by Meg Haston
Jankowitz shrugged. His potbelly heaved upward, then settled over his belt again. “This is gonna be pretty good for ratings, though. I hear the kid’s pretty popular.”
“That’s great, Mom!” I said brightly, squeezing her arm. “You can always use good ratings, right?”
“I guess there’s always a bright side.” Mom tried a smile. “I just…” She looked down at her cell again, then shook her head and dropped it in her purse.
The noise level swelled again, and I looked up to see Zander shoving through the door. Traces of sweat darkened his T-shirt, and his face was flushed. “Levi Stone,” he said. “Here? On my stage?”
“Can you believe it?” I grinned. “It’s so—” My voice caught in my throat as I watched Zander’s face. Instead of lighting up, it darkened.
“Well, hey there, Zander,” Mom said warmly.
“Hey, Ms. Simon. What are you doing here?” Zander’s steel eyes acknowledged Mom, then settled on me again. He shook his head. My body went hot. What was going on? Why wasn’t he excited?
“We’re here for Levi,” Mom said. “But off the top of my head, I can think of a few other musicians I’d rather be watching up there.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Zander said coldly, without taking his eyes off me. “Can I talk to you for a sec? In there?” He jerked his head toward the nearest classroom. “It’s about band stuff.”
I looked to Mom, then Stevie. Stevie took a step back.
“Go ahead,” Mom said. “I’ll be right here, I’m sure.” She glanced down at her watch, a worried look in her eye.
“ ’Kay.” My voice sounded shaky. I followed Zander silently down the hall, staring at the purple polish on my toes. He threw open the classroom door, not bothering to flick the light switch on the wall before he turned on me.
“Tell me you didn’t do this. Tell me this wasn’t your idea, Kacey.”
“What are you talking about? It’s Levi Stone!” I kicked the door closed. Inside the classroom, the air was stale and smelled like chalk dust. “I thought you’d be happy!”
“Happy that some famous guy stole my set?”
“Okay. First of all? It’s not your set. It’s ours. And second, he’s not taking the whole set. He’s just here to play one song!”
Zander stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned his back to me. “Wrong,” he spat. “Everybody loves the dude. They don’t wanna see Gravity up there! We’ll get booed off the stage!”
My stomach twisted into a knot. I hadn’t even considered that. “I thought it would be good publicity,” I whispered. “Can’t we just go out there when he breaks and tell him we want to play?”
Suddenly, he spun around and slammed his palm against the desk. I jumped back. I’d never seen him this angry before. Not even when I’d ditched the band to star in the middle school musical.
“Tell him we want to play?” His laugh was bitter. “What is this, elementary school? I can’t believe you did this, Kacey. I can’t believe you screwed us over on purpose.”
“But I—” The room swam in my field of vision. “I didn’t mean—”
“You did mean to. Nobody asked you to bring this guy in here! You wrecked our big shot.” Zander pushed past me, knocking me into the desk.
“Zander! Wait!”
“Okay.” Stevie opened the door just as Zander reached for the knob. “What’s going on with you guys?”
“Oh, please. Don’t play dumb.” Zander was almost shouting. “I knew the two of you were up to something. You’ve been acting weird all day. I can’t even—I gotta get out of here. And don’t expect me onstage for the rest of the night.” He stormed out without even looking at me.
I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. “I don’t get it,” I finally managed. “Doesn’t he know I didn’t mean to… I didn’t think…”
“He’ll be fine.” Stevie hung by the door, looking unconvinced. “But I think your mom’s about to leave. She says she thinks she can make it if she goes now.”
“What? How could you let that happen?” I slid off the desk.
“So now it’s my fault your mom’s desperate?”
“Uh, yeah. My mom’s desperate for your dad. Please.” Focus, Simon. Stevie was right. I could fix things with Zander later. But for now, the most important thing was keeping Mom away from Gabe. I led Stevie back into the hall, my heart thumping in my chest.
“Everything all right?” Mom asked when we reappeared. “Zander looked upset.”
“Fine,” I said, as breezily as I could manage. “We just couldn’t agree on which songs we wanted to play later. That’s all.”
