Lifted

by Wendy Toliver

  “Oh. Well. That’s a relief.”

  His T-shirt read, IF YOU CAN’T SAY SOMETHING NICE . . . and it had a simple drawing of a face with duct tape over its mouth. I laughed to myself. Though I started getting out, David loped over to Mom’s side of the Volvo. She rolled down her window and beamed at him.

  “You must be Ms. Browne,” he said, and I could tell Mom was impressed he got the “Ms.” part right. “I’m David Hillcrest. I’m sure Poppy’s told you, but she’s my number-one gal.”

  “Oh?” Mom said, and I felt the whoosh of heat as that little blush of mine intensified.

  “Yup, she’s the number-one gal on my future Paintball for Christ team.”

  “Paintball. I see.” She gave me a sideways look and I shrugged.

  “Well, it’s mighty nice to finally meet you, Ms. Browne. Have a nice day.” David skirted the hood of the car as he walked back to the sidewalk.

  “Okay, I guess I’d better get going,” I said, realizing, with more than a touch of giddiness, that David was waiting for me. But before getting out, I leaned over and kissed Mom on the cheek. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that, and it felt good.

  “So, how’s it going?” David asked when Mom drove off.

  “Truth?”

  “Always.” He stopped walking and faced me, giving me his undivided attention.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m not really sure how I am. Let’s just say I have some explainin’ to do.” We walked behind the hedge, where I briefed him on the latest developments.

  Though I expected him to act surprised or repulsed or something, he just shifted his backpack to the opposite shoulder and muttered, “There’s always so much drama.”

  “And it’s not going to stop any time soon, is it?” I said. “Once Mary Jane finds out what Bridgette did, she’ll figure out a way to get revenge. Then Bridgette will do something horrible to get Mary Jane back. I wish I could just get everybody in one place to hash it out.”

  “I think that’s a brilliant idea. Get Bridgette, Mary Jane, and Whitney to sit at the same table at lunch. It won’t be pretty, but it just might work.”

  When I’d gotten out of bed that morning, I truly hadn’t planned on changing the world. Sure, I wanted to straighten things out with Mary Jane and give Bridgette a verbal smackdown. And I knew I had to deal with all the inglorious consequences of my shoplifting. But what if David was right? What if I could put a stop to this ridiculous drama, once and for all?

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” I said. “And afterward, how about we go to the park to celebrate?”

  “Are you asking me on a lunch date?”

  I nodded, and as we walked through the front doors of Calvary High School, David put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “You’re on, kiddo.”

  I popped by Mary Jane’s locker and then Whitney’s with no luck. I was about to check the bathroom when I heard Whitney’s voice in the school store. Sure enough, the stylishly clad duo stood before the drink cooler, deciding which bottled coffee-ish drink to try. With all the school merchandise and snack foods it offered, the store felt uncomfortably cramped and warm. I accidentally bumped a fishbowl full of multicolored WWJD? rubber bracelets. Who would’ve guessed that the sweet girl who gave me a rubber bracelet on my first day at Calvary High would ultimately screw me over?

  I felt the weight of Mary Jane’s and Whitney’s eyes, and with every passing second, my heartbeat intensified. I looked up from the fishbowl and tried for a friendly smile. Here goes . . . “Hi, guys,” I said lamely. “I have something to tell you, and I’ve come here to ask—to beg—for you to hear me out.”

  Whitney sipped her beverage and looked over at Mary Jane. Mary Jane frowned, but I thought I detected a spark of hope in her big blue eyes. “Okay, we’ll listen,” she said, just above a whisper.

  An Ulrich twin nearby busied herself unpacking a Costco-size box of M&M’s and chocolate bars and arranging them on a shelf. When she stocked the Butterfingers, I wondered if that day at the Milk ’n’ More convenience store would put me off Butterfingers forever.

