girl who, if it’s possible, is even less athletic than I am. At least I was fast-walking my laps. If she’d gone any slower around the track, she’d have fallen over. She’s definitely a Langdon misfit. I wonder how she survived this place for two years without either dropping out or going crazy on somebody. But now the poor girl is just about in tears and probably not worried about eating alone at lunch. Worse, every girl in the locker room pretends not to notice her. So I’m right, she is the social misfit. Well, the other one.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, since no one else cares.

  “My bracelet, it’s gone. My dad’s going to kill me. He didn’t think I was ready for serious jewelry. I haven’t had it a week and now it’s gone.”

  “Are you sure you had it on today?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” the girl says, looking at me like Who are you, and do you think I’m an idiot?

  “Maybe it’s on the track,” I suggest. “I’ll help you look for it.”

  “No, no, no! I didn’t wear it out there. I put it in my locker when I dressed out, and now it’s gone.”

  “You mean this locker, with no lock on it?” I say, and I admit it probably wasn’t the most sensitive thing I could have said, but it was certainly the most obvious. These people at Langdon are supposed to be so smart, but they don’t have a lick of common sense.

  “You’re one of those scholarship girls, aren’t you?” she says and the tears stop instantly. “How do I know you didn’t do it?”

  Can you believe this?

  “Hey, wait a minute. Chanti’s a friend of mine. I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but you’re all wrong.”

  This comes from Lissa, which is even more unbelievable, unless you consider her friend’s an apparent klepto who I have the goods on, and who they no doubt guess I suspect as the bracelet thief.

  For effect, Lissa puts her arm around my shoulders and adds, “I think you’d better keep looking for that bracelet and stop making accusations.”

  “Come on, Chanti, let’s go,” Annette says, looking a little guilty if you ask me.

  The minute we’re out of the locker room, they dump me like I’m the one with mono, without even so much as a good-bye.

  My world history classroom is too warm and the subject matter too boring. Add that to the tryptophan in the turkey sandwich I had at lunch and I’m trying hard to suppress a yawn when the headmistress comes on the PA system and interrupts a riveting lecture on the Peloponnesian War.

  “I’d like the following students to come to my office immediately : Marco Ruiz, Bethanie Larsen, and Chantal Evans.”

  As soon as she says Marco’s name, I know the rest of the names she’ll call. I know the rest of the school is wondering what The Scholarship Kids did, hoping that after a couple of weeks trying to pretend we were absolutely no different, Langdon Prep had finally come to its senses and decided saving the poor wasn’t worth the effort.

  We all arrive at the office at the same time. Mildred is there and smiles at us but looks worried. She’s standing behind Smythe, dusting ancient, first-edition books that have likely never been read by our fearless leader. She doesn’t strike me as the type to read Aristophanes.

  “Good morning, students,” Smythe says, all business. “What I have to say is of a very delicate nature, but it must be said. It has been brought to our attention that there has been a rash of small but not inconsequential thefts around the scho
ol. Now, I’m not suggesting that any of you have had anything to do with the thefts . . .”

  Yeah, but she brought us all in here anyway.

  Mildred, who has given up any pretense of dusting (and why bother since Smythe doesn’t seem to know she’s there, anyway?), stands behind the headmistress’s chair and shakes her head.

  “Then why’d you call us in here?” Marco asks.

  “Well, Langdon Preparatory has never had a problem like this, and suddenly we have these thefts that coincide with your arrival.”

  “But the whole freshman class started when we did,” I say.

  “All the thefts have occurred in Percy Hall, an upperclassman building. Freshmen would have been very noticeable wandering around Percy Hall. You three are the only new upperclassmen in school,” Smythe says, sounding victorious.

  I’ve mentioned that I try to avoid conflict, and that’s true, especially when it involves people who see no problem in pressing their thumb against my larynx before we’ve been formally introduced. But now I’m being falsely accused. Been there, done that. I have to say something in my defense.

  “What about Annette Park? She’s kind of new. She started school late.”

  And I know she’s a thief because I caught her in the act.

  “That’s precisely why she cannot be blamed for the disappearance of my pen. She started school after it went missing. Besides, Miss Park hardly needs to steal.”

