Trish plays her toe boot in the alleyway shavings. “I can show you her tack locker.” It isn’t a question.
Hell yeah, I want in that locker. “I’d like that, Trish.” I follow her to the locked tack room where she pauses like she’s making a big decision. Then, Trish jam-punches the combo and rips open the tack room. She points out a locker with an Iowa State Fair blue ribbon from last summer hanging on it.
“Julia never changed her combo. She knew I’d never give it to anyone.” Trish spins the lock and cracks open the small door.
There are photos of Julia and her horse at shows taped on the inside door. There’s a couple photos of Trish and Julia riding side by side and a selfie with the queen bees at the mall food court. Feeling Trish’s eyes on me, I go through Julia’s stuff, taking my time.
Nothing unusual—nothing except for a thick wad of blond hair held together with a rubber band. I assume it is horse hair, but touching the fine strands, realize it’s human. I look at Trish, who has tears in her eyes.
“That’s Julia’s. She had me shave her hair with horse clippers, as close to the skin as we could get. I hated doing it, but she made me. The queen bees didn’t like it either. She said she didn’t want to be the old Julia. I loved the old Julia. I didn’t like what she turned into.”
What? A junkie? A dealer? I pick up the small lightweight bundle to inspect it closer.
With a gasp, Trish says, “I can’t take this.” She wipes at her eyes. The floodgates have opened. “I’ll walk home. Lock everything up and turn out the lights.” She backs up, spins, and runs out of the room.
I’m left with a dead girl’s locker open in front of me. Alone, the sense of intrusion I’d felt with Trish turns into curiosity. The clump of hair is long…maybe six inches, laying it back into the locker seems final and sad. For no reason other than habit, I snap a couple of locker photos and then turn my attention to the grooming bucket. It’s loaded with the normal brushes, combs, tail wraps, and hoof picks etc.
Stuffed down in the bottom is a single leather glove, smelling of horses and leather. It’s odd to find only one; riding gloves come in twos, of course. If she’d lost one, she would have tossed it. Why did she keep a single glove? I pick up the soft well-oiled glove, and feel the small conical shapes inside. Plastic crinkles.
“Oh no.” I whisper, opening it to see inside. Tucked within is a clear plastic baggy of pills. Pulling it out, the pills match the ones Daniel had the other night. After an age of looking at them, I open the baggy, figuring, in for a penny…The pills are the same colors and shapes, labeled the same as Daniel’s—a perfect set. I snap more phone photos, making sure that the printed codes are legible.
Behind the grooming bucket is an ice-cream-sized container of Bute, a powdered drug like aspirin for horses. The cover isn’t on tight and picking it up, it pops open. No Bute. Baggies of drugs spill out, lots of baggies. Why would Daniel hide them in his sister’s locker? Wait, he hadn’t even been here. Trish said that Daniel visited the stable once and that was back in August.
The answer comes in a flash. These pills are Julia’s. I reach for the banded clump of her hair, squeeze it gently, and then stuff it in my pocket.
Eight
It’s eleven, and I’m rarely out past nine. When I walk in the back door, the smell of home-baked cookies fills the house. Uh, oh. Chocolate. I figured it’d be Friday before Mom’s guilt drove her to box me in on my friend-in-trouble. The TALK is going down now.
In the kitchen, Mom and Dad sit under the breakfast nook’s overhead light in silence. The cookies are on a glass plate that reflects the hanging light. Three mugs of hot chocolate wait complete with marshmallows.
It’s inevitable. I sit, pick up my mug, and take a long drink.
Dad takes the lead. “Sandy called. She worried when she couldn’t reach you. Your phone’s been off.”
“I’m sorry. I was at the stable helping Trish with chores. We started talking and it got late.”
“And you couldn’t call us?”
I’d decided not to call. Trish was already flighty. “I screwed up! Sorry!!” My frustration snipes out, and then wish I hadn’t gone Sandy’s exclamation route.
Pause. Reboot.
Mom starts in again. “Sandy wasn’t just worried. She said you texted her Friday night that you were sick. Instead, she heard that you were at the hospital with a drug dealer named Daniel?”
