I smiled and was just about to open the bag to look at them when Mr. Patachou started to talk about the fascinating world of passé composé verbs and Em had to take her seat. She lay her head down on her desk, stuck her tongue out, and rolled her eyes at me. I let my head drop onto my desk too, doing a silent snore, except that it accidentally came out not-so-silent—like a big rhinoceros snort. Everyone turned to look at me.
“Margot, ça ne t’amuse pas, le verbe finir?” Mr. Patachou asked, and everyone laughed. I didn’t really care, though. For once I got the feeling they were all laughing with me. Plus, I had new camisoles, Sarah J. was suspended, and Em and I had just gone out for lunch with two of the most popular girls in school. So my love life wasn’t working out the way I’d planned? So Andrew was a little bit mad at me? So what? When I weighed the good things against the bad things, it had still been a decent day. Em gave me a mischievous look, and I smiled back, relaxing into my seat. She didn’t like George. She’d said so herself.
Em met me at my locker after school, where I’d just finished pinning up my copy of the “autographed” SubSonic poster beside the pair of pears photo. Even though I knew it wasn’t a real autograph, I liked the way it looked hanging there. A few other people who’d been at the party had put theirs in their lockers too.
“Your hair looks good today,” Em said, coming up behind me. “You think so?” I asked. “Thanks. That frizz control serum is amazing.”
“I know.” Em smiled, then looked at me more closely. “Your eyeliner’s not bad either. But I’ll bring you a new one tomorrow. Brown would be better on you for daytime.” I’d done the best I could recreating my party eyes with my mom’s crusty old black eyeliner pencil, but it hadn’t been easy.
“Thanks,” I said again. “That’d be cool.”
A surge of hopefulness went through me as we walked out to the yard together. Maggie and Joyce were sitting on the concrete ledge and they waved us over. It felt weird to be approaching Sarah J.’s territory. Weirder, even, to be invited, but I propped up my crutches and hoisted myself onto the ledge. I had to admit, it was nice. The ledge was higher than most places in the yard, and it made me feel like royalty, looking out over my kingdom.
“God,” Maggie lamented as she examined her pores in a compact, “my tan is totally gone. It’s like the summer never even happened.”
Joyce reached into her bag, unzipped a makeup case, and handed Maggie some bronzer.
“Thanks! You saved my life!” Maggie took it gratefully. “You’re so lucky, Margot,” she said to me as she started applying the gold powder to her cheekbones. “You never have to worry about being tanned.”
I could have mentioned the many joys that come with permanently brown skin—like the fact that the pharmacy near our house barely carried any makeup that matched, or the loveliness of having a mustache I had to bleach—but instead I just smiled, taking the compliment, since it was the first real one she’d ever given me.
“Oh look,” Em said as she hopped onto the ledge beside Joyce. “Here comes loverboy.” George and Ken were coming straight for us.
“Stop calling him that!” I whispered, then I watched George’s eyes carefully as he got closer, trying to see if he was focusing more on Em than on anyone else. It was hard to tell. If anything, he seemed to be looking at something off in the distance behind us.
“Is that your dad?” George asked, as soon as he reached the concrete ledge. I turned, and sure enough, Bryan was getting out of our rusty, hundred-year-old minivan, which he’d parked right in front of the school, where everyone would see it.
“Stepdad,” I corrected. “Anyway. See you tomorrow.” I grabbed my crutches and hopped off the ledge before the entire school yard had a chance to see how the driver’s-side mirror was being held on with duct tape.
“You’re not going to stay and hang out with us?” Ken looked almost genuinely disappointed. “You’re breaking my heart, Button.” I rolled my eyes at him.
Maggie and Joyce were still waving as Bryan shoulder checked five times and pulled into the street. Ken, who by then had already forgotten I existed, was sitting on the ledge, opening a bag of Doritos. But I couldn’t see Em or George at all. I turned around farther in my seat, pretending to be waving back at Maggie and Joyce, and that was when I spotted them. They were standing together, talking. A bit apart from everyone else.