  I guess she’s never heard of the thrill of the steal. Not everyone needs to steal.

  “You mean this pen?” Bethanie says, holding up the pen that I now know she didn’t steal.

  “Where did you get that?” Smythe says, taking it from Bethanie and appraising it like it’s a rare jewel.

  “I found it in the library. I figured someone must have left it there.”

  Smythe looks at her skeptically and while I’m grateful Bethanie is taking the heat off me, she’s opened herself up to Smythe’s suspicion. Bethanie and I are the only ones who know that isn’t Smythe’s pen.

  “From now on, don’t assume because you find something you are now the new owner of it. We have a lost and found in the main office.”

  So not the response I expected from Smythe. I figured she’d be on the phone to the police by now. It throws me for a second, but I get back on track.

  “I just can’t believe Langdon has never had thefts before we showed up,” I say.

  “Oh, we’ve had a few thefts and other discipline problems, but we deal with them before they get out of hand.”

  “And sometimes you get things wrong,” says Mildred, startling Smythe and confirming what I thought—that Smythe had forgotten she was there. “Sometimes you make false accusations and hurt people.”

  “This is none of your business.”

  “This is every bit my business,” Mildred says.

  “Leave my office. Now.”

  Mildred looks like she’s considering whether she’ll leave or not, but then she heads for the door. I get the feeling it’s only because she chose to, and not because her boss told her to.

  “We’ll discuss this later,” Smythe says as Mildred leaves the room.

  “I look forward to it,” Mildred says, slamming the door behind her.

  Smythe smoothes her hair as though she and Mildred had a real fight and not just a verbal skirmish. Given the hostility between them, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d thrown down before. It’s clear Mildred shook her up a little, but now Smythe’s back to business.

  “As I was saying, we’ve had thefts before, but it’s a rarity, and never of this magnitude. Not on the order of a two-thousand-dollar tennis bracelet.”

  I almost choke on that bit of information.

  “Miss Evans, are you still here with us?”

  “I was just thinking.”

  “Well, it seems you should have done some thinking last summer. Maybe if you’d given your actions some thought, you would have made better, wiser choices.”

  “Last summer? I don’t get it,” says Bethanie.

  “So now you’re suspecting us of something that happened before we started Langdon?” Marco asks.

  “I’m not referring to all of you—just Chanti. Let’s just say I always know more about our students than they think I do.”

  I know I’m pushing it, but I can’t let this go without saying something.

  “I sure hope you’re looking at other suspects, and not singling us out just because we’re the scholarship kids.”

  “Dismissed,” is all the headmistress says.

  Chapter 13

  I’m home on the sofa trying to write a sonnet for my English lit class, but I can’t stay focused. It’s kinda hard to concentrate on homework when your principal has accused you of stealing a two-thousand-dollar bracelet. That’s felony theft. Two to six years. If I tell Lana, all she’ll do is ask how I get myself into these situations, and then answer her own question : bad judgment, wrong friends.

  When the doorbell rings, I’m happy for the diversion. I see MJ through the peephole and I wonder two things. First, am I clairvoyant ’cause it’s like I conjured her up thinking about bad judgment and wrong friends. Second, has hell frozen over?

  “MJ, what’s up?” I say all casual, as though she hasn’t sworn never to speak to me again.

  “I found this at my house,” she says, holding up my iPod. “Thought you might want it.”

  I’d been wondering where it was. It must have fallen out of my bag while we were still friends and I was hanging out at her house. Why it took her so long to return it I don’t know, but I sure don’t plan to ask.

  “Thanks. I’ve been looking for that.” An awkward moment of silence passes, and then, “I was about to nuke a frozen burrito. Want one?”

  “I’m just returning what belongs to you. That don’t make us friends again.”

  She starts to leave, but turns around.

  “Did you hear Donnell Down-the-Street got arrested?”

  “Yeah, but he’s back out. They couldn’t hold him.”

  Her face turns hard and she says, “Yeah, I guess you’d know all the details.”

  “That’s common knowledge on The Ave,” I say.

