Lifted

by Wendy Toliver

  “I know, I know. I owe you. But really, David. I can’t ditch. Not today.”

  He frowned and started rubbing his lower back. “I have an idea. Stay put, kiddo. I’ll be back before you can say ‘blueberry pie.’”

  “Blueberry pie.”

  “Okay, maybe not that fast.” We laughed, and already I felt a bit better.

  In his absence, I spotted Gabe at the bulletin board, and after taking a deep breath, I straightened myself and sidled up to him. Might as well get this over with, I figured.

  “Hey, Gabe.” I touched his shoulder and he turned around. “Have a sec?”

  He smiled. “Sure, what’s up, Poppy?”

  “I can’t go to the dance with you.”

  His handsome face remained virtually unchanged, but he balled his hands into tight fists at his sides. “What’s going on with you?” His voice sounded strained, like he couldn’t quite figure out whether to be mad or concerned.

  I dropped my neck back and stared at the tiled ceiling. “I’m grounded.”

  After a pause, he said, “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He gave me an inquisitive look, but I didn’t want to get into it, so I just said, “Well, yeah, it kind of sucks. Anyway, I know there’re only four days to work with, but maybe you can go with someone else.”

  He frowned. “You wouldn’t care? If I went with another girl, I mean.”

  I hesitated for a second, knowing full well it was a loaded question. A variation of the infamous “you’re a nice person but,” “let’s just be friends,” or other such let-the-poor-sucker-down-gently speeches.

  But I decided the truth was the best way to go. “No. I know you want to go. I think you should go. And I think you know someone who’d be over the moon to go with you.”

  “Okay. Well, let me know when the ankle bracelet comes off, and maybe we can do something sometime.”

  “Maybe.” I saw David in the distance, half jogging over to me, and I smiled. “Maybe not.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Okay, it’s all arranged,” David said. “Mrs. Winstead sent messages to our teachers. We’re free for a whole hour.”

  “How’d you get her to do that?” I asked.

  He winked. “I have my secrets. Now come on.”

  We jumped into his pickup, and he drove to the park he’d mentioned, which was nestled between towering pecan trees. It consisted of a rusty merry-go-round; a wide, mirrored slide; a sandbox; a duck and a pink elephant to ride on; and, of course, swings with chains that shot clear into the sky. Except for the pair of gray squirrels rustling about in a pecan tree, we were all alone.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” David said as we headed over to the swings. He dug into his pocket and placed a penny in my palm. Only it wasn’t a regular penny: It was the flattened one from the train tracks. He kept it with him.

  I closed my fingers around the penny. “I’m not even sure where to begin. And I’m afraid you won’t understand. And that you’ll hate me.”

  “You won’t believe how amazing these swings are,” he said as he sat on one. Had he heard a word I’d said? “They’re like magic. You just start swinging, and all of a sudden”—he snapped his fingers—“nothing’s as bad as it seemed.”

  I slipped the penny into my pocket and lowered myself onto the swing next to him. I leaned back and started pumping my legs, gaining speed and height. For a few seconds, David and I were right next to each other, “married,” as elementary school kids called it. But then I broke free and glided up into the sky. The breeze blew through my hair and into my face, and I closed my eyes as fresh air filled my lungs.

  “I didn’t realize I had such a fine swinger on my hands.” David chuckled as he swung higher and higher.

  The trees were below us, and we touched the clouds with our feet. And just when I knew I couldn’t go any higher, my muscles relaxed and I surrendered myself to gravity, the peaceful rocking motion slowing steadily until I came back down to earth.

  “I’m a shoplifter,” I said. As I stared at my boots, my fingers slid down the chains, taking in each smooth, warm link in turn.

  David reached over and lifted my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes. Wide open green eyes fringed with dark lashes. He wasn’t judging me. “That’s it?”

