Semiprecious

by D. Anne Love

  A chill that had nothing to do with the cold night air started at the back of my spine and skittered all the way up to the top of my head.

  Sunday peered through the open car window at me. “Do you know anything about this?”

  I had a pretty good idea where my sister was, but I didn’t want to rat on her, even if she had been mostly ignoring me lately.

  “Garnet, if you know where she’s gone, you’d better tell me now,” Aunt Julia said. “She could be in trouble. She could get hurt.”

  I swallowed. “Some of the high school kids meet at a place by the river. To dance and stuff.”

  “Whereabouts on the river?” Sunday’s breath came out in little white puffs.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll bet it’s out past the quarry,” she said. “You remember that place, Julia. They closed the road years ago.”

  “I remember,”Aunt Julia said tiredly.

  “Come on,” Sunday said, opening the car door. “We’ll take my truck. You’re too exhausted to drive another mile.”

  We piled into the cab and Sunday cranked the engine. The truck shook so hard I thought pieces of it might start flying off, but it held together as we sped toward the river until we came to a falling-down wooden gate where the road ended. We twisted and turned along a weedy path until we saw a bonfire flickering in the dark and the dull shine of a bunch of cars parked on the riverbank. Music blared from the radios.

  Sunday drove right up to the fire, knocked over a pyramid of empty beer cans, and laid on the horn. The long, earsplitting blast echoed through the trees.

  “Hey, cut that out!” a boy yelled. “You want to get the sheriff down here?”

  Sunday left the headlights on. She and Aunt Julia got out of the truck. Sunday strode toward the fire and hollered, “Where is Opal Hubbard?”

  Through the windshield I could see Opal’s two best friends, Cheryl Winslow and Tacy Graves. In the glare of the headlights they looked small and ghostly.

  Cheryl said, “Honest, Mrs. Larson, we haven’t seen her all night.”

  Aunt Julia hollered, “Travis Judd? If you’re out there, you’d better show yourself, boy.”

  And, just like Mama giving up her purse, Travis walked out of the shadows. I had to hand it to Aunt Julia. When she said “jump,” people jumped. Maybe it was her training as a singer that gave her such a commanding presence. All I know is, it worked.

  “Where’s my niece?” Aunt Julia demanded.

  “She was here,” Travis admitted, “but we had a fight and she took off.”

  “When?”

  “I dunno.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “A while ago.”

  “Well, where’d she go?” Sunday asked.

  He shrugged. “Home, I guess.”

  Sunday wheeled on Cheryl and Tacy. “Some friends you are, letting a girl walk home in the dark by herself.”

  Tacy said, “This isn’t the first time she’s got mad at Travis and stormed off. She always comes back. Eventually.”

  “Well, she’s not here now,” Aunt Julia snapped. “And if a single hair on her head has come to harm, all of you will regret the day you were born.”

  She and Sunday got back in the truck. Sunday yelled out the window, “Put that fire out and get on home, before I call the law.”

  Kids appeared from the shadows. Car doors slammed. Engines started up. Sunday turned the truck around and we started back to the road. “Keep an eye out for Opal,” she said, and I strained my eyes against the dark woods, looking for my sister. Beside me, Aunt Julia was breathing hard, like she couldn’t decide whether to cry or scream.

  “Don’t panic,” Sunday said as we neared our house. “If she’s not home, we’ll call Sheriff Cates. He’ll find her.”

  Sunday pulled into the yard and we ran inside. The house was dark, the rooms cold. Aunt Julia switched on the living room lamp, and we went upstairs.

  My sister was lying on her bed, a quilt pulled up to her chin. The whole room smelled like beer.

  Aunt Julia switched on the lamp. “Opal? Are you all right? What happened?”

  Opal sniffed. “It’s no big deal.”

  “You ran off in the middle of the night, scared us all half to death, and it’s no big deal?”

  Sunday said, “Did he hurt you, honey?”

