by Julia Day
“Woo hoo.” She threw her arms around me, laughing and jiggling.
I could hardly believe it. Ash didn’t get the endorsement. In what sane universe could that be true? “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Barber.”
Her arms tightened. “You earned this, Eden. No need to thank me.”
The first bell rang. I backed away, embarrassed by our show of emotion. She was usually professional at school, and on the rare occasions we attended the same family function, she was quiet. On the fringe. Maybe she felt the same way about them that I did. Maybe we were more alike than I realized. “What happens next?”
“You’ll interview in Chapel Hill next month, and we’ll know about finalists by February.” She rocked on her feet, her smile wide. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, though. The Peyton Foundation is biased toward strong candidates from rural schools, and you’re spectacular in an interview.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll go with you to Chapel Hill, of course, to represent the school. And bring Marlene or Byron, if you can. The foundation’s board likes to meet with your parents.”
“Great” came out on a squeak. The smile froze on my face.
The forged signature. What would I do about that?
* * *
Ash and I reached our English classroom at the same time. He stopped to let me enter first.
“Hi,” I said. Had someone told him?
“Hi.” He headed for his seat.
I made my way slowly to the back. He’d been too calm, too neutral. Ash didn’t know about the Peyton yet, which made sense. I wasn’t supposed to know either.
Mundy leaned across the aisle before I’d had a chance to settle in. “You look happy.”
Freak. “I had a good weekend.”
“Are you upset that he spoke to you?”
“Not at all.”
“Right.” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “What’s the farthest west you’ve ever been?”
From anyone else, this would be a random question but not from her. I gave her a speculative look. “Tennessee.”
“You’ve never been west of the Mississippi River?”
“I’ve never been west of the Blue Ridge Mountains.”
She rolled her eyes. “If that were my truth, I’d lie.”
I laughed. “Is there a point in here somewhere?”
“Yes. Drive with me to California.”
Whoa. A map of the US surfaced in my brain. There were many states along the route. So many things I’d never seen. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Mom and Destin are flying home to California over Thanksgiving. Cam and I will stay here until the end of the semester. Since my mom needs a car, I’ll drive the SUV and some of our stuff out there. I want you to go with me.”
I fixed my gaze on the top of my desk, thinking furiously. I would love to do that. Driving across America with Mundy? Holy crap, that sounded like fun. “How long will it take?”
“Five days of driving, a day or two to rest, then we’ll fly back.”
Seven days? Disappointment hit like a punch to the gut. I would love to go, but it was impossible. “I can’t miss that much school.”
“Sure you can. It’s Thanksgiving week. We can skip Monday and Tuesday. Teachers won’t assign anything.” Her smile was confident. “Cam will take care of anyone who might give us grief.”
I’d miss the holiday with Marnie’s family, which would be awesome. “Maybe…”
“Please say yes. You know you want to.”
Of course, I wanted to, but what would my parents say? If I had to, I’d beg. Would Marnie agree? Dad would crumble if I had her on my side. “I can’t afford a plane ticket.”
“This is an employment opportunity. All expenses paid, plus wages.”
Whoa. A significant detail that had been left out until now—a detail I loved. However, a token protest was in order. “I don’t want to take money from your parents.”
“It’s an employment opportunity for me too. When they offer you money, take it.” She wrinkled her nose. “What about the Fremonts?”
“Kurt and Marta are spending Thanksgiving with their father. They won’t need me.” I tried to stay calm, but it was hard. “This would be great. Please let Marnie say yes.”
* * *
The loss of the October logbook page bugged me the rest of the day. I was running out of ideas. I didn’t want Tiffany to be right, but maybe she was. Maybe the photo would be anonymous forever.
When I arrived home, instead of starting on my homework, I cranked up the laptop, put in the flash drive, and looked at the images from Desiree Barber’s photo gallery.
Had I overlooked anything?
I clicked on the photo of Tiffany’s friends in all their giggling glory at the beach. Opening its properties, I looked at the details tab again. Nothing new to glean.
Back to the Main Properties tab.
The date stamp of the image was October 26. Same day as the Ash-Eden photo. Of course.
The time stamp was … weird.
Goose bumps tickled my arms. Something was out of whack.
According to the time stamp, the image had been captured around nine p.m., which couldn’t be right. The scene in the photograph happened in daylight, not long before Ash and I left around five. The camera had set the time several hours too late.
Four hours difference?
Excitement curled in my gut. Had the photo been taken at nine o’clock Greenwich Mean Time?
I brought up the high school web site and switched to the dance-team page. Tiffany was their self-appointed photojournalist, making the dance team one of the best documented organizations on campus.
After browsing past hundreds of images, I selected a candid from the pep rally on October 24, and checked the time stamp.
Six p.m.
Pep rallies began at two.
Four hours difference.
The same Nikon, with its fancy telephoto lens and GMT setting, had taken the dance-team photos and the photos of Tiffany’s friends at the beach.