  I let out a weird snort noise and pulled back from him. “Isn’t that enough? David, I’m a thief, a criminal. I’ll probably end up picking up trash on the side of the highway in a neon orange vest. I might end up in jail!” He didn’t say anything, and when I looked at him, his eyes were all glassy. “Did you hear me?”

  He blinked a few times and smirked. “Yeah, sorry, just imagining you doing community service. You’d look hot in orange.” He whistled and I rolled my eyes.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Okay, in all seriousness, all of that sounds plenty bad.” He laughed good-naturedly. “I just thought maybe something worse had happened.”

  “Well, there is losing my mother’s trust . . . and losing my best friend. So I guess . . .” I felt tears welling up again and blinked to keep them from spilling out. I swayed side to side on the swing, resting my head on the chain.

  “Talk to me,” David said. And I did. He listened intently, nodding every now and then like he understood. He was so easy to talk to. And yeah, sometimes he’d make a reference to a Bible story, like when he compared Bridgette and Mary Jane to King Saul and David, which kind of went in one ear and out the other, but all in all, he had very good, very uplifting input.

  “Well, I guess we’d better get back,” David said.

  “Or we can just jump in your truck, drive like crazy, and start a commune wherever we happen to be when the gas runs out.”

  “Awesome. You’ve just answered one of the questions I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “You know, the one that goes, like, ‘If we were the only two people on earth—or starting a commune, as it were—would you hook up with me?” He cleared his throat. “You know, for purely procreational purposes.”

  I shook my head, floored how I could be in the crux of one of the hugest tragedies of my fifteen-year-old life, and he somehow knew exactly what to do and say to cheer me up.

  “No?” he asked, raising his brows.

  “If we were the only two people on earth—or starting a commune, or being abducted by aliens—I’d hook up with you for purely recreational purposes at first . . . and maybe for procreational purposes later on, like when we’re thirty.”

  David laughed, and as we climbed into the cab of his pickup, I realized no matter what my future held for me, I wanted David to play a very important, very real part of it.

  A mile or two down the road, David flicked on his blinker and pulled over. The truck slanted as my half sunk into a ditch full of a bunch of late-season wildflowers and a grayish lump about the size of a watermelon. “What, are you going to give that armadillo mouth-to-mouth or something?”

  “Naw, poor guy’s already destined for the roadkill castle in the clouds,” he said, cutting the engine.

  “Do you believe animals go to heaven?” I asked. I didn’t know why the thought had popped into my head. Maybe ’cause fuzzy little corpses were easier to talk about than what I’d just told him at the park.

  “Definitely.”

  “Does it say so in the Bible? I heard that if it does, it’s gotta be true.”

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” He reached across the cab to pop open the glove compartment. I pretended not to notice that his hand dropped to my thigh, or that he didn’t seem to be in any rush to remove it. He pulled out a worn black Bible, stuffing the Ford-emblematized owner’s manual back in its place. He handed me the Bible. “Turn to first John, chapter one,” he instructed.

  I thumbed through the book, and when I hadn’t found it in a few minutes, David said, “It’s at the back, between second Peter and second John.”

  Still no luck. He scooted closer to me,
and while the Bible was spread out on my legs, he flipped the delicate pages, finding the exact page within seconds.

  “Impressive,” I said.

  He grinned. “Bible drill champion, second grade through sixth.”

  “Now I’m really impressed,” I teased.

  He pointed to a verse. “First John, one eight. Read it.”

  “If we say we have no sin, we are deceiving ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” I laid the Bible down. “That’s not about animals going to heaven,” I said, confused.

  “I know.” He jumped out of the truck, walked around to my side, and signaled for me to roll down the window. I did.

  “I just wanted to let you know I’m here for you.” He picked a big orange flower and handed it to me through the window. It was a poppy. “I know you’re going through a rough patch, but we all make mistakes. It says so in the Bible, so it’s gotta be true.”

  I had the wild urge to kiss him, and before I could stop myself, I leaned forward and touched my lips to his. It was a little too abrupt, but he definitely got the message and kissed me back with a sexy softness I’d never experienced before. For one glorious moment, I didn’t give a damn about my upcoming confrontation with Mary Jane, my disintegrating relationship with my mother, or my shoplifting problem.

