Her nostrils flared. “What? Cared about you? Bothered to stick around?”
“I can’t stand to think about how they didn’t want me.” I glanced at the woman in the room behind Rachelle. “You look so much like your mom. You’re so lucky.”
She smiled, but her eyes were glossy, bitter almost. “Latasha’s not my real mom.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Latasha is not my real mother. She didn’t give birth to me.”
I gasped, for the hall had narrowed around us. “I don’t understand.”
“My real mom is Latasha’s sister. She’s a crackhead in D.C.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“So you’ll know I understand.” She stepped forward as I retreated against a locker. “So you’ll know you can’t fool me with the ‘I’m adopted and can’t stand it’ bullshit.”
“But my parents love me. I love them.”
Her laughter was a low, throaty sound. “Then start showing it.” Rachelle backed up, smiling again, and this time her eyes danced. “Trust me, life could be worse. You could’ve been stuck with those people who didn’t want you.”
* * * * *
The whole family attended Pade’s next two football games, except for Dad, and the second was the only game scheduled on a Thursday. That night the glow of the stadium threatened the darkness above as fall gusts blew through my hair. Everything had begun to spin out of control except for my relationship with Pade. Bailey and I paced before the chain-link fence and cheered while Pade threw the ball as if Credence fought for the state finals. In a way, his accomplishments felt like part of me.
We passed Tosh and Lisa with a group of juniors on our way to the concession stand. Bailey and I ignored the taunts and kept walking, two girls on a plane no one could reach. I bought a hotdog and drink from the counter, and smiled at my friend, knowing nothing could spoil the night.
The clock counted down, but impatient people spilled onto the field in a massive flow. Cheerleaders clapped and screamed. Band members danced, Angel included with her clarinet in hand. Exhilaration surged through the air and, even though I never led a single drive, I enjoyed the skyscraping high.
While we waited for the team to emerge from the locker room, Bailey talked with Rachelle on the fifty-yard line. I stole glances at the doors that separated me from Pade. When Rachelle spotted Angel, still in uniform, Bailey leaned over. “You know he’s not going any faster just ‘cause you’re watching.”
“I know.”
She put an arm around my neck. “Are you finally going to admit that you like my brother?”
“I like your brother.” The words were out before I could think consequences.
She hugged me closer. “Just think, one day we could be real sisters.”
“That still doesn’t mean he likes me.”
“He does, Jes, he really does.” Although I shook my head, her smile never wavered. “Trust me. Hey, is that Chase? We’ve got to check it out.”
I eyed the doors, this time collecting every inch of nerve. “You go ahead. I think I’ll find Pade.”
With a deep breath, I started toward the locker room. Slow steps built the confidence needed to tell Pade I was ready for that step beyond ‘just friends.’ A stream of players passed on their way out, but no one seemed to notice me in the shadows. At the entrance, I hesitated before grabbing the door. How embarrassing would it be to get sick on the floor of the guys’ locker room?
Inside lockers formed a barricade of silence. The staleness of sweaty socks filled the air, but underneath floated the smell of his cologne, though maybe I simply imagined the warmth as I remembered our last kiss. Only one sound penetrated the wall, gentle waves hitting highs and lows like music seeping from a speaker. I rounded the lockers before realizing the sound was laughter. The tinkling grated my nerves, but I froze after hearing a male voice.
They stood disturbingly close despite a thousand empty tiles surrounding the showers. Pade had cleaned up and changed, his hair tousled and still wet. The loosened straps of Tosh’s lacy tank hung from her shoulders.
“Why do you have to be so mean to everyone?” he asked.
Her words were honey. “I’m not mean to everyone.”
“You know what I’m saying.”
Tosh leaned back against the wall. “Maybe you should help me understand.”
“Please, Tosh, I’m trying to be nice about it.”
“I’ve heard you and your sister are close. I can’t help she hangs out with a bunch of scrubby tenth graders.”