“Okay, then.” Her auburn brows arched. “Well, I think I’m going to try to catch Gabe.”
“Wait.” I reached out and grabbed her arm. “What about the interview?”
“Jankowitz offered to do it.”
“Oh. Great.” I glared at Jankowitz, who was too busy picking at a patch of dried mustard from his tie to pay attention. “Only don’t you think you should do the interview, since Levi asked for you specifically?”
Mom glanced at the door, then back at her producer. “What do you think, Bob?”
“Go on, Sterling. Before I change my mind.” Jankowitz whacked her awkwardly on the shoulder. “Have a good time.”
I narrowed my eyes at Stevie.
“But—” I started.
“Okay! I’m going!” Mom was suddenly beaming beneath the fluorescent lights.
“O-okay.” I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like I could stop her, thanks to a certain meddling middle-aged matchmaker.
“So go, then.” Jankowitz doubled over and hacked up a lung. “Get outta here.”
“I’m going!” Mom planted a rushed kiss on my cheek. “Don’t wait up!”
“DON’T EVER SAY THAT TO ME AGAIN,” I bellowed.
“Sorry! Here I go.” She waved and disappeared through the doors.
“Whatever. I’m gonna check on Zander,” Stevie said disgustedly. She followed in Mom’s footsteps, leaving Jankowitz and me alone in the hall.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I banged my fist against the locker until it throbbed.
“He makes her happy, you know that?” Jankowitz hiked up his pants. “In all the years we’ve worked together, I’ve never seen her this happy. Remember that, kiddo, the next time you beat up a locker.”
When he left, I pressed my forehead against the locker, the cool metal doing nothing to soothe my pounding head. How had everything gone so wrong, so quickly?
“Kacey?” I heard the click of the door behind me and turned.
“Hey, Paige.” Even my voice sounded hollow.
“What’s wrong with you?”
On any other night, I would have turned the question back on her. Paige’s eyes were rimmed with pink, and her hair was matted to one side of her face like she’d just woken up and forgotten to brush it. Her clothes were wrinkled, and she kind of smelled like imitation cheese.
“I had a fight with Zander. I’m going home.”
Her eyes searched mine. “Good,” she said after a few seconds. “I don’t really want to be here, either. Can I spend the night?”
I gave her a small smile. It was the best I could do to thank her for not asking questions. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
NORAH JONES AND TAPERED SWEATS
ARE THE FIRST SIGNS OF TROUBLE
Friday, 9:32 P.M.
We left without telling Stevie or Molly and the girls. After getting off the El, Paige and I trudged toward my house in silence, Clark Street’s pavement glistening with the thin sheen of an evening rain. Friday night was just getting started. Everything and everyone reminded me of Zander. The giggling college girls in skinny jeans and heels (Zander looks way better in skinnies), the couples walking hand in hand down the sidewalk (If I weren’t such a scheming, lying loser, that could be us right now).
When we made it to my front door, Paige jiggled the handle. Oddly, the door was open.
“Ella?” I kicked my heels and my purse into a pile on the floor under the walnut console table in the hall. All the lights inside were on. “Are you here?” Norah Jones crooned from somewhere at the back of the house. Uh-oh. Norah Jones was never a good sign.
“In here.” Ella’s tiny, pained voice leaked from the kitchen.
“El? Are you here by yourself?” I rushed after her voice, and Paige trailed behind me. When we got to the kitchen, I stopped in my tracks.
At the table, Mom was cradling Ella in her lap while Ella stroked Mom’s ponytail. There was a half-full glass of red wine on the table, and Mom was wearing her sad-divorcée sweats, the tapered ones with the elastic at the ankles. I’d only seen her in those sweats in the months after Dad left. Hadn’t she pinky-sworn to burn them? Hadn’t we decided no one deserved the tapered leg?
“What’re you doing here? What about your date?” A good daughter would have taken her place at the table, next to her sweet sister and her clearly devastated mother. But I couldn’t stand to get any closer to Mom than I already was. I didn’t want to see the mascara streaks that would confirm she’d been crying.
