On the way to the parking lot after school, I was surprised to see Abigail ahead of me. She wore the same green plaid jumper, her flyaway ponytail was crooked as ever, and of course she had her tuba.
Here was my chance. I could call out, ask her to wait, and walk the rest of the way with her.
I hurried to catch up, but before I reached her, she dropped something.
She never stopped to pick it up, she never even slowed down. Her body was tilted to counterbalance the heavy book bag she carried and with her tuba harnessed in front of her I doubt she realized she dropped anything.
I reached the same spot she had just walked past and saw an old book. It had opened when it fell and lay face down on the pavement. Smaller than a textbook, thick and compact, it resembled a foreign language dictionary: Spanish to English, English to Spanish.
"Hey, Abigail.” I picked up the book carefully so the pages would not scrape against the pavement and ran to catch up with her.
She stopped, stayed motionless a moment, then turned around and stared at me.
“Here. You dropped this,” I said, holding the book out.
At first, she seemed surprised as if she had never seen me or the book before.
In that bewildered look, I saw a glimmer of the old Abigail and hoped it meant she had at least partially recovered from being mugged at the dance. There was no bandage above her eyebrow. The stitches were gone, the scar tissue white and taut from the shrinking scab.
She gaped at me. Her bulging eyes darted from me to the book, but her hands stayed where they were, one at her side, one around the tuba.
Her terror-stricken look told me I was wrong; she was not her old self. I felt foolish with my arm stretched out holding the book. The frightful way she stared at it almost made me drop it.
Why was she gawking at it like that? Was it about to turn into a snake?
“Here,” I said again, extending my hand farther encouraging her. “It’s yours, right? It’s okay, better take it. I have to leave.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
“Sure, no problem.”
A red flush slowly crept up her neck all the way to her hairline.
Did she think I might be staring at her scar?
Not wanting to embarrass her, I almost turned, but stopped when I saw her smiling in a lopsided fashion. She looked seriously daft, but it did not stop there. She gazed longingly at the book as if it were her long-lost best friend.
It was unnerving.
Her expression changed in the next instant. She stared searchingly at the ground, her eyes flitting here and there as if tracking a rapidly crawling insect.
Thinking she might have lost something tucked between the pages, I did as she did and peered about to see if anything small might have slipped from the book or possibly her bag. I didn’t really expect to find anything—and I didn’t. There was nothing to see.
I raised my head and started to say bye, see you—and stopped. She gave me a long unblinking stare, then whirled around and left.
That was the first and longest conversation I ever had with her, and if it was the last, it would be fine with me.
My good intentions from a few minutes ago went up in smoke. It sounds harsh, but if you have ever been around someone who leaves you feeling creeped out, you’ll know what I mean.
I stood rooted, not paying attention to anything else. Being that close to the Abigail bubble had left me spellbound, so to speak, until I heard clicking footsteps behind me.
“So . . . what did Abigail have to say?”
It was Pamela, and Mindy was with her.
Mindy rolled her eyes. Here she goes again.
“Nothing,” I said, shrugging.
Pamela smiled. But instead of her usual pasted-on smile it was alarmingly slow and thoughtful.
I knew exactly it meant. At the first opportunity she would do something mean and rotten.
Pamela shifted her gaze away from me and narrowed her eyes at Abigail. I waited for Abigail to glance over her shoulder or walk faster. Surely, she felt Pamela’s eyes stabbing her in the back.
Apparently not, for she went innocently on her way. With each step, the tuba moved back and forth, her gait as choppy as ever.
“Are you sure it was nothing?” Pamela tilted her head and arched her eyebrows.
“Nope—I mean yep—nothing. She dropped a book. I picked it up and gave it to her. Some of us are polite that way. If you haven’t noticed, she carries a lot of stuff.”