His face edged mere inches from hers. “You can help it. Just leave them alone. They’ve got nothing on you, Tosh. I don’t understand why you feel threatened.”
“I don’t feel threatened. Your sister is okay, but her friend’s got a crush on you.” She raised her eyes. “I don’t like competition.”
“Jes isn’t your competition. She’s family, just like my sister.” Pade didn’t break contact with her bold eyes. “I thought you were old enough to understand.”
Tosh licked her lips, glossy under the fluorescents, and placed her hands against the tiled wall. Pade leaned in slowly and touched his lips to hers. As if watching an amazingly horrible movie, I stood breathless while he pressed her to the wall and the kiss turned to fire. She stretched her arms around his neck and the kiss deepened, leaving me with barely enough strength to turn and walk away.
I never looked back, only dragged my feet to the field. Since a fit worse than tears threatened to expose my suffering to the world, surely Bailey wouldn’t be fooled. I approached my lifeline near one set of goal posts, but her eyes remained on Chase. Mom and Aunt Charlie reached us through the crowd, about the time Pade walked up. Tosh was nowhere in sight, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Pade,” said Aunt Charlie. “I thought you were going to eat with the team.”
“I don’t feel well,” he mumbled.
I wondered how to survive the ride and begged my tears to wait, tears I’d sworn to never let him see. We climbed into the van, the boys taking second row with Bailey insisting I squeeze between her and Pade. I fixed my eyes on the lights of cars speeding by and held every inch of skin away from the chance to brush his. The closeness of the backseat and Bailey’s constant chatter nearly suffocated me.
Bailey asked her mom to spend the night as planned, but I held a hand over my mouth. After announcing I also felt sick, she turned away, though not fast enough for me to miss the pain in her eyes.
Aunt Charlie shook her head. “I hope you and Pade haven’t caught the same bug.”
With every other light in the house off, I stood before the bathroom mirror, filled by awe over how my entire life could flip on a curve with no banking. I pictured Pade, holding my worst enemy, kissing her with a force he’d probably never felt when kissing me. After all, I was ‘family’ to him.
My stomach wrenched and I grasped for the sink. Collapsing on my knees, I puked twice, a film of bile burning the roof of my mouth. Above, I gripped the counter’s edge, drawing myself up. My hand slid across the marble, knocking my brush to the floor. I lifted the brush, staring at the bristles prickled against my skin, but in a flash used the handle to shove every item from the counter. The towels, creased and rolled on the wire shelves, were plush in my hands as I hurled each at the wall in a fury. I spun to the mirror, but two brown pools, a stranger’s set of eyes, stared back. I ripped out both contacts and fired them across the room, not caring where my fake vision landed.
The mirror was a blur and I moved closer, watching my real eyes, deep blue like the calmest ocean. The air was silent, grieving around me, until the flood of tears erupted. With a final curse of the world, I dropped to the floor again, this time hugging my knees close. My head rested on numb arms as sobs shook my entire body.
Even dreams stayed away that night, allowing hours to grasp the most painfully great truth of my life: I loved Pade Sanders.
The Wreck
Soft light glowed on th
e window, left half-open. Birds chirped outside the screen. My skin tingled as I gripped the comforter, pulling it over my face. Coffee and bacon filled the air, for the morning was perfectly normal.
Until I opened the holder for my contacts.
I ran into the bathroom and dropped to the floor, feeling across the tiles. My fingers grazed one contact and I released a breath, holding the tiny bubble in my fist. A single brown eye would ensure I didn’t starve, as long as its blue counterpart failed to meet either of Mom’s.
After clearing my plate in record time, I gave the bathroom floor another shot. My knees were shaking when a honk split the air. I bolted around the room in dismay, hating the low probability of ever finding the other contact. Back in my bedroom, I sifted through the top drawer until my fingers found the small case. The lid creaked open to reveal a set of glasses, unworn for more than three years.