“My date. Oof.” Mom groaned, shifting Ella on her lap. “My date is nonexistent. Hi, Paige.” She twirled one of Ella’s ringlets around her index finger and gave us a tired smile.
“Hey, Sterling.” Paige slumped over the island in the kitchen. “So, you were out with Stevie’s dad?”
“What about the hot-air balloon?” I asked. “And dinner? Did he stand you up?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I missed the balloon ride. And Gabe thought—well, we decided to take a rain check on dinner.”
“But—”
“Gabe said Mom needs to figure out her sororities.” Ella’s bottom lip stuck out three inches from her face, and her little fists clenched in her lap.
“Priorities, lovebug,” Mom corrected her gently. “And he’s right. I just don’t have time for a relationship right now. Maybe in fifteen years or so, when you guys are in college and they drag me off the air.”
“But you—he—he dumped you?” My whole body felt tight, like I couldn’t fit inside my own skin anymore. “No way! He can’t do that! What a jacka—”
“KACEY!” Mom said firmly. “Watch the language.” She kept her eyes on me as she kissed the top of Ella’s head. “Why don’t you get your jammies on. Then you can come back down, and we’ll have dessert.”
“Only the new jammies,” Ella said angrily. Her face was pinched like she was about to cry but had no idea why. “With the bunnies.”
“Bunnies it is. Now scoot.” Mom nudged Ella off her lap.
“Fine.” Ella stalked past me, then whirled around in the doorway. “But Gabe is a jacka, Mom. So there.” She stuck out her tongue and ran upstairs.
“Thanks for that, Kacey,” Mom said dryly. Sitting at the kitchen table in sad sweats and full TV makeup, she looked like one of those depressed people on the commercials. Are you experiencing depressed moods more than a few times per week? Do you have a monster of a daughter who just sabotaged your only chance at happiness for her own personal gain?
“Sorry, Mom.” My eyes welled up, and I twisted the dimmer switch by the door.
“Ooh. Better. Thank you.” Mom lifted her wineglass and patted the seat next to her. “Not to worry. My great guy-repelling powers aren’t contagious, girls.”
I hated it when Mom talked like that, like we were friends hanging out in my room or something. Moms were supposed to say Mom things, like Clean your room or Because I said so, that’s why. Moms weren’t supposed to spend Friday nights moping around the kitchen because they’d just been dumped.
I dimmed the lights a little more and loitered at the fridge to grab a soda and a few extra seconds. The faint sounds of my phone ringing in the hall drifted into the kitchen. After a few seconds, the ringing stopped. Then it started again.
“What are you girls doing home so early? I thought you’d want to stick around and watch Jankowitz do the interview.” Mom took a long sip of her wine.
“Nah. I’m not really a big fan of Levi Stone’s anyway.” I sat down next to her and popped the tab on my soda, even though I wasn’t thirsty.
“But wasn’t bringing him in your idea?” Paige wriggled next to me, shoving me halfway off the seat.
“Whatever. He’s not that great.”
“So I’m guessing you weren’t in a dancing mood, either?” Mom asked Paige.
“Didn’t Kacey tell you about the election?”
“I thought the results won’t be in until Monday.”
“They won’t. But Quinn Wilder’s running now, which means I’ll probably lose.”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.” Mom reached over and squeezed Paige’s wrist. “That’s tough.”
“Wait. Aren’t you supposed to tell me I’m being ridiculous? That I’ve worked too hard to lose, and I’m so the better candidate? That’s what my mom said!” Suddenly, Paige looked panicked and confused.
“You’re absolutely the better candidate,” Mom assured her. “And we’ll all be rooting for you. But if it doesn’t work out, that doesn’t mean that—”
“Mom.” I glared across the table, in case drawing her name out to four syllables wasn’t getting the point across. Wasn’t I supposed to be the recovering honesty addict?
“No, Kacey. She’s right.” Paige slapped on her best brave-soldier face and straightened up in her chair. “Rejection is a part of politics.”
“And life.” Mom sighed.
“MOM. Stop, already!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, girls.” Mom’s chair creaked as she leaned back. “Paige, you’ve run a fantastic campaign. And I can’t wait to call you Ms. President.”