  Opal shook her head. But there was a huge red welt on her cheek, and her lip was swollen. “He kept on touching me and kissing me, even after I told him I was scared and begged him to stop. I tried to get away, but he pushed me down on the car seat.” Opal gulped. “I hit my cheek on the door handle. Then he got really mad. He called me a tease and a crybaby, and shoved me out of the car.”

  “You know, Julia, Travis Judd is eighteen years old and Opal is still a minor. You can press charges if you want,” Sunday said.

  “No!” Opal sat up. “Things are bad enough as they are. Please, Aunt Julia. I’m okay. Let it go.”

  Aunt Julia said, “I have just driven clear to Nashville and back to retrieve one runaway, and now this. I’m too tired to think right now. But you are not off the hook, Opal Jane. I won’t let this slide.”

  “No, ma’am,” Opal said.

  Sunday patted Opal’s shoulder. “I’d better get on home. I’m glad you’re all right.”

  “I’m sorry,” Opal whispered. “I’m sorry I sneaked out on you.”

  “Me too. There’s nothing I hate worse than being lied to. But I reckon you’ve learned your lesson.”

  Sunday turned to Aunt Julia. “Leave Charlie’s car at my place tonight and return it tomorrow. He won’t mind.”

  “That would be a relief,” Aunt Julia said.

  “Go on to bed,” Sunday said. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

  They went downstairs. I said to Opal, “I didn’t tell Aunt Julia you snuck out before, but tonight I had to tell her where to look for you. I was scared.”

  “It’s okay.” Opal touched her swollen lip and winced. “I should have known I’d get caught sooner or later.”

  Then everything caught up with me and I started to cry. Gulping tears, I told Opal everything: how Mama had moved to a fancy apartment without even telling us, how she’d taken the money that was meant for us, how Aunt Julia made Mama give nine hundred dollars of it back.

  Opal shook her head. “Boy, I never expected Mama to stoop that low.”

  Thinking about how Mama had seemed so relieved to see me go made me cry harder. “She’s working as a waitress! Nobody likes her stupid songs. She’s never going to be a star, and she still won’t come back!”

  “What did you expect? That she would give up everything and come home just because you wanted it?” Opal pulled me down beside her and stroked my head. “You’re dumb, but not that dumb.”

  She lifted the covers and I crawled in beside her, clothes, shoes, and all. While we waited for the house to warm up, I told Opal what Aunt Julia said about picking a Christmas present from the catalog.

  “After tonight I probably won’t get anything,” Opal said. “I just hope she doesn’t make me give up my theater arts class.” She sighed. “Did you see the way she scowled at me? If looks could kill, I’d be dead by now.”

  “You scared her,” I said. “Even worse than I did by going to Nashville.”

  “What’s Nashville like?” Opal asked. “Is it really better than Mirabeau, like Mama said?”

  But I was already drifting off, dreaming of Christmas.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Starch and Vinegar assigned an essay about the Bill of Rights, and everybody groaned. As if school weren’t confusing enough, the teachers had been to a workshop about connecting all the different subjects, and now we were writing essays about scientists in Mr. Riley’s health class and working math problems about population trends in history class. Personally I liked it better when all the subjects stayed separate, the same way I liked my mashed potatoes to keep their distance from peas and carrots.

  It was Friday, with only one more week to
go before Christmas vacation, and I couldn’t wait to get home and check the mail for our Sears and Roebuck package. After Opal’s episode at the quarry with Octopus Boy, Aunt Julia grounded her for a month, with the exception of theater practice, and gave her a bunch of extra chores around the house. But our aunt wasn’t heartless enough to deny my sister a Christmas present. Opal and I had spent a week debating what to choose. We nearly wore out the catalog poring over page after page of dresses, shoes, record players, charm bracelets, even a machine that spit out a quart of hot popcorn anytime you wanted it.

  At first I had my heart set on a new baseball glove to replace the one I’d left back in Mirabeau, but Opal, who had decided on a pink angora sweater set, said since we’d be going home soon, it would be a waste of good money. Finally I settled on a deluxe set of art supplies in a wooden box. It included colored chalk, watercolors, two camel-hair brushes, and five tubes of oil paint. I longed to see the package waiting for me under the tree that Aunt Julia put up in the living room, in the empty space where her piano used to be.