I had never seen a snake contemplate a mouse before eating it—I had only seen a snake once or twice at the zoo and both times it was asleep—but if I had seen one eyeing its dinner it would have had the same expression as Pamela. I did not want to know what nasty things were going through her mind.
“Let’s get something to eat at McDonald’s,” Mindy said. She knows how to ignore Pamela and at the same time interrupt before something goes too far. I guess if you have known someone your whole life you can anticipate them. She also knew I was ready to get into it with Pamela.
“McDonalds.” Pamela sneered. “I want to go to Tino’s.”
“That’s too expensive,” Mindy said.
“If you can’t afford it,” Pamela said, “I’ll pay for you.”
Tino’s is the place to go if you want to be seen and if you have enough money. It’s in the heart of Manhattan Beach and it’s sweet. However, I did not feel like listening to Pamela point out everyone she recognized, or everyone who in her opinion did or didn’t belong there.
As usual, I had no cash with me.
“How about The Nook?” I suggested. “I have a prepaid Visa from Christmas. I’ll treat.”
“Sure,” Mindy said.
Pamela pursed her lips without answering which meant we were as close to an agreement as we would get.
The truth is I wish I didn’t care what Pamela was planning to do, but I have a responsibility complex—although it had temporarily vanished when Mom asked for a favor. I have to look after my little sister, which is understandable, she’s only seven. I even look out for my brother Justin. He’s older than me but sometimes acts like he’s seven.
With Abigail—and since it was my mom who asked me to make her feel welcome—it was like being forced to add another person to my responsibility list. Or, maybe it’s because I once rescued a mouse from our cat and my dad said it was now my mouse. I was responsible for it. If I could not take care of it, it would go to the shelter. I didn’t even know they took mice at the shelter—my dad was probably making it up—but I was a little kid and believed him. I knew a mouse would not stand a chance with all the cats and dogs, so I agreed to it. Anyway, my mouse Nemo died a few years ago but before that I kept his food cup filed, changed the water in his bottle once a day. He had a wheel, and he ran on it his whole life. I oiled it so it would not squeak nonstop. I put cedar shavings on the floor of his cage and changed it every couple days. But that was a mouse. This kind of responsibility was different. I did not want a human mouse substitute named Abigail.
“Nemo,” I muttered.
I had not meant to say it out loud but having decided that Abigail must be the new Nemo and that I would have none of it, I tried to get it out of my mind and instead did the opposite. I’ve read about rescuers—like people who save dolphins and whales from gill nets. I planned on doing that during the summer, but I did not want to start rescuing before I meant to.
“What about Nemo?” Mindy gave me a questioningly look.
“Have you ever thought of saving whales?” I said, still caught up in my musings.
“What are you talking about?” said Pamela, irritated at being left out, even though she knew it was beneath her.
“Oh . . . volunteer work,” I said. “I want to start early so I can put it on my college app. Get ideas now, you know.”
Mindy’s eyes looked like they got stuck staring at a faraway corner.
“Never mind,” I said, embarrassed.
That did it. Whatever Abi
gail’s problem, she was on her own. I didn’t need to be around people who made me talk to myself. I would have nothing to do with her—ever. Favor or not, Mom or not, driver’s license or not, I was done.
We couldn’t get rid of Pamela, so the three of us barely spoke until we reached Mindy’s bus. Once inside, we were mostly silent.
The argument with Pamela having been avoided we headed west. The Nook is a few blocks from The Strand and the beach is peaceful in late afternoon. I settled in for the short ride and tried to ignore Pamela.
Chapter 15. Distracted
“So, what did Abigail lose?” Pamela said, as we drove along.
I had forgotten about the book, but obviously Pamela remembered. She sounded way too casual. I knew she would not let it drop.
“If Abigail doesn’t mind, maybe I can help her look for it,” Pamela suggested, trying to prompt a response.
“I already told you, nothing,” I said. “It was just a book. I picked it up and gave it back to her.”
Before she asked another question, I saw my brother and waved at him. “Hey, there’s Justin!”