  “Okay.” I moved a mirrored book bag to the side so I didn’t have to see distorted little pieces of my face. Then, after a girl from Ellen’s German class took her bag of bagel chips and left us in virtual privacy, I said, “I made a huge mistake. The thing is, Bridgette called my mom pretending to be your mom, Mary Jane.” After their shocked reactions and responses, I went on to explain exactly what had happened, and to my relief, I could tell my friends followed me play-by-play. “I should’ve known you’d never do something like that, Mary Jane. I should’ve trusted you.” My knees shook and exhaustion overwhelmed me.

  Mary Jane spoke first. “Oh my gosh, Poppy. I don’t know what to say. That is crazy! And all this time I’ve been feeling physically ill because I didn’t want to fight with you.”

  “What should we do about Bridgette?” Whitney asked with a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes. “We can’t let her get away with th—”

  “Hey, wait a minute. How’d Bridgette know about the shoplifting?” Mary Jane asked in a low voice.

  I bit my lower lip and inhaled through my nose. “I think I might have . . . let it slip. Once. A while ago. It’s my fault she found out. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” The threat of tears made my nose sting.

  “It’s okay, hon,” Mary Jane said, twisting the silver rings on her fingers. “I mean, it definitely sucks, but we’ll get through this.” I was glad to hear her say that.

  The Ulrich twin cleared her throat and said, “Hey, y’all. I’ve gotta close up shop for mornin’ service.”

  “Okay, we’re out of here,” said Whitney, and we walked down the hall.

  “You know what?” I folded a piece of gum into my mouth. “I’d rather stay on campus for lunch today. Is that cool with you guys?”

  “No problem,” said Mary Jane, and I congratulated myself for successfully getting two of the three hostiles to the table.

  Before we went through the auditorium doors, Miss Peabody, the art teacher, stopped Whitney and Mary Jane. “Ladies, no food or drink in the auditorium.”

  “Finish your frappés; I’ll save your seats,” I said.

  Strolling into the auditorium alongside Ellen, I searched for David but spotted Bridgette instead. Hustling to catch her as she walked up the center aisle, I called, “Hey, Bridgette, hold up.” She whipped around, and I had to swerve to keep from running into a wall of her auburn hair. I was tempted to say (in a booming Godlike voice), “I know what you did,” but instead, I said, “Just wondered if you wanted to eat lunch with me today.” Hopefully Bridgette thought I hated Mary Jane, in which case, my invitation wouldn’t strike her as fishy.

  Her hazel eyes widened and she gave me a big metallic smile. “Okay. Sure!” Then, as if chastising herself for being insensitive, she blinked and arranged her features into a much more sympathetic expression. “So it’s true you and Mary Jane aren’t friends anymore?” she asked.

  “It’s not like it used to be, that’s for sure,” I said vaguely, giving her a sad little frown.

  She put her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, Poppy. I know it’s hard. But with God’s help, you’ll get through it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. That’s what friends are for, right?”

  I nodded, but I had to bite my inner cheek to keep from laughing.

  “So, anyway, I’d sit with you right now but I’m performing.”

  Yes, you are, I thought to myself.

  Bridgette tromped up to the stage with the rest of the Good News Choir, and I sat back and enjoyed some good gospel music while I made eyes at David across the pew.

  Slowly but steadily, Calvary High student bodies infiltrated the cafeteria. Mary Jane, Whitney, and I leaned across our usual table, lowering our voices so passersby wouldn’t overhear the sensitive subject matter.

  Mary Jane twirled a strand of her shiny flat-ironed hair. “Oh my gosh, y’all. I’m so scare
d to tell my parents. Poppy, was it just awful?”

  “Pretty much.” I sympathized with Mary Jane and Whitney. Hopefully their parents wouldn’t go ballistic, but I had a strong suspicion their lives were about to change even more drastically than mine. Of course, my foreseeable future looked pretty damn dismal. “Let’s see. I’m grounded for life, I have to take everything back that’s returnable and hope the stores don’t send me to the guillotine, I’m banned from Hamilton’s, and Mom made me an appointment with a shrink who’ll probably make me look at inkblots and conclude that my biggest problem is I have penis envy.” But in a weird way, I almost felt closer to Mom in the wake of everything that had happened since moving to Texas. Last night, we stayed up till after eleven, lolling on Mom’s chaise lounge, talking. Really talking. Clearly, we still had a lot to iron out, but the good news was that we were stuck with each other, so we had no choice but to give it our best shot.