  “Is it common knowledge he’s pissed with you?”

  “How’d you hear?”

  “People talk. That girl Michelle has a big mouth.”

  I can’t imagine Squeak saying boo to MJ, but she’s already stolen one friend from me. Not that MJ is still a friend.

  “I’m not worried about Donnell, but thanks for caring.” I say, hoping the sarcasm is obvious.

  “Look, I don’t really care what happens to you; but maybe you ought to be worried.”

  “I’ve got homework,” I say, because this is beyond awkward and I don’t see her point in trying to scare me about Donnell other than to just be mean. I get the point. We’re no longer friends. “I’ll be seeing you, MJ.”

  “I doubt it. Just wanted to return the iPod. Can’t have you thinking I’m a thief or something. You might have your mother arrest me.”

  Lana is sort of the reason MJ hates me now. I’m mostly the reason, but Lana didn’t help. The only thing MJ hates more than me are the cops. I can see her point, but that’s because she was falsely accused and should never have gone to jail. I believe her story about her boyfriend’s botched bank robbery, even though I don’t understand how she missed those clues. Tasha’s kid sister would have seen that disaster coming, and she’s like seven or something. That’s why I don’t have a boyfriend (Michelle would give you other reasons). Boys mess up your head, make you want to go to jail for them. Even when they’re so stupid they leave the money bag in the car, put what they can in their pockets, and go out to the car for the bag so they can get the rest, during which time the teller trips the alarm and the manager locks the doors so they can’t get back in. When MJ later told me that bit of information, I started thinking there was a legit reason why the Down Homes got no respect outside of SoCal. I questioned how muc
h respect they got inside SoCal.

  Anyway, I knew MJ was an innocent. An innocent who could probably break your neck with her bare hands if you got on her bad side, but it would take a lot to get on her bad side. Unless, like I said before, you wear a badge.

  I was thinking about this while I sat outside the Tastee Treets a few weeks after MJ and I had met. The girl who had reluctantly offered me Robert Tice had just walked up. At first she looked like she was about to snatch me bald, and the next minute she was smiling at me like I was about to give her my lunch money. That’s because MJ had just walked out of the restaurant with our food. That’s how my summer was going. I got respect from everyone, all because MJ was my new best friend. Which is why I thought nothing of doing the favor she asked that day.

  “My grandmother took her car on a church trip down to Colorado Springs. You think you could give me a ride across town tonight, over on Colfax, around ten or eleven? There’s a hotel down there my cousin is staying at. He wants to know if I could visit him while he’s in town.”

  I didn’t want to tell her I only had a learner’s permit. MJ was almost eighteen and worldly compared to me. If she knew I was just fifteen, I figured she wouldn’t want to hang out. Instead of telling her I couldn’t legally drive, I began asking questions that might help me get out of doing her the favor.

  “Why so late? Why not tomorrow when your grandmother’s back in town?”

  “He’s passing through on his way to Chicago, leaving tomorrow. We’re like brother and sister, and I haven’t seen him in a long time. It would be nice to see him, just for a few minutes at least.”

  “Passing through from where?” The Lana angel over my right shoulder was whispering No good can come of anything, especially a hotel on West Colfax, late on a Saturday night.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Chanti. Yeah, he’s from L.A., but he wasn’t a Down Home. He wouldn’t have a thing to do with the Down Homes.”

  So I thought, Why not ? It was already mid-July and my association with MJ had brought very little excitement to my summer, and I was tired of evading Tasha and Michelle’s questions about what MJ and I did when we hung out. Okay, so I didn’t evade their questions; I answered them. I was getting tired of embellishing. It didn’t seem like lying if I made the stories we watched on Law & Order sound sort of like they had happened to MJ. Lana was on a stakeout, the car was free, and I knew where she kept the extra set of keys. I’d be in my bed long before she got home. I’d already taken the car a couple of times without her ever noticing the odometer had moved—part of my ill-fated summer of rebellion. But this drive would be ten miles roundtrip, not two. Since I didn’t want to risk Tasha or her parents seeing us and maybe telling Lana, we agreed to meet back at the Tastee Treets at ten o’clock.