I had the missing link.
* * *
My stepmom came in later than normal this afternoon, dropped her purse on the love seat, and grabbed the laptop. After booting it up, she crossed to the sliding glass door and pushed it open.
“What are you doing?” I asked, following her out onto the deck.
“Looking for a job.”
“Why?”
“I quit the convenience mart.”
“Way to go, Marnie.” I gave her a hug.
She laughed. “Yeah, but I still can’t pay you back everything.”
“Don’t care.”
“I do.” She flopped down onto the wooden steps.
I sat beside her and watched as she logged into the Internet. In seconds, she was on a web site looking at want ads in the local area.
She frowned. “Look at all of these ads for cleaning staff. I could do that.”
“Have you considered anything else?”
“I don’t have other skills.”
“You’re pretty good on the computer. Not everyone figures out how to log onto the Internet when their house isn’t wired.”
Her eyes crinkled. “Nobody would hire me for things that I’ve taught myself.”
“Not true. Dad could talk to Mr. Cooper. He might give you a job.”
“At the hardware store?”
“Yeah. You type fast, you understand the terminology, and you learn things on your own.”
“He wouldn’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me.”
“If it’s data entry, I could teach you. I wouldn’t say you were good if I didn’t believe it.”
Her eyes brightened. “I’ll give that some thought.”
“Good.” I closed the laptop and set it aside. “I have two more things to ask.”
“Shoot.”
“Mundy wants me to drive to California with her this month. Can I go?”<
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“Yes.”
That was easier than I anticipated. “Don’t you have any questions?”
“Maybe.” She scrunched her face sternly. “How long will you be gone?”
“A week.”
“Any issues with your schoolwork?”
“None.”
“You can go.”
I laughed. “What about Dad?”
“I’ll handle him.”
Marnie should quit awful jobs more often. “What about our plans for Thanksgiving?”
“It’ll give me an excuse to get out of the dinner at Granny’s. I’ll tell them Byron misses you too much to be good company. They’ll be relieved.”
“So will he.” I gave her a disbelieving smile. “I’m shocked that you caved this fast.”
“Clarissa Cruz-Holt called. We’ve already worked it out.”
The next issue would be harder. I took a deep breath and splat it out there. “I won the Peyton endorsement.”
She leapt to her feet and pumped her fists. “Oh, sweetie, what wonderful news.”
“Yeah. Wonderful.” I stood more slowly.
“Why do I hear a but? What’s the catch?”
“The Peyton board likes for a parent to come to the interview.”
“I’d love to come with you.”
“And I want you, too. But when Dad finds out, it could get ugly. He’s opposed. Loudly.” My head ached with the implications if he got too belligerent. I might lose my endorsement and any other award that might come my way. I should’ve thought this through, although it wasn’t as if I’d had choices. “I forged Dad’s signature on the consent form.”
“Dammit, Eden.” She turned her back on me, fumed a moment, and spun back around. “Why did you do something so stupid?”
“He refused to sign. I was desperate.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“You?” I shook my head. “It had to be a parent or legal guardian.”
“Which I am.”
“Wait.” I clutched the railing for support. “You’re my legal guardian? Nobody ever told me that.”
“I’m your legal mother.”
My lungs started heaving, like I’d run a 10K at top speed and could hardly catch my breath. She was my mother? My legal mother? “How?”
“I adopted you.”
How could something that huge and amazing have slipped past me without my notice? “When?” The single word came out in a rough whisper.
“A couple of years after I married Byron. It was supposed to be a surprise for your eighth birthday.”
“I didn’t know.” My eighth birthday? My awful eighth birthday. On the Saturday of that weekend, I’d waited patiently in the clubhouse of our apartment complex, postponing games and cake and presents, giving the fifteen “late” kids from my second-grade class time to show up. And they never had. And I’d cried all Sunday.
“Oh, sweetie. Maybe you were too young to understand.”
Maybe I’d been too distraught to pay attention.
Marnie was my mother. For a moment, I felt stalled, not moving in any direction, hollow and expanding. “Did I talk to a judge or anything?” I would’ve remembered that. Wouldn’t I?
“Not necessary. We filled in some forms and filed it at the courthouse.”
“You don’t use the word adopted when you introduce me.”
“I’m your mom. You’re my daughter. No other explanation is needed.”
“That’s true.” My head pounded, as if someone was trying to hammer the truth in but it wouldn’t fit. “Dad signs all of my paperwork.”
“He likes to be the one who signs stuff.”
This didn’t change anything, did it? “Was it hard to get Heather to give up legal rights?”
“Didn’t even have to ask.” Distaste colored Marnie’s tone. “She signed them over to me as soon as I married your father.”
I’d always assumed that Heather was worthless. Now it was confirmed. “Do you know where she is now?”
“In Hawaii with her fourth husband.”