  Mary Jane nibbled a slice of cantaloupe. “Do you know what’s pitiful? Even though we’re in a whole heap of trouble and have bigger things to worry about, I can’t stop thinking about that watch we were going to lift at the Midnight Madness sale—and how much I still want to do it.”

  “I know. Believe it or not, it crosses my mind too,” I confessed. “You two can always do it without me, I guess.”

  “No way,” said Mary Jane. “We’re off shoplifting for good.”

  “Argh! I still can’t believe Bridgette did that,” Whitney said.

  Mary Jane shook her head, her golden hair swishing around her shoulders. “It was a pretty good plan, when you really stop and think about it.”

  “Ours has to be even better, naturally,” said Whitney, cracking her knuckles.

  I’d like to say I couldn’t believe my own ears—or my eyes when Mary Jane nodded in wholehearted agreement. However, I figured they’d be hell bent on getting revenge.

  “Oh, hang on,” I said when I spotted Bridgette at the fruit bowl. “Bridgette!” I waved her down. Ellen and her German-speaking cronies stopped eating and gawked. I noticed quite a few other heads turned in our direction, too.

  “What are you doing?” Mary Jane asked through clenched teeth, and I just smiled at her and fiddled with my cross charm.

  I spotted David at the doors, and he launched into a series of pantomimes, from “hello” to “I’ll be right over here” to “good luck.” Just knowing he was there gave me a much-needed boost of confidence.

  “I’m inviting Bridgette to sit with us,” I said. People were whispering all around us, but I tried to ignore them.

  “What? Is this some sort of joke?” Whitney asked.

  “No, I’m dead serious,” I said, hoping the crack in my voice wasn’t too obvious. “It’s time to bury the hatchet, don’t you think?”

  Balancing her tray, Bridgette approached us with an air of trepidation. “Hi, Poppy. I thought—”

  “Have a seat.” With a nod, I indicated the open space next to Mary Jane.

  “I’d rather not . . .” Bridgette ducked her eyes, turning all shades of flustered.

  “Sit,” I said sternly. She sat. Mary Jane groaned and pushed her salad away from her. “I’ve totally lost my appetite,” she said, and Whitney added, “Me too.”

  The three girls just sat there with sour expressions on their pretty faces. The tension mounted with each passing minute, until they appeared to be on the verge of panic attacks. Or maybe it was me who was about have one. I took a deep breath, shoving aside my “What will they think of me?” insecurities. “I’m just going to say it, so you guys might as well get comfy. Bridgette, I know you’re the one who called my mom. All three of us know, and it was a terrible thing to do.”

  Bridgette’s face went from red to lily white. She stuck her pointer finger in the air and opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “It’s true that Mary Jane, Whitney, and I got into something very sinful and illegal and we are ashamed of it. But it’s in the past, and as much as we’d like to, we can’t change it. So I wouldn’t waste your lunch period talking about that. Instead, you should talk about something that you can change. And that’s the future. Now, you three, especially you two,” I said, indicating Bridgette and Mary Jane “have a very turbulent past with a bunch of unresolved issues. So I suggest you sit here until you’ve hashed it all out—every nitty-gritty, dirty detail.”

  My proposal earned a round of gawks and heavy silence. I waited for Mary Jane to tell me to go screw myself, and I was fully prepared for Whitney to sock me. At the very least, I expected Bridgette to run away and seek refuge with her choir cronies. But to my surprise, no one did any of those things.

  Mary Jane started twirling her hair and eventually, she rolled her big blue eyes and said, “Fine.”

  My heart leapt when the labored “Okay” left Bridgette’s quivering lips.

  I took that as a good sign that they’d give it a go, and perhaps they wouldn’t spend the next two years of their lives alternately making evil plans and having to watch their backs. Maybe they agreed that their stupid feud had gone on long enough.

  Relieved, I caught David’s eye and grinned. When he started coming over, I stood and picked up my lunch pack.

  “Where are you going?” Mary Jane asked.