“What’s he driving?” Mindy’s eyes lit up as we stopped next to him at a red light.
“It’s a woody,” I said.
“That’s pathetic.” Pamela wrinkled her nose. “It looks like a horse should be pulling it.”
“It’s a surf wagon,” I said. “We do live at the beach, right? It’s just old.”
Pamela snorted. The light changed, the woody lurched forward and died.
“Need any help?” I called.
Justin shook his head and gave me a thumbs up. The light turned green. We drove away and left Justin sitting at the light trying to start the engine.
“My grandfather won it on eBay.” I leaned back in the stiff bucket seat. “It’s vintage.”
“It looks like a piece of junk,” Pamela said.
The front visor was down. I checked the mirror and caught her looking at me, waiting for a reaction.
“But your brother is kind of cute,” she added.
I turned away and felt my face flush. She’d better not mess with him.
“Don’t say that to Ryan,” I said.
“What are you talking about?” Pamela snapped.
“About the woody being an old junker. He bought one.”
“He did not!”
“You’re right. Just joking.”
Pamela’s buttons are so easy to push, especially when it comes to Ryan. He’s one of the cutest guys at school. The sad part is he thinks she’s beautiful. He can think what he wants, he’s not my type anyway.
We turned on Highland and went north. There were no parking places on the street. We could have parked in the parking structure, but we have to park in one all week. Besides, our parents would park there, and that makes it really old fashioned, so we drove around and looked for something else.
After a few times around the block a car pulled away from the curb. Mindy turned into the vacant space and parallel parked which is hard to do because the bus is high up and you can’t see the curb. She only bumped it a few times.
“Ta-da! We made it.” Mindy put the car in Park, leaned forward, and pulled the handbrake. With much grinding it locked into place.
“What are you waiting for?” I opened the door and got out. “Let’s go inside.”
“What for?” Pamela said. “I’ll give you my order and wait here.”
“No way,” Mindy said. “If you want anything you have to get it yourself.”
Highland is a busy, narrow street with mostly one-story buildings. The Nook has a few tables outside in front but most of the seating is inside. As we passed the windows, our reflections looked back at us. Pamela smiled broadly at hers. She cut in front of Mindy and walked in first. As we entered a few people looked at us. Their eyes flitted from me to Mindy and then lingered on Pamela.
All the tables were taken so we went through the front and out to the back. It’s set up like a patio with vines overhead and partitions made of three- and four-foot-tall railroad ties, each with a potted fern on top, long fronds streaming down the sides. The plants create wispy screens so there is privacy, but you’re not completely cut off from the rest of the diners. In late afternoon there is enough daylight to brighten everything; no artificial lights are needed. The whole effect is tropical and airy.
I always order the same thing, a small Coke, but I scanned the whole menu. I didn’t want to stay too long because I needed to study for a big Spanish test the next day. If anything was going to ruin my GPA it would be those irregular past participles in Leccion Catorce.
The server stopped by our table and chatted. We gave him our order, and while we waited, I sat back and took in the ambience.
I was closest to the partition and Mindy was across from me. Pamela noisily pulled her chair as far away from us as she could without being at the next table. She perched on the edge, crossed her legs, and wiggled one foot back and forth. I wondered how she was able to sit so close to the edge and not fall off. I leaned to the side and looked at her chair to see if there was any chance of that happening.
She arched an eyebrow at me, then turned and pulled her chair noisily away so she faced the front entrance.
With the afternoon sun shining through the window I had a clear view of people walking by out front. It’s like the Promenade in Santa Monica only better, more intimate, and everyone seemed somewhat familiar. Not that I knew anyone I saw, in fact I didn’t. It was the atmosphere, the beach vibe, everyone in synch.
