My mother turned to face me. The apron she was wearing had a Hershey’s Kiss on the front and read chocolate makes everything better. I’d picked it out for her about a million Mother’s Days ago. “It might be formal, but this quick meet-and-greet when he picks you up will not suffice much longer. I’m not comfortable—”
I put a sticky hand in the air and munched the last of my cupcake. “Ma, let it happen naturally, okay?”
“That’s gross, Tessa,” she said, pointing the spatula at my full mouth. “And though you would like for it to be, this discussion is far from over.”
“Fine,” I said. “Just no more tonight. Please.” I grabbed the spatula from her and turned toward the cupcakes, reaching for another.
“No way!” My mother yanked the spatula from my hand and shoved it deep into the bowl of goopy icing. “I need the rest of these for the meeting tomorrow.”
“I was going to help you decorate them.” I took a step back and shrugged. “But if you don’t need my help—”
“I would love your help,” she said, pulling several containers of sugar sprinkles from the cabinet above the counter. “You can sprinkle like you used to when you were little. But first”— she turned to face me—“will you check the weather? I need to be in Cincinnati by ten tomorrow, and if it’s going to be as bad as they’re saying, I need to get up super early.”
“You should just stay home.” I turned and walked toward the living room, my thick socks sliding along the wood floor. I watched the wavy shadow of my reflection cross the black depth of three large windows that looked over our backyard. The bitter winter night had set in early.
“I can’t afford to, and you know it,” my mother called over her shoulder. “The doctors have to learn about this new asthma drug if I expect them to start prescribing it.”
I sank down onto the couch and propped my feet on the coffee table, clicking on the television. The Local on the 8s wouldn’t hit the Weather Channel for three more minutes, so I flipped up toward MTV. Commercial. I kept flipping. Up toward the news channels. Flip. Flip. Flip. Stop.
I flipped back, wondering if I’d really seen what I thought I had.
From my spot in the middle of the couch, I leaned forward, my elbows digging into my knees, and tried not to blink at the television. The sour-looking face of Charlie Croft occupied the entire screen. His dark eyes stared out at me. I wanted to scream, claw them out of his face.
I read the Breaking News banner once. Twice.
My teeth ground together.
The third time the words scrawled across the screen, I listened to the reporters’ voices, and it started to come together in my mind, forming an entire picture.
When the doorbell rang, I didn’t move. I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have mattered if it had been John Mayer standing out there singing my favorite song, that one about melody being his destiny. I was wholly incapable of doing anything but sitting and staring.
My mother said something sarcastic about not bothering me and swept through the walkway behind the couch. When the front door opened, the door knocker swung against its bed in a reverberating thunk, and I let the air I’d captured escape my chest.
“Mom!” I called, lowering the television’s volume until the remote control slipped from my hand and bounced under the couch. “You gotta see—”
“Tessa, you have company.” My mother’s voice was higher than usual. A familiar cheer that meant only that she was trying too hard. Was the whole Max thing going to happen right now? Because it was so not the right time. “You must be freezing! Come in here and warm up.”
The muffled sound of a soft voice flowed my way, but I couldn’t discern whether it was male or female with the rustling of a winter coat and the clomping of heavy boots.
“I love your hair,” my mother said, her voice moving closer now. I stood quickly and stepped around the couch.
“Really?” a familiar voice asked.
“Really. You look wonderful, Elle.”
“Eh,” Elle answered as they stepped into the room. “My mom made me do it. Said it would make me feel better.”
“Moms sometimes do know what’s best.”
My chest tightened. My body wouldn’t move. It was like time had stopped, and I couldn’t figure out what to do. Block the TV, my mind screamed. Block her view!
“You didn’t walk here in all this snow, did you?” my mother asked with a concerned tone.
“No,” Elle said. “A friend dropped me off.”
“We’ll make sure you get home before the storm gets too strong.” My mother ran her hands down the front of her apron. A few dried slivers of icing fell to the floor. “I’ve got to get back to work. If you girls want to help, you can each have a cupcake.”
“Mmm.” Elle licked her lips. “I’m stuffed from dinner, but I haven’t had one of those in forever.”
Get her out of here, I told myself. But then I wondered. Did she already know? Was that why she was here? To tell me?
I sucked in a deep breath, hoping my voice would come out normal instead of shaky, because if anyone knew what I sounded like when I was freaking out, it was the two people standing in the room with me.
“Elle,” I said, “your hair!” Elle swiveled her head, her now-shoulder-length hair swooshing across the back of her neck. She reached up and ran her fingers through her newly layered bangs that hung down the left side of her face. Rays streaming from the recessed light above accented the soft shade of auburn, and the new streaks of highlights and lowlights.
“You like it?” Elle’s nose crinkled up, and I could tell she was uncomfortable with the change.
“I love it,” I said. “I mean, that interesting shade of blue-black was okay. But this … is so much more you.” I took a step forward, wondering if she could see any of the screen, or if I was still successfully blocking it.