  I was dying to tell Powla about my new supplies. After I’d apologized to her for skipping class, I swallowed my pride and told her I wanted to work on the scenery project more than anything. But she came down with the flu, and we got a substitute teacher before she had a chance to ask Mrs. Brown about giving me a ride home. If I had been brave enough, I would have asked Nathan myself, but every time he looked at me, my tongue stopped working.

  “Garnet?” Miss Sparrow said. “Are you with us?”

  “Earth to Garnet,” Cooley whispered.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m right here.”

  “Well, then?”

  I hadn’t heard the question, and Starch and Vinegar was standing there waiting for a brilliant answer. I glanced around wildly for some clue, but the chalkboard, except for the assignment, was bare. Then Nathan thumped his pencil, accidentally on purpose, and it rolled across his desk and fell to the floor. He bent down to retrieve it. As his head came up, he muttered, “Main parts of an essay.”

  “The main parts of an essay,” I recited, “are a topic sentence, supporting arguments, examples, rebuttals, and conclusions.”

  Cooley’s hand was waving wildly in the air. “Miss Sparrow! Miss Sparrow!”

  “What is it, Cooley?”

  “How long does the essay have to be?”

  The bell rang. Out in the hallway, people were laughing, slamming locker doors, hurrying to class before the next bell. But Miss Sparrow leaned against the corner of her desk like she had all the time in the world. “I’ll give you the answer Abraham Lincoln gave when someone asked him how long a man’s legs should be.”

  I glanced at Nathan. He grinned and rolled his supergorgeous honey-amber-golden-brown eyes. My stomach jumped. I smiled back.

  Miss Sparrow went on. “‘A man’s legs,’ Mr. Lincoln said, ‘should be long enough to touch the ground.’ Likewise, your essay should be long enough to cover your topic. I expect to see some original thinking here, people, not something copied from a book. Any other questions?”

  Nobody said anything, and she let us go.

  I stood up, still in shock that Nathan had saved me. I was working up the nerve to actually speak to him, but before I was ready, he sprinted toward the gym with a couple of other boys, and I headed for math class. In all the weeks since I’d apologized for my answer to his train question, Mr. Stanley had hardly said a word to me. I still didn’t understand half of what was going on in his class, so I kept my head down and tried to be invisible.

  Then, without Powla, art class was a huge waste of time. The sub, Mr. Burrows, didn’t know the first thing about art, so he handed out the supplies and told us to do whatever we wanted. I went to the cabinet where our works in progress were kept, and took out the watercolor I was working on for Daddy’s Christmas present, a picture of our house in Mirabeau in the springtime, when the trees are busting out in green and the daffodils are blooming. But my hands decided to separate from my brain, and the next thing I knew, I was doodling Nathan Brown’s name all over a sheet of drawing paper. My hand made hearts and flowers and curlicues and tried drawing his face, but it couldn’t do justice to his amazing eyes. I watched him standing at the easel, chewing his bottom lip and smearing green paint, Picasso-style, onto a canvas. Totally adorable.

  “Where is Garnet Hubbard?” Mr. Burrows fumbled with his glasses and squinted at Powla’s seating charts. After a week of substituting, you’d think he would have learned a few of our names, but it was like he woke up in a brand-new world every morning.

  I raised my hand.

  Mr. Burrows said, “Would you take the attendance report to the office, please? And ask Mrs. Wink for more drawing paper. I’m running low for next period.”

  I left my stuff on my desk, went to the office, and got back to the art room just as the bell rang and disaster struck.

  Davis Truluck, one of Nathan’s friends, grabbed my paper and waved it in the air. He put his hand over his heart, fluttered his eyelashes, and cooed, “Ohhh, Nathan! I loooove you!”

  Mr. Burrows just stood there befuddled while everybody laughed. Everybody except Nathan, who was glaring at me, silent death rays shooting out of his eyes.