Pamela brought out her phone and texted a message. Mindy and I had our elbows on the table, our chins resting on our fists. We were mumbling in a random way hoping Pamela was not paying attention to what we were saying. We needn’t have worried. She was engrossed in what she was doing and not listening to us. Still, I was having a conversation with the world’s worst snoop sitting next to me and was careful about what I said.
Suddenly Pamela’s expression brightened. She tapped her phone, it pinged back, and she smiled. She swiped, bit her lip, and raised her head, still smiling.
Our server brought our orders and set them on the table.
I casually sipped my Coke through a straw, paused, stirred the ice, and took another sip. I had been gazing out the front window and let my gaze wander a bit to the side. That’s when I noticed a giant stag horn fern hanging on the wall.
Instead of keeping an eye on Pamela, I became distracted by the fern. Its antler-like fronds were over four feet wide and its height was about the same. It was set between two tables and if it fell off the wall, it would cover half of each table and bury whoever was sitting there.
Pamela sat up straight, her finger poised over her phone as if getting ready to tap or swipe. She looked up—and her smile vanished. She stared as if thunderstruck, her eyes riveted on the front window. She took a slow breath and then slowly smiled as if she had just received a special gift she had been waiting for a long time but never thought she would get.
I had seen Pamela’s calculating expression when one thing or another interfered with her plans. At first, I thought she probably received an unpleasant text immediately followed by another one more to her liking.
By then, I had stopped daydreaming about the stag horn fern falling off the wall and was now concentrating on the last ice chips at the bottom of my glass. I stirred the melting ice, tilted the glass, and put my straw sideways. I drew purposefully on the straw and made a loud slurping noise. I titled the glass more and slurped again. It was even noisier this time.
Mindy exhaled loudly, her shoulders sagged, and she stirred her cappuccino. Undeterred by her disapproval, I crooked one finger around the straw, lifted the glass, tapped the bottom, and slurped.
In the back of my mind, I wondered why Pamela had not given me a dirty look or told me to be quiet. I expected it, which was one of the reasons I did it. My curiosity aroused, I turned to see what Pamela was staring at.
Abigail stood outside the restaurant
; her tuba harnessed in front of her. She had one arm over it—I assumed to keep it from moving as she walked—and her other arm stretched in front of her as far away from the tuba as possible.
In the middle of her open hand sat a white pleated pastry wrapper, with a big cupcake in the middle. Strawberries were piled all over it and some had spilled off the sides.
Why would anyone—even Abigail—bring a cupcake and a tuba into a restaurant? No logical person would do that and not expect something terrible to happen, but Abigail is not logical.
Our server frowned at her. I hoped he would tell her not to bring the tuba or the cupcake inside. But where could she leave them? There was no coatroom. They didn’t need one; sweaters were hung on the backs of chairs.
“Sorry, I have to leave!” Pamela practically bounced off the chair and stood up. She straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and strode through the restaurant. She reached the entrance a step ahead of Abigail and blocked the doorway.
Chapter 16. Downed
With her arm extended and her eyes fixed on the cupcake, Abigail wasn’t watching where she was going and almost ran into Pamela. When she finally looked up, her eyes widened, her mouth opened, and she shuffled backwards. She lowered her eyes a fraction and stared desperately at a point above Pamela’s shoulder, afraid to let her eyes rest on anything. Then she muttered something, paused, and looked up at Pamela.
Anyone else would have gotten out of the way and held the door open. But if Abigail had said “excuse me”—hoping Pamela would let her pass—it was a huge mistake. It would have been better if she had smashed the cupcake on Pamela’s chest. It might have shocked her and made her back away.
Abigail stood rooted. Pamela did not move.
For a second, I thought Abigail’s knees would buckle.
It would be understandable—the heavy tuba in front of her, the book bag over her shoulder, the cupcake balanced on her open hand, and obviously scared to death—but she stood there.
“Come on,” I said to Mindy.
Without thinking, I lifted the glass, tilted it, and tapped it to loosen the last ice chips.
One of Us: The City of Secrets Page 11