“Tessa,” Elle said, her voice soft. “Is everything okay? You look really pale and—”
When she stopped talking, I knew it was over. And I could tell she hadn’t had any idea what had happened. She tilted her whole body to the side and looked around me. Her face froze. She wrapped her arms around her front, holding herself tight, like she was expecting to be hit from behind.
“So you haven’t heard?” I asked, gripping her upper arms and steering her to the couch.
Elle shook her head.
“I wasn’t sure.”
“The phone’s been ringing a lot today.” Elle pressed her fingers into her eyes. “And my parents, they were whispering about something in the basement when I left with Chip, but I didn’t know it was … about Charlie.”
“What’s going on?” my mother asked, her eyes wide.
I shook my head. Looked at my mom and mouthed, Call her parents.
But she didn’t. She sat down on the couch, her apron fanning around her like an old-fashioned dress, and wrapped her arm around Elle’s shoulders.
Elle finally opened her eyes and watched silently, clenching and unclenching her hands until her fingers were white. The sound was way down, and I could hear only the whisper of the reporters’ voices, could catch only a few random and unconnected words.
Tony Stoker.
Assailed.
No. Vital. Signs.
“Oh, dear,” my mother said.
“Can you turn it up?” Elle stared at the screen. An aerial view of the prison offered us a rooftop scene where a high razor-sharp fence surrounded a frozen-over basketball court. I assumed that beneath it the entire prison was on lockdown.
I knelt in front of the couch and swept my hand along the plush carpet until I found the remote. When I sat up and raised the volume, a cherry-cheeked reporter named Chase Nettles broke the silence between us. I reached for Elle’s hands.
“Prison officials have yet to make a statement.” Chase had a deep voice that didn’t fit his baby face. “But one officer reported that Croft was attacked by another inmate as he arrived for cleanup duty in the kitchen. The assailant, Tony Stoker, us
ed a shiv, or a knifelike weapon, stabbing Croft numerous times.”
Elle’s hands shook under mine.
“Okay, I’m hearing that it is confirmed,” a female voice announced as the screen flipped to a shot of a blonde reporter with helmet hair. She pressed her earpiece farther into her ear as she looked just left of the camera. “Croft was pronounced dead at five fifty-three this afternoon. There will be an autopsy to confirm the exact cause of death, but it is suspected that the knife punctured his trachea, in effect drowning him in his own blood.”
“Oh, God,” I said.
Elle turned. Looked into my eyes. “He’s dead?”
I nodded. Hugged her tight.
My mother stared at us with watery eyes.
“He’s dead,” Elle whispered into my ear.
My mother stood and stepped backward around the couch, bumping into the corner. She steadied herself with one hand. “I’m going to call your parents, Elle.”
“He can’t hurt anyone ever again,” I said.
“He’s-dead-he’s-dead-he’s-dead.”
“Yes,” I said, smoothing Elle’s soft auburn hair. “He’s dead.”
“He’s-dead-he’s-dead-he’s-dead,” Elle chanted, pulling away from me and looking back to the television. She pressed a hand to her mouth and lurched forward, standing quickly. “I think I need to be sick,” she whispered, rushing around the couch and into the half bath in the hallway.
I followed closely behind, unsure if she’d want me there. And then I remembered her tenth birthday. That day, I’d been so excited for her party I’d ignored the unnatural grumbling in my stomach. When the sight of hot dogs sent me rushing for the bathroom, I was mortified by the sound of laughter that followed me. But then Elle was there, right by my side, where she stayed, missing most of her party to hold my hand and tell me that it didn’t matter what those jerks thought anyway.
I knew as I reached for the handle and closed the door behind me that it wouldn’t be as easy to make her feel better tonight. But I had to try. So I knelt down and held back her hair as she heaved everything from her stomach into the toilet.
When she finished, she crumpled to the floor. “Ick,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I ate too much of my mom’s chicken tetrazzini.”
There was a soft knock at the door, and when I opened it, my mom handed me a glass of ice water.
“They’re coming right over,” she said, her worried eyes almost sending me over the edge. I was barely holding on, and her quivery chin nearly pulled me apart.
I closed the door and leaned against the wall, spreading out my legs as I passed the water to Elle. She took a large sip and swished, then spit it into the toilet. I closed the lid and flushed, surprised when Elle lay next to me and placed her head in my lap. I ran my fingers through her soft hair, watching the silky strands tumble across my jeans.
“Will you braid it?” she asked. “Like you used to?”
I smiled and grasped a small section, separating it into three equal parts. I was just finishing the fifth small braid when she turned her face to me. She was pale and looked so young. And afraid.
“I wish we could stay in here forever,” she said.
I shook my head. “You’re too strong for that.”
“I don’t feel like it.”
My fingers twisted and twisted and twisted her hair. “But you will.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she took several deep breaths. “Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked.
I ran my thumb along the braid I’d just finished, feeling its dips and curves. “I never really thought about it.”
“It’s just that”—Elle pinched her lips together—“I did all this stuff to get away. What if he can find me now? Punish me for escaping and turning him in?”
“Oh, Elle.” I brushed my fingertips across her forehead. “He’s gone. For keeps. You’re safe now.”