I should be relieved to learn this news. When I hadn’t known where Heather was, it could’ve been possible she was dead, or kidnapped, or holed up in an institution with amnesia. There could’ve been a “good” explanation for why we never heard from her, and I would’ve felt guilty for my contempt, but she was none of those things. She lived in an expensive place, and she’d given away her children as if we had never been.
My mouth trembled, trying to smile. Not quite ready to believe yet. “You’ve been my mom the whole time I’ve known you. I just didn’t realize the law believed it too.” I locked my arms around her and hugged as tightly as I could. I didn’t love her more in this moment than I had a minute before, but the world had changed for me.
“As much as I hate what Heather did to you, I thank God for it every day.” Marnie dabbed at her eyes and sniffed. “Okay, my daughter did something totally stupid, and it’s my job to fix it. I don’t like lying to your father, but it’s necessary in this case. So here’s our story. I signed the paperwork, and I’ll go with you to Chapel Hill.”
“Gina Barber could tell him the truth.”
“He won’t ask.”
“He’ll be mad if you do this.”
“Yeah, well, he shouldn’t press his luck at the moment. You focus on winning that scholarship, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
* * *
By Thursday, I was ready to show my proof to Tiffany. Before school started, I went to the computer lab, logged into my account, and texted her.
You’re wanted in the computer lab
The door creaked open minutes later, and Tiffany wandered into the room. She peered into Mrs. Barber’s empty office and then frowned at me.
“Have you seen Aunt Gina?”
“I have.”
“Where is she?”
“I think she’s in the teacher’s lounge.”
Tiffany sauntered to a table out of my reach and perched on the edge. “Do you know why she wanted me to come to the lab?”
“I’m the one who wants you here. She doesn’t know about it.”
Tiffany straightened and turned to go. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“That’s okay. I can do the talking.” I held up my notes. “I found proof that you made the photo.”
Eyes narrowing, she stared at the stapled sheets as if they were poison. Curiosity must have won over reluctance, though, because she took them from me and flipped the pages. Seconds passed. “It’s just a bunch of photos.” There was a quiver to her voice.
“Yeah, all taken by you with the Journalism Club’s new camera. Notice that the Nikon put a timestamp in GMT on all of these images.”
She shivered but said nothing.
“There are a couple of photos you took at the pep rally. Then later that weekend, you snapped shots of Tatum and Starr at North Topsail Beach, at the exact same pier where Ash and I were, at the exact same time.”
As I spoke, she was flicking through the pages again and again, her neck and face reddening. “It’s circumstantial.”
“Agreed.”
“Have you shown this to anyone else?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
Tiffany watched me with anxious eyes. No, it went deeper than that. She was scared. I’d never had anyone look at me with fear before. It was an uncomfortable sensation. “Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
She studied me, as if seeking signs that I was joking. She must have accepted that I was serious, because she sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry that so many people got hurt. That wasn’t my intention. Really. It’s too late to take it back, but please don’t show it to Mr. Applewood. If you do, he’ll kick me out of the Journalism Club.”
“Possibly.”
She shook her head. “Definitely, and I need that club on my resume, Eden. It could help me get into Carolina and I want to go so badly. I can’t be stuck here.”
And there
they were. The magic words. Like me, Tiffany wanted to escape.
Any last traces of outrage deflated. She had to live with what she’d done, just as I would have to live with what came next. I pulled a DVD from my computer and handed it over. “This is yours.”
She gaped at the DVD. “That’s it?”
“Yes. Enough damage has been done.” I stood, grabbed my backpack, and headed for the door. But I paused with my hand on the knob. I wasn’t quite finished. “Tiffany, just a warning. This whole incident was a total sleaze. You can’t be a serious photojournalist and do this tabloid crap to hurt people whenever you hold a grudge.”
“I didn’t think…”
“What? That you’d get caught? It wasn’t that hard to dredge up proof.” I shook my head at her. “There will always be someone smarter than you, and they will figure it out. It’ll be safer if you stick to using your talent for the right reasons.” Yanking open the door, I took off down the hallway, relieved to finally have the ordeal behind me.
32
Burst of Glory
Mundy and I were on day four of the Great Trip West.
She’d driven most of the way. I only helped for an hour or two each day while she snoozed or ate or talked on the phone with her California friends to make plans for when we were there.
This morning, she let me take the wheel from Winslow, Arizona, to Flagstaff. Then we traded seats. Mundy turned the car north.
I’d made A’s in geography. I knew that Grand Canyon National Park lay ahead.
There had been a dozen times over the past four days where she’d pulled off at an overlook or taken a detour into a nearby town. At first, I’d protested. We were on a mission. We had to make good time and get to our planned city for that day.
Mundy shrugged away my concerns, drove exactly where she wanted, and arrived at the correct lodging each night before midnight.
I’d learned to keep my mouth shut, because I’d loved every place we visited.
As we approached the entrance to the park, I asked, “How long will we be here?”
“If we’re this close to the Grand Canyon, we have to see the sunset.”
I looked out the side window. If we’re this close was one of her favorite phrases.