“Hey, babe. You look hot. Everyone treating you good?” he asks.
I nod and can’t help smirking. “Yeah. Amber had, uh, a heartful talk with our class about that.”
“That’s our Amber,” Duke says with a chuckle.
A couple of other guys, football players from the size of them, come in behind me. “Hey, Sia,” they say as they walk past. “Good to see you.”
Duke’s arm is instantly around me and I’m squeezed tight against his side. He kisses me with gusto, which takes me by surprise.
What’s with the sudden macho display? I push my hand against his chest, needing air, and scowl up at him. “Didn’t you tell me you’d give me all the time I need?” I hiss, then turn and smile vaguely at the others. “Hey,” I say to them.
When the bell rings at the end of algebra, it’s time for lunch. The class packs up and gets out fast. Most of the students quickly flood out into the wide hallway, making out by the lockers, slamming their locker doors, or hurrying toward the cafeteria for lunch.
The cafeteria reeks of fried food and chicken soup, a smell that transports me back to my time with Carol. I look up at Duke, wondering how he’d react if I told him about my time on the street. I so want to share my story with someone, but he misinterprets my expression.
“Don’t worry, babe. You’ll be fine. Come on. Let’s get lunch.”
I scan the counter, looking over all the choices, and decide on a burger with fries. I smile at the heavyset, middle-aged woman behind the counter. Her eyes carry the look of someone who is constantly worn out. “Thanks,” I say.
The woman frowns at me.
Kind of a weird reaction . . . but everything’s weird lately. I have to try not to be too paranoid.
After paying for the meal, I turn to find my friends. Stacy’s standing by a table in the center of the room, and she excitedly waves me over.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, cutting between tables. Some of the people I pass glance up with angry glares. I look away quickly. What had I done to make them angry?
Two seats are left open between Stacy and Amber. Duke pulls out one for me and sits beside me on the other.
“So?” Stacy asks. “What do you think? How does it feel to be back?”
“I don’t really know,” I admit. “Weird.”
“What is that?” Amber demands, staring at my tray.
I jerk upright, scared there’s a spider or something. But it’s just my lunch. “What?”
Amber points at my burger and fries. Her face twists up, as if the sight of it is revolting to her. “That. What is that?”
“My burger, you mean?”
Amber puffs out her breath with disgust. “We don’t eat that garbage, Sia. No fried food, no carbs. We take care of our bodies. We eat salads.”
Stacy seems to think this is obvious. She nods earnestly and pops a slice of radish into her mouth.
I frown. “But I don’t want a salad.”
“You do,” Amber informs me. “You just don’t realize it. Take that back.”
“I don’t want a salad,” I repeat, annoyed. “I want this.”
Amber blinks, taken aback, then does a little sniff through her nose. “Whatever,” she snaps. “Poison your body if you want to.”
“God, Amber, lay off,” Duke chips in. “Sia can eat whatever she wants.”
Amber’s eyes turn instantly to blue ice, and her smile is just as hard. She isn’t used to being contradicted. She sits a little taller and stabs a fork into her salad. “Of course she can. Whatever. It’s just that fat cheerleaders are harder to throw—and we do have practice this afternoon.”
Stacy glances between Amber and me, her eyes huge. Now I see her more as she really is. Sweet and bubbly, sure, but also meek and clearly Amber’s sidekick. From the startled look in her eyes, I can tell she’s afraid of Amber.
The rest of the cafeteria is suddenly hushed as well. People are either staring at me or keeping their eyes glued to their trays of food. That’s when I realize it's not just Stacy. Everyone’s afraid of Amber.
“I’m taking a break from cheerleading,” I decide in that moment. “At least until I can remember better.”
Amber frowns, but her eyes are smiling. “Are you sure? If you give it up now, there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to get it back later.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”
We both jerk around at a sudden crash behind us. A scrawny boy with tousled black hair is sprawling on the floor, face-first in his lunch.
Duke grins, and our table erupts in laughter. Before long, the entire cafeteria is roaring.
I stare in horror, realizing Duke deliberately stuck his foot in the boy’s path. I want to get to my feet, help the kid up, and tell Duke to apologize. But I’m paralyzed.
“Jeez, loser. First day on the new legs?” Duke sneers.
Kyle, the boy from my class, comes to the kid’s rescue. “Hey, Ben,” he says, narrowing his eyes at Duke and me. He reaches under a nearby chair to retrieve Ben’s carton of milk. “C’mon, man. Our table’s over this way.”
Ben gets to his knees and scrambles to his feet. He glances at us, his eyes dark with misery. He’s completely humiliated.
As I watch the boys walk away, I turn on Duke. “What was that?”
Duke wipes tears from his eyes. “Ooh, man. Works every time.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Don’t worry about that kid, Sia. He’s nobody,” Amber says. She grins at Stacy, her eyes twinkling with laughter. “Like that guy, remember, Stace?”