Saturday,
February 27
22
Not Ready Yet
“Elle, we’ve been driving around for an hour and a half.” I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice, but I was getting tired. And then there was Max, who was waiting for me and whom I was trying not to think about.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Elle checked her phone for the hundredth time since I’d picked her up at nine thirty.
“Have you even thought about what you’ll do if we find him?” I turned right at the intersection in the center of town, picking up the faint scent of City Barbecue’s wood-burning barbecue pit.
“I don’t know.” Elle looked out the side window of the Jeep, her breath clouding her view of the snow-covered sidewalks and the icy wrought-iron clock towering above Panera Bread. “I guess that depends on where he is.”
“Well, he’s not at Chris’s or Josh’s or Paul’s.” I flicked my blinker and turned onto a side street that would take us past another football player’s house. “We’ve tried Denny’s, and Bill’s Donuts, and the bowling alley. Twice.”
“It’s just weird that he hasn’t called me yet. I’ve texted him, like, three times.”
I looked at Elle, lifting my eyebrows. “Oh, is that all?”
Elle let out a laugh and shook her head. “I know I’m pathetic, okay? But you’re my best friend, so you have to deal.”
“I’m driving you all over town, aren’t I?” I turned onto a dark street and cruised up a hill. When my phone rang, I gave a loud sigh.
Elle pulled the phone from my purse and looked at me with tired eyes. “It’s Max.”
I pulled over to the side of the road and took the phone from her hand. “Max,” I said into the mouthpiece. “I’m really sorry.”
“Really?” Max’s voice was low. Hard. “Because it doesn’t seem like it.”
“I know it’s late, but—”
“Late?” Something on Max’s end crinkled roughly. “It was late when you called me at ten, saying you’d only be another half hour.”
I glanced at the blue light of the digital clock on the console: 11:03. “Please don’t be mad.”
Max sighed. “That’s kind of a difficult request.”
“So I’m guessing you don’t want me to tell you I can be there by eleven thirty?”
Elle batted at my hand, reaching for the phone. Give it, she mouthed. I ducked against the door.
“Tessa,” Max drew my name out, like he was trying to think of what to say next.
“I thought I’d be done by now,” I said.
“You’re still with her?”
“I swear, I’ll make this up to you.”
“Good. Because being put on hold over and over isn’t the most fun I’ve had in life.”
“I’ll think of something.” I listened to Max’s soft breathing, envisioned his long lashes blinking away the seconds, and hoped I really could think of a way to make this right. “Just give me a chance.” Please, please, please.
Max sighed. “Will it involve lots of groveling?” His voice had dropped down to a level of mild irritation.
“Maybe.”
“What about kissing?”
“Of course.”
“Okay,” Max said. “You have one more chance.”
“You’re a pretty great guy,” I said. “Have I ever told you that?”
“Oh, God! The kiss of death.” Max sounded like he’d just been elbowed in the stomach. “Are you going to give me the let’s-just-be-friends-speech, too?”
“I don’t think I could just be friends with you. Your kiss is too yummy.”
“Yummy, huh?”
I giggled as Elle grabbed the phone from my hand. “Maximus, you have halted all progression. I thought we had an understanding.”
As she listened to Max’s response, Elle nodded and chewed on a fingernail.
“Yes, next weekend she’s all yours. Tonight, though, we require complete concentration. Which specifically means no further interruptions from you.”
Elle shook her head. “Literally no progress. We’v
e been sitting at the side of the road since you called.”
Elle looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know most people can multitask by driving and speaking on the phone simultaneously. But it’s against the law these days. And we’re talking about Tessa McMullen.”
Whatever Max said caused Elle’s whole face to smile.
“Right. She’ll call you first thing in the morning. Nighty-night.”
Elle snapped the phone shut.
“What’d he say?” I asked.
“Will you drive, for crying out loud?”
“Fine!” I punched the gas and the tires spun beneath us on the slick pavement.
“I like him, Tessa.”
“Me, too,” I said, trying to hide my smile.
“He’s good for you.”
I paused, wondering if I should say what was on my mind. And then I decided that even if it pissed her off, she needed to hear it from someone. “You deserve a guy who’ll be good to you, too.”
“Something’s up,” Elle said, ignoring my last comment as she popped her thumb in her mouth and started chewing on the nail. “I can’t go home until I find him. You’re sure you don’t know where she lives?”
I sighed and looked at Elle. “You really wanna go there?”
Elle smacked my leg. “I’ve only been asking for the last two hours. No wonder you wouldn’t call that Darcy chick to find out where her house is. You knew all along!”
“Sorry.” I shrugged.
“You should be. You’re supposed to be my best friend, and best friends don’t hold out on each other.”
“I thought it might not be so great if you find him there.”
“I have to figure out what’s going on.”
Five minutes later, we snaked our way through the back streets of Jessie’s development. As I steered the Jeep around a deep curve, the sound of Elle’s nervous breathing made me feel like I was suffocating.
When we cruised to the stop sign at the end of Jessie’s street, Elle’s hand shot out and squeezed my arm.
“Oh my God.” Elle pointed straight ahead. “There’s his car.”
The Tension of Opposites Page 18