  When the kiss ended, I laughed, more than a little embarrassed. David brushed a strand of my hair out of my eye, and I felt his warm breath on my cheek. Then he grinned at me like he knew I’d kiss him all along. He jogged around the hood and hoisted himself into the driver’s seat. Then he started up the engine and pulled onto the road, the tires crunching on some loose gravel. A few heartbeats later, he stretched out his arm and reached for my hand.

  I pulled away, just out of reach. “You sure you want to do that?” I asked.

  He winced. “What do you mean?”

  “They’re sticky. My fingers. Sticky fingers.” Each word I uttered quivered and seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. “Get it?” My attempt at making light of the situation was failing miserably.

  Without taking his eye off the road, he grabbed my hand, capturing it like a frightened kitten or a grasshopper or something. He held it firmly and turned it palm-up, examining my fingers. “They don’t look sticky to me.” Next he held up my hand to his nose and sniffed. “Don’t smell sticky . . .”

  He held my hand the rest of the drive back to school. His hand was warm and dry, and I liked touching it. We didn’t say much. I felt drained, like I was on the mend from a wicked stomach flu. It was an oddly peaceful sensation, though, like maybe someday I’d be ready to take on the world. When David pulled into the student parking lot, he slowly let go of my hand.

  “David?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Just so you know, you definitely wear the white hat,” I said and hopped out.

  “Poppy, Poppy!” The soft Southern drawl that used to make me happy now made the bile rise in my stomach. Then I saw she had the gall to wear the top I’d made especially for her and my blood boiled. She separated herself from the gaggle of girls who surrounded her and walked briskly over to me, her flouncy skirt swaying and her honey-colored curls bouncing behind her plumed headband. Her features registered a sense of urgency and perhaps a bit of concern, so I held my tongue and waited to hear what she had to say—praying David was right and there was a logical explanation, a simple misunderstanding, something to attest that Mary Jane and I still could be friends.

  “I heard you backed out of going to Sadie’s with Gabe. Is it true?”

  Was she talking in some kind of code, or was that really what she was so determined to talk about? I decided to play along.

  “I’m grounded. I had no choice.”

  “Seriously? Oh, Poppy. I thought for a minute you’d figured out a way to go with David or something. But grounded? How pitiful! What did you do? It’s not your grades, is it?”

  I shook my head, the same head that couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on. But I was sick of playing her little game. It was time to call her out on it. “I’m grounded for shoplifting. You of all people should know that.”

  “Shoplifting?” She held her hand up to her mouth, and her big blue eyes looked side to side, as if she couldn’t believe she’d just said the dirty word out loud.

  “Yes, shoplifting. Apparently your mother found it necessary to call my mom and let her know you two were praying for me to stop.”

  Her hand slowly lowered to reveal her wide-open mouth. Just then, one of the Ulrich twins walked by and called, “Hey, Mary Jane. Cool about your mom winning that golf tournament.” Mary Jane gave her a limp wave but never took her eyes off of me. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Poppy. How . . . ? How did my mom find out?”

  “You tell me,” I snapped. I put my hands on my hips and waited.

  Mary Jane lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “You’re mad at me. I can tell. But I swear, Poppy,” she said, looking at me now, “I never told my mother. Why in the world would I do that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said bitterly yet honestly. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. Maybe someone got suspicious, and you pointed your manicured finger at me. Maybe I don’t fit into your perfect little life anymore? Maybe it’s because of Andrew.”

  “Andrew? What’s he got to do with it?” she asked, her face getting paler every second. She swallowed, and I heard the faint gulp. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me so you don’t feel guilty when you go for Andrew? Is that what this is all about?”