Oh God. So much for privacy laws. The word is out and Sandy knows that I lied to her. I’d never lied to her. Even in sixth grade and in love with her boyfriend—I’d been up front about it. We laugh about it now. It turned out that little tubby Jake liked little prissy Linda better than either of us.
Back in the real world. “He’s not a friend. I don’t even know him.”
Mom stops sipping her hot chocolate. “Last Friday night, you didn’t tell me you’d been at the emergency room.”
“Mom, I told you it was complicated.”
“Drugs? This Daniel’s beaten up? The ER? You should have told me. We’re worried about you. You’re involved in something we don’t understand. And you covered it up.”
“I didn’t lie.” Yeah, but not the truth either. Now, I’d investigated Julia and found something that had to go somewhere. Who should I tell? Not Mom and Dad. That information is for the police and Daniel.
“You lied to Sandy, and you didn’t explain to me what happened.”
Leaning back in my chair, I don’t say anything. What is there to say—I followed a drug dealer, who’s working with the police, but I think it was his sister dealing the drugs, and BTW she also committed suicide.
Daniel’s life is fucked up. I hadn’t promised to keep his secret, but it isn’t right for me to share it. Spell complicated in giant capital letters.
Dad always lays down the law. “We wanted to give you time to do the right thing, but after tonight and Sandy’s phone call, we’ve changed our minds. You have two options: tell us tonight or talk to Mrs. Chatford, the school counselor, tomorrow. One or the other.”
I bounce my head against the back of the chair several times, look Dad right in the eye, and then say, “Dad, I can’t.” Silence. Slowly, clearly, and with certainty I say, “Dad, it’s not my story to tell.”
Mom loses it. “It’s a story you have to tell someone.”
I understand their point. Heck, if I were them, I’d be locked up in my bedroom—forever. That’s when it hits me. They have my back. Sandy has my back. They’ll always be right behind me ready to battle whoever comes after me. But that doesn’t solve my dilemma. If this isn’t my problem to solve, it certainly isn’t theirs.
I can tell the school counselor, Mrs. Chatford, but she represents the school. She has the school’s back.
Who has Daniel’s back? The cops? Where were they when drug creeps jumped him? If the drugs were Julia’s, would they care? From their point of view, Daniel’s trapped and has to do their dirty work or else. His parents? Logical choice, but he didn’t call them from the ER.
Right then and there my mind is made up. I have his back. The guy doesn’t want it, and I don’t want it, but until this whole mess gets cleaned up to my satisfaction—I’m it.
Still, Mom and Dad have a point. Daniel can get seriously hurt—worse than at Broken Bone, and how would I feel then? Also helping Daniel can get me hurt—not only physically, but could hurt my college recruitment standing and even with the police. Mom and Dad aren’t being unreasonable.
“Okay. I’ll talk with Dr. Bartlett.”
Mom blinks. Dad’s face goes still. Dr. Bartlett is a private counselor. After Grandma died, they made me see her. In other families, it might have been a rabbi or a priest. In my family, we went to counselors. It hadn’t helped. Well, technically I hadn’t helped by never opening my mouth. The sessions shut down after three weeks of stalemate.
“I’ll talk with
Dr. Bartlett and tell her everything.” Now Dad looks hopeful. I hate to break his jolly moment. “As long as we’re clear about one thing—I’m her client, not you.”
“And that is because?” Dad asks.
“Client/doctor confidentiality. As your minor child, she’ll have to keep you informed.” And they might expose Daniel to protect me. “If you sign off that what I say stays between her and me, I’ll do it.”
Dad speaks slowly and with finality like he’s giving me final rights. “She has to report to authorities if lives are at risk. You understand that?”
“Yes.” I lean forward. “Mom, Dad. This is a good thing. I need to talk this over and get someone’s advice. This will help me. Can you live with that?” Plus, Dr. Bartlett is in high demand. There isn’t any chance they can get me an appointment for at least two weeks. It buys time. And, when the beans spill, it won’t be that bad. I’ll get good advice from her.
Mom doesn’t buy it. She reaches for a cookie and snarfs it down in two bites. She’s going to gain some serious weight over this.