I raced down the stairs as Mom waited next to the van, arms crossed. A quick charge should have propelled me inside, but her firm grip stopped me from climbing. The twins leaned forward, eyes on us, whispering, as Bailey’s voice crackled behind them. To my surprise, Pade also stared from the backseat.
Mom’s voice trembled. “Where are your contacts?”
“I lost one last night.”
“That was your last set? Oh dear, and your father isn’t here. He usually gets them for you.”
“I’ve got my old glasses. I can see fine and they still fit my face.”
She sighed, ushering me into the van. “My mess magnet.”
During a ten-minute ride that seemed to restart twice as many times, Pade refused to let Bailey complete a full sentence. Unlike the day before, I commanded his full attention. Also unlike the day before, I contemplated a restraining order. Pade continued to ramble about the game while each play infuriated me more.
He followed us to The Spot and I entrenched myself in a Bailey-Angel debate over what to wear for the Homecoming dance, ready to block out yet another recount of the night before. Tosh appeared on the sidewalk, but Pade hovered by my side until the first bell rang.
“Look at Delamester,” Tosh said. “She’s wearing blue contacts now.”
Tosh laughed, but Pade quickly changed the subject. In a perfect world, I would have simply smacked her and asked, ‘Who the hell wears contacts with glasses?’
When I lifted my backpack, Pade touched my arm, leaning close. “I like the blue eyes, Jes.” He gave a smile with the power to melt my heart only twenty-four hours before.
I mumbled thanks and sped off, reaching first block with a minute to spare. Mrs. Pearson followed her usual path to the front as Chase’s stiff body maneuvered into the seat next to mine.
He stared at the desk, at the floor, but would not look at me.
My stomach tightened. “What’s wrong? Chase, talk to me.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Your morning can’t be as bad as mine.”
“You have no idea.” The squeal of chalk on the board drowned out a groan as he looked up, face shifting from disgust to surprise in the space of the last bell. “Your…eyes.”
“Usually I wear contacts, but I’ve lost my last pair.”
“But your eyes are blue.”
I pressed the metal frames higher, rubbing the sore spot on my nose. “My eyes are blue, but I wear contacts that make them look brown.”
“Why would you want people to think you have brown eyes?”
“My mom and dad and brothers all have brown eyes.”
“And yours are blue. Like mine.”
“Chase,” Mrs. Pearson said, since neither of us had noticed the room’s transition to library. “Stop talking in my class.”
He leaned across the aisle. “Tell me why.”
Mrs. Pearson slammed down her planner and circled the desk, heading in our direction, but the clicking stopped when I looked up. Her gaze flowed from me to Chase, then back to me. “Class, open your literature books and read Twelfth Night. Silently.” I tried to think of something, anything to say if called upon, as she turned and ran from the room. Everyone glanced around, but no one said a word.
I met Chase halfway, voice lowered to a whisper. “I’m adopted.”
* * * * *
A trip to the bathroom kept Chase from asking more questions and made me late for second block. I opened the door to Mr. Larson’s class and approached my desk under the cover of silence. As I eased my backpack to the floor, Ronald Pitts raised his hand.
“Yes, Ronald?” Mr. Larson asked.
“Jessica’s late for the fourth time.”
My hands gripped the desk in a motion that could have strangled Ronald as laughter erupted from every direction. With eyes focused on the board, I prayed Mr. Larson hadn’t marked down all four tardies.
“Well,” he said, glancing at his roll book. “I guess Ronald’s right. We’ll deal with this after lab.”
When everyone rose to enter the lab, my eyes found Ronald’s. He grinned and whispered to a couple of girls, both giggling as I passed.
Anger built from embarrassment burned inside as the lab began. Chase collected supplies for our experiment without a word, including his typical insistence for my help. After preparing all the beakers, Chase asked the question I had refused to elaborate on in first block.
“I’m really adopted,” I said, leaning back.