“Don’t mind her,” I told Paige. “She’s having a bad night.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Paige slumped in her seat.
I shrugged. “Me three. And four.”
“E! Nuff!”
We all jumped at Ella’s unexpected cry. She stood in her doorway in her bunny pajamas. “Stop it! Be! Happy!”
“Come here, sweet one.” Mom opened her arms, but Ella stood firm.
“No! You have to feel better.” Ella’s face was pink with frustration. “We need chocolate sauce. And marshmallows and bananas and strawberries. Now, Mom!” She ran across the kitchen and threw open the refrigerator door.
“Actually, I could go for some fondue,” I said slowly.
“Me, too.” Paige’s lips curled into a crooked smile. “I mean, if it’s gonna make you guys feel better.”
“I’m convinced.” Mom pushed up her sleeves and joined Ella in front of the pantry. “Heads up, Kace,” she said, whipping a bag of marshmallow chicks from at least six Easters ago in my direction. Paige turned on the tiny black-and-white TV on the counter and twisted the dial through several static-filled stations.
“Hey, Mom.” I palmed the bag and popped it open. It wheezed a welcome breath of expired sugar. “Maybe fondue’ll give you the energy to get rid of that sad sack you call an outfit.”
Paige’s hand shot into my bag. “I like those sweats.”
“You would.”
Twenty minutes later, the kitchen smelled like the holidays. The sweet, gooey essence of melting chocolate mingled with the tart scent of fresh fruit and the warmth of cinnamon buns baking in the oven. The garbled hum of the television dipped and fell in the background.
Paige bent over the steaming fondue pot in the center of the kitchen table and closed her eyes. A blissful smile spread over her face. She looked like she was giving herself a chocolate steam facial.
“Get your face out of there! I don’t want the contents of your pores in my fondue, thankyouverymuch.”
“Kacey,” Mom warned, balancing plates of fruit, cinnamon buns, and marshmallows along the length of her slender arms. She whisked them to the table and spread the plates out evenly. Sometimes I forgot that Mom had a life before she was Mom. She’d worked as a waitress in Streeterville forever
ago to put herself through journalism school at Medill.
“It’s unsanitary!” I protested, taking my seat next to Paige. Ella climbed me and started bouncing in my lap.
“Whatever.” Paige rolled her eyes. “Do you know how much dirt we eat in a year? It’s like sixteen pounds or something.”
Ella screamed.
“INSIDE VOICE. And Paige was just joking.”
“Okay, so I think that’s everything.” Mom blew a few wisps of reddish-gold hair away from her face. They fluttered down again and rested against her high cheekbone. “Dig in, girls.” She slid a bowl of toothpicks to the center of the table, and we descended on them. Soon, the muffled sound of chewing filled the kitchen. I started to relax.
“Coming up at the top of our newscast tonight, a rising rock star strikes a charitable chord at a local middle school,” the TV on the counter blurted. “I’m Lisa Winchester, and you’re watching Chicago’s own Channel Five. We’re back in thirty seconds, so don’t go away.”
“Ohmygosh!” Paige lurched for the TV and started adjusting the dial. “Marquette’s gonna be on TV!”
“No! Wait!” Reflexively, I bumped Paige out of the way. “Turn it off!”
“Kacey! Come on! I wanna see!” Paige reached to turn up the volume. On the screen, an elderly couple was riding their bikes down a tree-lined path, apparently unhindered by their adult diapers.
“But. No!” I strained for the OFF button, but Paige blocked me, so I yanked the cord until it came out of the wall and the screen went black.
“Kacey!” Mom shoved her chair back. “What in the world has gotten into you?”
Would you believe a green flesh-eating fungus? Chest heaving, I tried to think of an acceptable reason for my psychotic break. But my mind was more staticky than the television. If I could just stall for the next minute or so, I’d be in the clear. At least temporarily. I was so desperate, I actually wished Stevie were here to create some kind of diversion.
“Have you lost your mind? What is up with you?” Paige jammed the metal prongs back into the wall and turned up the volume on the TV, blocking my access to the plug.