“Was that the same girl whose home you were at on Friday night?” Bryan asked, interrupting my minor panic attack. I pretended I hadn’t heard him. “I’d still like to speak with her mother, but I’ll need you to get me their number. It’s unlisted.”
“It’s probably unlisted because they don’t want people bugging them,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint. “Her mom’s an actor.”
He nodded, not seeming all that impressed. “Your mother mentioned that. I also take it she isn’t deaf.”
I smiled sheepishly. “Would you believe that she magically regained her hearing?” Bryan didn’t laugh, but he didn’t look mad either.
“She used to be on Destiny’s World,” I told him. He still didn’t seem awed, which kind of annoyed me. I mean, of all people, he should have known how hard it was to get good roles like that. “And Chicago Dreams. She’s a big deal,” I went on. “Also, Em’s dad is a music agent for this amazing band, SubSonic, which is why they’re so rich.”
That seemed to get Bryan’s attention, but not for the right reasons. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, as he shoulder checked again.
“Yeah. But don’t tell anyone, okay? Em’s trying to keep a low profile.”
He seemed to be deep in thought for a second. “Margot, that strikes me as odd,” he went on, signaling left. “You know, the acting community is smaller than you might think. I was talking with Jeff Fischer, from the Tylenol commercial.” I knew the guy he meant. He was part of Bryan’s old “dramatic arts collective,” and he was the most famous actor in our town because he’d once pretended to have a backache for a national commercial spot. Then he’d moved to New York for a while to be on Broadway in some play about trains, which practically made Bryan die of envy.
“Jeff and Em’s mother have a mutual friend,” Bryan went on. “He mentioned she was a single mother who’d done very well for herself.”
“What?” I looked straight at Bryan. “No. She’s not a single mother. She’s married. Em’s dad lives in New York. She talks to him every day at lunch.”
“Really? Because Jeff Fischer seemed quite sure about her situation. I just—”
“Bryan. She’s practically my best friend. Who would know more about her life? Me, or the guy from the Tylenol commercial?”
“I don’t know, Margot. I’m just giving you the facts as I’ve heard them. Is it possible your new friend isn’t being entirely forthright with you?”
“Of course she’s being forthright,” I said, making a point of using his stupid word.
“I’m not trying to upset you, Margot. Sometimes people tell lies to cover up painful truths. It doesn’t mean your friend isn’t a good person at heart. But perhaps she’s troubled.”
So now Em was “erratic” and “troubled”?
“Perhaps she’s grieving over something,” he went on in this calm, wise, self-help-book voice. “People who are hurting inside often rebel against authority. It might explain why she felt the need to throw a party while her mother was out.”
“Right.” I stared out the window, but I couldn’t deny it. No matter how I tried to rearrange the pieces of Em’s story, and force them into place, they just didn’t fit.
My mom’s first tarot client still hadn’t arrived when we got home. She was in the kitchen, still dressed in her 100% VEGAN T-shirt from that morning, picking at a VTV pasta entrée straight from the box while the triplets played with pots and Tupperware containers they’d scattered all over the floor. It looked like our kitchen cabinets had exploded, and the triplets were poor orphaned children playing in the wreckage.
Bryan went u
p behind my mom, massaged her shoulders, then kissed her on the lips.
“We just made a run to the pharmacy,” Mom explained.
“Tough trip?” he asked.
“You wouldn’t believe it,” she answered. “All three of them threw tantrums because I bought store-brand diapers instead of the ones with Elmo. Then, while I was calming Aleene and Alice down, I lost track of Alex. I found her in the feminine hygiene aisle. She’d opened a box of tampons, dumped them on the floor, and was using them to build a log cabin. She screamed the whole way home in the stroller,” my mom finished weakly, shouting the last part of the story over Alice’s wailing.
“My pot!!!!!” Alice was yelling, as Aleene wrestled it from her hands.