He lifted beakers and poured fluids at random, making green and orange bubbles. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“My past isn’t something I usually talk about. Besides, it’s not some big secret. You would’ve found out.” I evened my tone, not wanting to sound bitter about Chase knowing the truth. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard already.”
“Trust me, I’d remember hearing you were adopted.”
“I’m surprised Bailey hasn’t told you.”
He pulled a small bag from his pocket and poured a white powder into one beaker, before sloshing the beaker in a circle. “I’ve tried asking about you, but she only wants to talk about herself.”
I smiled. “You’ll get used to it.”
“How long have you known?”
“About being adopted? I’ve always known.”
His eyebrows shot up and liquid in the beaker rippled, splashing several drops onto the black surface. “Always?”
Green smoke rose from the liquid. Without thinking, I reached for the bubbling ooze, which appeared to be burning a hole into the table.
Chase swatted my hand. “I wouldn’t touch that.”
“This isn’t TV. I didn’t find out about being adopted last month. My parents have always seen the truth about my adoption as need-to-know for everyone, which is probably why no one bothered to tell you.”
“That’s cool. I mean, it’s cool you’ve got parents who are honest with you.” I wanted to agree, but couldn’t reverse the titanic flip of my stomach. “What about your real parents?”
“I don’t talk about them.”
“Are they dead?”
“They gave me up.”
“Jes,” Mr. Larson said as he approached the table. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pushing a folded yellow slip under my lab manual.
My throat was dry, hard to swallow. “It’s okay.” My first write-up in Credence.
“Mrs. Pearson asked that you stop by her class when second block is over.” He glanced at our table and his watch. “If you guys are finished, you can go ahead and leave. That way we can make sure you aren’t late for third block.”
“I guess Chase will have to clean up this mess,” I said.
Mr. Larson glanced at the table again. “What mess?”
I gasped. All five beakers formed a neat line, at the center of the table, same as before the experiment. The liquids were gone, as if Chase never filled the tubes with green and orange bubbles. I pressed my fingers to the black surface, a long sheet of wax without a single hole. Chase had retired to his stool, hunched over the black binder, writing again. He didn’t move when I tou
ched his shoulder. Grabbing my backpack, I ran to first block.
* * * * *
Students nearly trampled me as the bell rang, but Mrs. Pearson was already moving a chair next to her desk and waving me over. “Miss Delaney, I have your vocabulary test graded.”
My heart skipped a beat as she pulled a clip from a stack of papers, the one with my name resting on top. The staple was missing, which made spreading the evidence in front of me a quick charge.
“Is there something you would like to say?” she asked.
“It looks like I made an A.”
“If not for misspelling two words, you would have made a one hundred.” She leaned back in her chair, inspecting my face. Slowly, she arranged five more tests in front of me. “I reviewed your old tests and discovered you missed words you previously spelled correctly.” Her voice lowered. “I think you planned to miss those words.” The silence continued and she sighed. “You had the ability to make a perfect score and purposely answered incorrectly?”
“Yes ma’am.”
She winced. “Jessica, I am very disappointed in you.” Her use of my first name brought a sick sense of closeness compared to the impersonal Miss Delaney. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
My eyes focused on lines marking the floor. I intended to answer, eventually, but she gripped my most recent test and marked out the grade, drawing a huge ‘0’ with a slash through the middle.
“You’re giving me a zero? I’ve never made a zero in my entire life. I only missed two answers. I earned an ‘A’.”
“You have not earned anything. You wasted your chance to excel. You cheated and cheaters in my class get zeroes. Jessica, you will learn not all people are blessed with such gifts. Drifting through life while carelessly wasting what you have been given is not fair to yourself or those around you.”
Bitterness charged my words. “Life is not fair.” Dad had used that line many times.
Our eyes locked and I wondered how long our ‘battle of wills’ could last. Just when I felt sure I’d be the first to look away, Mrs. Pearson removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes, damp and tired like I felt. “That may be true. Ironically, you are the only one who can even the odds.”
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