Then she talks with her mouth full. “No. You’re under age. This is our call.”
Dad, on the other hand, thinks it over with full diligence, rubbing his thumb against his incisor like he’s sharpening it. He turns to Mom. “April, do we have a choice? If Kami’s at a moral impasse, if she honestly feels she can’t share, what option do we have? Do we ground her for a moral dilemma?”
“Bullshit!” Mom says. Yeah, Mom’s got a mouth on her. “She was with someone who got beat up! Drugs are involved. Her life is at risk!” She grabs another cookie.
“Yes. It is.” Dad turns back to me. “What kind of promise do we have that you’ll stay safe, Kami?”
I say, “I never want to be at that hospital again. After Grandma, you know how hard that is for me. I can promise you that. Good enough?”
Dad reaches out for Mom’s hand. “It’ll have to be enough. You’d better head to bed, Kami. Tomorrow’s a school day.”
It’s two a.m. before I fall asleep to the sounds of Mom and Dad arguing in the kitchen.
***
“Sandy!” Her small Vietnamese ass escapes into students in the hall. I slam my book bag onto the ground by my locker. “Damn it!”
Gavin with the Emerald Green Eyes steps into my view. He leans his long, lean sexy bod against Sandy’s locker next to mine. Daniel’s eyes are sky blue, but Gavin’s are emerald. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What does color have to do with anything?
He says, “What did you do to tick her off?”
I blow hair out of my eyes and wish that I’d gotten more sleep. I sent a text off to Sandy first thing this morning. Then another after brushing my teeth, then again before eating breakfast, after eating breakfast, and from the school parking lot, and then during every class break—all that comes back each time is, Drop dead.
That’s a lot of drop deads. I’m tempted to text back about her lack of creativity. Instead, I text, Sorry! There’s a reason, trust me.
Bull Shit!!!!! Count ’em, five exclamation marks. And yeah, Sandy hangs with Mom, and once Sandy finds the exclamation point key, she uses it. At least it’s something more than drop dead. There’s a good chance it’ll be all day before she talks with me. That brief view of Sandy’s back is the closest I’ve gotten, and it’s fifth period break already.
“Hey? Right here, standing in front of you?” Gavin says.
“Sorry.” But I say it to the wrong person and watch that point where Sandy disappeared. An image of Trish and Julia drifting apart flashes in my head. Crap. I have to make this right with my BFF.
“Want me to take a hike, Kami? I will. If that’s what you want.” In middle school, Gavin’s kid-voice changed to one you want to ooze into like a chocolate pudding bath.
Regret works its way past my guilt. “No. I’m just upset. We never fight. Well, we did in elementary school over a boy we both liked, but not for years. Don’t go away on my account.” I lean against my locker. He’s so close, and it’s nice looking up at him. Both Gavin and Daniel are taller than me. And doesn’t that almost take me on another trip down blue-eye memory lane. I shake it off, and concentrate on the hottie in front of me.
I ask, “Good basketball game Friday night?”
“Nah, we lost, but Sally dumped root beer all over Jimmy.” Emerald Green Eyes says it like it’s a joke, but his body’s tight, maybe a bit angry. “Jimmy makes a move on her, which we all know she wouldn’t mind, but she’s in the middle of that long trumpet solo? Jimmy puts his hands around her shoulders or means to.” Gavin shakes his head. “He’s such a dimwit klutz. Instead he wraps them around her neck. Sally panics and her elbow hits Aiden’s giant Sip N Go mug behind her. It comes apart, splattering down on her, Jimmy, and everyone else.”
Wish I’d been there and not at the hospital. “What a riot. What did Mr. Duncan do to 3J?” It’s odd that Gavin calls his BFF Jimmy, not 3J. He’s never made the switch to the middle school nickname everyone else uses.
“Mr. Duncan kicked Jimmy out of band for two weeks.”
“3J’s lucky.” He plays tuba. “We can’t be without a full oompa-pa contingency.”
“I don’t want to talk about Jimmy.” Emerald Green Eyes smiles a long and slow grin like Robert Pattinson. Seriously, does he practice it? He readjusts his body against Sandy’s locker and leans in closer. Where Daniel is Irish Spring and pine forest, Gavin is leather and suede. “So Friday night, I get the nerve to ask you out and you’re a no show. Want to tell me about that?”