Mom stared at the ceiling like she was praying for the strength to survive another day of triple-toddler madness. Bryan stepped in to deal with the pot situation.
“Call me when your client gets here,” I said as I picked my way through the Tupperware and pots on my crutches. “I have to start my homework.” But instead I closed my door and flopped down on my bed. According to the clock on my bedside table, it was 3:47. Em and George were probably sitting on the concrete ledge at this very second, exchanging childhood stories. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head, but the second I opened them, my clock radio was staring me in the face again: 3:48. They’d probably moved from talking to tongue kissing. I groaned, then sat up and tried to calm down. After all, what had Em’s exact words been? “No offense, but he’s not my type.” Then again, she’d lied about a lot of things. What’s to say she wasn’t lying about George, too?
There was a knock at my door. “Margot, dear.” It was Grandma Betty. I hadn’t even known she was at our house. “May I come in?” Unlike my mother, Grandma actually waited for an answer.
“Sure.” I sat up.
“How was your day?” she asked, poking her head in. I was on the verge of saying “horrible” and launching into a big description of everything that had happened with George, and Andrew, and now Em…but I noticed the worried look on her face just in time. “All right,” I lied.
“Good.” She flashed me a quick smile, then went right back to her worried face. She stepped inside the room and closed my door partway. “Margot, I’m concerned about your mother. The girls are a handful. And then two jobs plus the housework. She’s just plain exhausted.”
I could see the Friend Request IM icon flashing on my computer screen and tried not to look at it too obviously while my grandma was talking.
“I was wondering if you’d had a chance to pick up those flowers yet. I think they’d give her a real boost.” Grandma looked at me gently while my mind raced. Those flowers? What flowers?
Oh, right. The thirty dollars for the flowers. I glanced at my dresser, where I still had seventeen dollars of the money I’d borrowed.
“Oh no,” I said with what I hoped sounded like real regret. “I forgot. I’ll get them tomorrow. I promise.”
“Good. I think your mom would like that.” Grandma opened the door to let herself out. I would buy the flowers, of course, but mostly for her. “I’ll let you get to your homework,” she said, then left. I practically dove for my computer. The suspense was killing me.
Friend Request: SarahSXY (Sarah J.)
I stared in surprise. It was weird beyond belief to see the words Sarah J. and Friend in the same sentence. I hit Accept.
SarahSXY: For the record, Margo, Maggie and Joyce are lying. I didn’t push you down the stairs. It’s stupid that I got suspended.
First of all, nice user name. She probably got more than her share of messages from random Internet perverts with that one. Second, she forgot the “t” in my name, and third, give me a break. Everyone knew she’d pushed me.
Margot12: Technically, you pulled me down the stairs. But whatever. The point is that I broke my leg.
SarahSXY: I think you should know it’s true, what I said about Em. She’s a liar. For example, she acts like she’s your friend, but she’s really not.
Margot12: Right. And I should believe you because you always act like a good friend.
I knew I should log off and forget what I’d just read, but I couldn’t help myself. I opened the next message.
SarahSXY: The day after you broke your leg, when you weren’t at school, she told George you had a huge crush on him, and they both laughed about it. They also shared a pop, using the same straw.
I felt sick to my stomach. Em wouldn’t really do that to me, would she?
SarahSXY: Sorry to be the one to have to break it to you. :(
Except that she wasn’t sorry. I wanted to reach right through the computer screen and strangle her, and her stupid frowny-face emoticon too.
Just then, Bryan knocked at my door. “Margot. Mrs. Carrington is here to consult the deck with your mother. And I have to leave for class. I’ve got study group until eight.”
I sighed, logged off, and went into the living room, where the triplets were listening to Raffi. I usually loved that CD, but that night I couldn’t get into it. Instead, I just stared at my reflection in the darkened window while they squealed and hopped around on the sofa cushions to the sandwich song.