  “Give me back my paper!” I grabbed it out of Davis’s hands and ran to the restroom, where I stayed all during lunch, bawling my eyes out. How could I have been stupid enough to think Nathan liked me? I could imagine Celestial and Faith laughing at me and spreading the story all over school. I leaned against the wall and prayed for death, but when the last lunch bell rang, I was still alive. I washed my face and went to my locker. A rolled-up piece of paper was wedged into the door.

  Dear Garnet,

  Nathan Brown said to tell you he hates you. A lot.

  Signed, a friend

  I stumbled through the rest of the day in a fog of mortified despair. When the bus came, I climbed on for the long ride home. I wanted my sister, but Opal was staying late for play practice. I turned my face to the window, swallowing my tears. It didn’t matter so much that Nathan hated me; everybody in the whole miserable school hated me. But now I wouldn’t dare ask him for a ride. Sometimes you just know that something is supposed to be yours. Art was meant to be mine, and being shut out of the scenery project made it seem farther away than ever.

  When the bus stopped at our house, I could see there was no package from Sears and Roebuck waiting for me, but I’d had such a horrible day I no longer cared. Charlie’s car was parked in the yard, though, and that almost made up for the empty mailbox. A visit from Charlie was a different kind of present.

  He was sitting in front of the fire in the living room, having coffee and cake with Aunt Julia. He smiled when I dumped my books on the coffee table. “Garnet Hubbard.”

  “Hey, Charlie.”

  “I heard you took a little trip.” Charlie looked at me in that way he had that made me feel like he could see every thought running through my brain.

  “The worry dolls told me to go. But nothing worked out the way it was supposed to.”

  He sipped his coffee and stared into the fire.

  Aunt Julia said, “Guess what came today?”

  She pointed to two packages wrapped in silver paper lying under the Christmas tree. I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I pretended I was the most excited kid in the universe. I ran over to the tree, picked up my package, and shook it, like I was trying to guess what was inside.

  “Careful!” Aunt Julia said. “You may need that for your scenery project at school.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  Charlie handed me a piece of blue notepaper that smelled like flowers. “This came from your mother this morning.”

  Dear Charlie,

  I hope you remember me. I am Julia’s younger sister. I’m writing to thank you for lending Julia your car and to ask you for another huge favor. My daughter Garnet has a chance to work on an important project at school, but she has no way of getting home after the bus
runs. Would you consider giving her a ride? I don’t have much money, but I can pay a small amount each week. Because this is so important to Garnet, it’s important to me, too, and I hope you can see your way clear to help us out. Thanks a bunch!

  Melanie McClain

  I was dumbfounded. After everything that had happened in Nashville, the last thing I expected from Mama was kindness.

  Charlie just sat there, watching me. He reminded me of the raptors we’d studied in science class last year, and the way they stay still for hours, saving their energy until it’s needed for something important. Charlie was an eagle. Quiet, watchful, still.

  Aunt Julia said, “Charlie is willing to give you a ride as long as you don’t stay too late.”

  He nodded. “I don’t see so well at nighttime anymore.”

  “I promise!” I hugged Aunt Julia first, and then Charlie.

  He stood and picked up his hat. “I’m going now, Julia,” he said. “I hear the river calling.”

  Aunt Julia smiled. “You be careful out there. It’s chilly today, and you’re not as young as you used to be.”

  Charlie nodded gravely. “I won’t stay out long. Good-bye, Garnet Hubbard.”

  “Bye, Charlie! I’ll let you know what days to pick me up, okay?”

  He waved one hand in my general direction and let himself out.

  I stood there grinning like an idiot. I couldn’t believe that something good had finally happened in Willow Flats. Something so great I didn’t care that Nathan Brown hated me, or that Celestial and Faith would spread the news of my art class episode all over seventh grade by the time the first bell rang on Monday.

  Aunt Julia read Mama’s note again, like she couldn’t believe it either. “This is the first unselfish thing your mother has done since she made a pot holder for me in third grade.”

  It seemed like a miracle. Mama actually understood that I wanted a life in art as much as she wanted to be the next Cordell Jackson. When she sent me back from Nashville, I’d tried to let go, but blood is a thread that connects you to other people, no matter what.