  I rolled my eyes. “This is about the fact that your mom called and”—I made the quotes sign with my fingers—“ ‘spilled the beans’ and now I’m in deep shit. And I’m not really sure why I’m the only one in deep shit, because I thought we were all in this together, Mary Jane.”

  “Poppy, I feel terrible your mom found out, but I don’t—”

  “You really had me going.” I clenched my hands into fists, digging my nails into my damp palms. “I thought we were friends. But you’re nothing but a two-faced bitch.” Though I truly thought I meant it, I couldn’t come to look Mary Jane in the eye after I’d said those words.

  The tune of “Amazing Grace” filled the hallway. Lockers slammed and kids scattered this way and that. Neither Mary Jane nor I budged, not even when Whitney came over to show us an article in the local paper about the GOV Club.

  “I have to go,” I said, the hymn nearing its end. “I can’t be late.”

  “Okay, you can just take it and read it whenever you get the chance,” Whitney said, completely oblivious to the tension between her two best friends. I grabbed the newspaper and hurried off to my second-period class, more upset and confused than ever.

  “I heard you’re not going to Sadie’s anymore,” Bridgette whispered as I got out my paper and pen. Normally I’d freak over having my personal life exposed at Calvary High Gossip Central, but I was still struggling to comprehend why Mary Jane acted like she didn’t have anything to do with her mother’s call. Or didn’t even know about it, for that matter.

  “That’s a bummer if it’s true,” said Bridgette. “You never can believe anything that goes on around here, though. Not without hearing it from the horse’s mouth.”

  I nodded distractedly. “It’s true. So if you want to ask him again, he’s up for grabs.” What the hell. I figured if Gabe really didn’t want to go with Bridgette, he could man up and tell her no. And then Bridgette could start the arduous process of getting over it.

  “I saw you and Mary Jane talking in the hall just now. Y’all looked like you were in a fight or something.”

  “I don’t know, maybe,” I said, copying the teacher’s notes as she scribbled them on the whiteboard.

  “Well, I hope not. Fighting with your best friend is the worst. I’ll be praying for you.”

  Remembering something I still needed to do, I pulled my purse out of my backpack, and then took the Claire’s Club card out of my wallet. “Take this,” I said, giving it to Bridgette.
“Give it to your boss or whatever. It’s for the earrings.”

  She twirled the card in her fingers and flared her nostrils. A little while later, Bridgette raised her hand to ask a question. Maybe I was just hypersensitive to somebody else’s good mood, since I felt so sad and hopeless, but as her melodic voice filled my ears, I could tell something had lifted Bridgette’s spirits. A cheerful energy radiated from Bridgette, and despite the fact that she sat in the confines of her desk, I sensed a rare spring in her step.

  I closed my eyes and recaptured the memory of swinging beside David—high above the pecan trees, gliding through the air, my feet in the clouds—and tried to wipe away my despicable shoplifting problem, like Mrs. Oliverson erasing the whiteboard.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “We’d like to speak with the store manager, please,” Mom said to the lady at the makeup counter at Hamilton’s.

  I felt exhausted from a long, turbulent day at school, and now my shame and fear merged into an emotional muddle. Though it was difficult to admit, I agreed with Mom that I should do this; it was only right. But returning something under completely legit circumstances—like something that didn’t fit or work or whatever—was tough enough for me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the humiliation of admitting my crime to the stores I’d stolen from. And then being at the managers’ mercy as to whether they had me arrested . . . ? I couldn’t bear to think about it.

  The miasma of designer fragrances got the better of me, and I coughed.

  The lady looked at Mom and then at me, and I wondered if she remembered putting shimmery makeup on my face the day I became a shoplifter. Had it really been only a month ago?

  In my mind’s eye, I saw Whitney and Mary Jane playing with the makeup samples, laughing at each other. Then, when the makeup lady had finished with me, their sweet, approving smiles. I’d felt so pretty that day. Now I’d never felt uglier. My hands went all sweaty as I realized this was the first time I’d gone to the mall without shoplifting something—anything—for quite a while. I coughed some more.