After I put my sisters to bed I turned my IM back on, but the only person online was Erika, whose name disappeared instantly. I was just about to shut the computer down when there was a tiny knock at my door. “Magoo?” It was Alex. She was dragging her yellow blanket behind her. Tears were running down her face.
“What is it?” I said, bending down and hugging her.
Finally she managed between sobs, “I don’t like da bees.”
“The bees? Which bees?”
“Da bees in da story.”
“Oh, those bees.” One of the stories I’d read them before bed was Mrs. Bunny’s Bee Farm. There’s this one page where “the bees hear the banjo and they all go berserk.” “Did you have a dream about the bees?” I asked. She nodded, still sniffling. “Do you want me to build you a bee-proof cave?” She nodded again.
She slipped her tiny hand into mine and we walked back to her bedroom. Very quietly, so I wouldn’t wake the other two, I took a queen-size bedsheet from the hall closet and hung it over the headboard and footboard of her toddler bed, then weighed it down to the floor with heavy books on either end. When I was done I peered inside. “No bees can get in now,” I whispered. “I promise. Go to sleep, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered back.
My mom was working late. I heard her last tarot client leave at 7:45, and Bryan come in at 8:30, but I didn’t leave my room again. Instead, I went to bed early and watched the headlights of passing cars streak across my cottage cheese ceiling and melt down my wall while thoughts went berserk like banjo bees in my head. What else was Em hiding from me, and why was she lying? Would I ever get used to how lonely my life felt without Erika? What about Andrew? Would he ever really forgive me for not inviting him to Em’s party?
I missed my mom having time for me. I missed my grandpa being alive. I would have given anything right then just to have someone to talk to. Someone I could trust. Someone to build me a bee-proof cave where I could hide away until I figured it all out.
29
I Uncover Strange Clues, and a Quiet Person Speaks Loudly
WHEN I WOKE UP the next morning I knew I had to find out one way or the other. With a heavy feeling of dread, I turned my computer on and opened a browser window. I didn’t know why I’d waited so long to do it, actually—maybe because I didn’t want to know the truth. I searched the words SubSonic and Agent. A page on the band’s site came up, telling how to book them for gigs. The contact listed didn’t sound like Em’s dad. His name was Collin Clarke, from L-Group Entertainment. But then again, lots of kids have their mother’s last names, so it didn’t necessarily mean Em was lying…even though it was looking more and more likely by the second.
“Margot! It’s eight forty-five,” my mom called. I ran out the door, still feeling confused by the things I’d l
earned about Em…but nevertheless appreciating her fashion sense. The night before, I’d opened up the bag she’d given me with my wet clothes in it. Inside were three really cute camisoles, one of which I had on. It was dark green, with tiny beaded flowers at the top, crossed straps, and three layers of gauzy fabric at the bottom.
In English class, I did my best to smile and act normal while Em admired it. “You see?” she said. “I know what looks good on you. You should always trust me.” It was a weird thing to say under the circumstances. “Doesn’t Margot’s shirt look great, George?” she said.
“Yeah,” he said, glancing back. “It’s kind of fluffy at the bottom.”
“See?” she said again, smiling at me.
“You’re the best,” I said, hoping it would come out sounding sincere. After all, I hadn’t forgotten Em’s reaction when I’d questioned her about the autographs. And I definitely hadn’t forgotten what had happened to Sarah J.’s eyebrows after she’d called Em a liar. Plus, despite my own doubts and what Sarah had said on IM, I still wanted to believe there was a logical explanation for everything. I just had to figure out what it was.
That day we ate lunch with Maggie and Joyce on the ledge. I watched Em carefully, measuring everything she said against what I now suspected.
“So,” Joyce asked Em, “how many times have you seen SubSonic live?”
Em counted off on her fingers. “Well, once in London, and pretty much every time they play New York.”
“That’s so cool,” Joyce sighed.
“I heard their new tour is going to be huge,” Maggie said.
“Yeah,” I added, “I bet K.wack’ed’s going to be really busy. Your family probably won’t get to see him much.”
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