“Something came up.” And isn’t that a weak and stupid answer. At least, he hasn’t heard about my ER visit.
“Listen, Kami…” Gavin says it like it’s important.
The number of students in the hall doubles, so does the noise level. Hall break is in high swing. My lab book is still in the locker—and standing next to it is Emerald Green Eyes. Priorities are priorities. I lean in to hear him better. Gavin’s breath smells like Juicy Fruit gum, but he isn’t chewing any right now.
Technically, his eyes, perfectly framed by long, dark lashes, are sRGB 34-139-34. I know this because I had researched them for an hour over holiday break. They’re the shiny clear richness of brilliant emeralds mixed with flecks from a quiet Caribbean Island’s water. After barfing from my lovesick nonsense, I’d shoved the crazy notes about his eyes into my locker. Its corresponding control marble—a solid emerald green—has never been seen again.
He says, “You’ll be going to Fort Carroll for the BB game Friday, right?”
He looks over my shoulder. I turn to look too. 3J and Sally are coming down the hall.
“Yes. Miss another and Mr. Duncan will kick me out of band.”
“Sit with me on the bus. Let’s make a night of it. Just you and me.”
I stop breathing, so when I start again it sucks in loud. I quip, “And the entire pep band.”
Gavin raises his right eyebrow and the corner of his mouth, nonverbally saying, Seriously? That’s how you want to handle this? Sandy bashing my head alert! Emerald Green Eyes makes his move and I crack a stinking ha-ha joke. Correct course. “That’d be nice.”
“Good.” With a glance at 3J, Gavin moves his head in closer.
Oh God. He’s coming in for a kiss.
Nine
I flirt with him since Thanksgiving and nada. Now? If I raise my head, tilt it, and…Well, that’s what I do. Forget my lowly RL romance league and onward into fantasy league. His lips come down on mine and flutter against them. My soft breath escapes and lands square in his mouth. It sounds like a groan. Maybe it is.
Gavin pulls back a couple centimeters without any embarrassment. My face is hot enough to call the fire department. That quiet island of contented eyes? They’re more like a sea from Homer’s Odyssey, sucking me into riptides. And I want to drown.
He whispers, stating the obvious, �
�That was nice.”
“Ah huh.”
“Want to me to stop?” And he rakes his sexy half-closed eyes over my face.
“Nah uh.”
He lowers those wonderful moist lips down again. This time, I do groan. His short laugh echoes in my mouth. It travels down my nerve synapses to my toes that promptly curl up in my shoes. Then he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close.
I curse that damned bookbag at my feet that keeps my body from crushing up against his; deeply regretting that it keeps all those private body parts from touching. Everything would fit so nicely together. As he tips me back and moves those lips against me again, his hands play across my back and lower. Nerve synapses scream everywhere.
I move my hands down his back too, and isn’t that nice?
“Geez, get a room,” a passing student gruffs out. Other students laugh.
“Shut up, Nile.” Emerald Green Eyes says as he eases back, but he doesn’t let go of my waist.
We weave back and forth in each other’s arms to music no one else can hear. Then he says, “We’d better get to class.”
“Yeah.”
“Friday night?”
I nod. As he starts down the hall, it hits me. “Wait, Gavin?”
He turns back.
“Where will we sit?” Back of the pep band bus is make out section. I never sit there, and not sure I want to sit there, and…
“Where do you think?” says Gavin with the Emerald Green Eyes. He dives into the students and is gone.
And I thought he’d been too gorgeous to be straight? Now, on top of all the other complications in my life, I just added back-of-the-bus worries.
Back of the bus…Going won’t be bad, but coming back in the dark? Plastered up against Gavin? Am I ready for that? Geez, Sandy—angry or not—I need you.
Grabbing my phone, I text. Knock it off. NEED YOU. Gavin asked me to sit w/him on the bus Friday night. Help???? I look at those four question marks and consider editing the Sandy-speak, don’t, and then send them off into her world.
Chaos Theory Page 6