  “I have a very important lunch date.”

  “With . . . ?” Whitney’s body couldn’t have been more rigid.

  “Ah, here he is now.”

  Whitney gaped and Mary Jane said, “Really, Whitney. Where have you been?”

  “Hope y’all don’t mind me stealin’ this crazy kiddo,” David said. Then to me, he whispered, “I got us excused from our fourth periods so we’ll have plenty of swinging time.”

  “How’d you manage that?” I asked.

  “Never underestimate the power of prayer,” David said with a solemn air.

  I raised my eyebrows. “You prayed for us to be excused from fourth period?”

  “In a matter of speaking,” he said. Then he whispered, “I told our teachers we were having an emergency prayer session,” in my ear and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “She’s all yours,” Mary Jane said, and David gave me his wolfish grin.

  Everybody seemed to be staring at us as David escorted me through the lunchroom. Any second now, the Mary Jane Portman, Whitney Nickels, Bridgette Josephs, and Poppy Browne Scandal would make its debut at Calvary High Gossip Central.

  Right before we walked out the lunchroom doors, I grabbed the preacher’s son by the collar and pulled him in for a long, delicious kiss. He gazed at me with a mixture of surprise and amusement. (And, at least I hoped, a smidge of lust.) “That will give them something to talk about,” I said. And as I smiled at that sexy face of his, I felt a rush of adrenaline sort of like what I got from shoplifting, but even better.

  Born in Texas, raised in Colorado, and now living in Utah, Wendy Toliver has successfully eliminated “y’all” from her vocabulary. However, she still managed to marry a pickup man. They have three young sons and an assortment of furry, scaly, and slimy pets. This is her third novel. Visit her online at www.wendytoliver.com.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at Lauren Barnholdt’s new book,

  One Night That Changes Everything

  7:00 p.m.

  I lose everything. Keys, my wallet, money, library books. People don’t even take it seriously anymore. Like when I lost the hundred dollars my grandma gave me for back-to-school shopping, my mom didn’t blink an eye. She was all, “Oh, Eliza, you should have given it to me to hold on to” and then she just went on with her day.

  I try not to really stress out about it anymore. I mean, the things I lose eventually show up. And if they don’t, I can always replace them.

  Except for my purple notebook. My purple notebook is completely and totally irreplaceable. It’s not like I can just march into the Apple store and buy another one. Which is why it totally figures that after five years of keeping very close tabs on it (Five years! I’ve never done anything consistently
for five years!) I’ve lost it.

  “What are you doing?” my best friend Clarice asks. She’s sitting at my computer in the corner of my room, IMing with her cousin Jamie. Clarice showed up at nine o’clock this morning, with a huge bag of Cheetos and a six-pack of soda. “I’m ready to party,” she announced when I opened my front door. Then she pushed past me and marched up to my room.

  I tried to point out that it was way too early to be up on a Saturday, but Clarice didn’t care because: (a) she’s a morning person and (b) she thought the weekend needed to start asap, since my parents are away for the night, and she figured we should maximize the thirty-six-hour window of their absence.

  “I’m looking for something,” I say from under my bed. My body is shoved halfway under, rooting around through the clothes, papers, and books that have somehow accumulated under there since the last time I cleaned. Which was, you know, months ago. My hand brushes against something wet and hard. Hmm.

  “What could you possibly be looking for?” she asks. “We have everything we need right here.”

  “If you’re referring to the Cheetos,” I say, “I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to need a little more than that.”

  “No one,” Clarice declares, “needs more than Cheetos.” She takes one out of the bag and slides it into her mouth, chewing delicately. Clarice is from the South, and for some reason, when she moved here a couple of years ago, she’d never had Cheetos. We totally bonded over them one day in the cafeteria, and ever since then, we’ve been inseparable. Me, Clarice, and Cheetos. Not necessarily in that order.

  “So what are you looking for?” she asks again.

  “Just my notebook,” I say. “The purple one.”

  “Oooh,” she says. “Is that your science notebook?”

  “No,” I say.

  “Math?” she tries.

  “No,” I say.

  “Then what?”