“Oh my God,” Stacy says, her smile wicked. “You mean that band geek with the moon craters on his face? Ew!”
“I know, right? And what about her?” Amber says, pointing deliberately at a dark-haired girl sitting quietly by herself in a corner, reading a book and nibbling on something from a packed lunch.
The girl’s eyes light up with a kind of panic when she spots Amber’s gaze on her, and she looks away.
“Total goth. She probably carves bats into her arm for fun.”
Stacy hoots with laughter. “I can’t even! You’re so right . . . and so, so funny!”
“I know,” Amber assures her. “I really am.”
I feel increasingly sick listening to my so-called friends talk, their eyes dancing with malicious laughter. Was I really one of these people? Was I ever such a selfish, cruel person? I get to my feet and carry my tray to a garbage can.
Oblivious to my mood, Amber is already at my side, peeking critically at my meal tray. “See? I knew you didn’t want to eat that stuff.”
“It wasn’t that,” I mutter. “I just lost my appetite.”
A group of kids cluster by the door of the cafeteria, talking and laughing, inadvertently blocking our exit.
“Excuse me,” I say quietly. When they don’t acknowledge me, I say it again, a little louder.
“The ladies want outta here. Step aside, minions,” Duke proclaims, barging through the group, shoving kids to the floor as he goes.
Amber strolls along behind him, coldly superior to everyone around her.
I shuffle along, wedged between them, feeling utterly miserable.
After the three o’clock bell rings, Amber corners me and asks again if I'm coming out to cheerleading practice. I tell her I’m not, then reject Duke’s offer to drive me home. When he starts to argue, I assure him my driver is on his way.
“I’m just really tired,” I tell him, managing a small smile.
The real reason is that I feel ill. Literally. My head is spinning with questions, and my heart just aches. While I wait for John to pick me up, I sit on a step outside the school. I watch the kids go by. No one stops to say hello to me, and I’m starting to understand why. Then I see Kyle trudging out of the school, shaking his thick brown hair back from his brow. I decide to go talk to him. But he changes direction when he sees me approaching.
“Wait! Kyle? Is that your name? Kyle?”
He stops but doesn’t turn a
round.
Undaunted, I run up from behind. “Listen, I just wanted to apologize for Duke in the cafeteria today.”
“Why? Can’t he take care of that himself?”
“I guess he can, but I don’t think manners are his strong point.”
Kyle squints at me, trying to read my expression, so I keep my eyes wide open. If he’s looking for dishonesty or cruelty, I’m determined he won’t find any there.
“I don’t get it,” he says skeptically. “Why would you apologize to me?”
I shrug. “Because it was wrong of him to be like that.”
“If you’re gonna apologize on behalf of Duke, you should apologize to Ben, not me.”
“Um . . . okay, I will.”
After a moment of quiet, Kyle says, “Okay. Thanks.” He sniffs and looks at the ground, obviously uncomfortable. “As long as we’re apologizing, I guess I owe you one, too.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry about yelling at you at the soup kitchen. That was you, right?”
I nod.
“So I guess it was my yelling that made you run into the street, wasn’t it?”
I nod again.
“Well, I’m really sorry. About all that. I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t. Don’t worry about it.” I look down the street, past Kyle, but I can’t see John and the car yet. I glance down at my nails, still torn and ratty from living homeless. “What were you doing there, anyway?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I volunteer there sometimes.”
“Oh.”
“My parents own a bakery nearby. I work there almost every afternoon. When we have day-old bread and stuff, I take it over to them.”
“You . . . Oh!” I suddenly recall the slice of bread I’d enjoyed just before Kyle yelled at me that day. Soft, homemade, and unforgettable. It brings a smile to my face. “Well, I know from personal experience that they really appreciate that. It’s very generous of you and your family.”
“It’s the least we can do.” He hesitates. “So you’d been eating there?”
“Yup. All week. With my friend Carol.”
“Carol? That older lady? I know her. She’s sweet. Helps a lot of the kids out. I guess she’s kind of a teacher for lost souls, huh?”
“You could say that,” I agree, remembering my wise friend fondly.
A dark car pulls up to the curb.
I smile with apology. “Sorry, but I have to go. That’s John, here to pick me up. So are we okay?”
“We?”
“Yeah. You and me.”
After a second, he returns my smile and holds out a hand. “Sure.”
I step closer so I can shake it, and while I’m there I purposefully inhale the smell Amber had so detested. She’s right. He smells like bread. Banana bread, I think. And cinnamon. Not unpleasant at all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The inside of the car is almost too cold, the air conditioning harsh on my skin. John, the driver, doesn’t seem to mind because he’s dressed in a suit, but I can’t help shivering.
“John, would you mind turning down the air conditioning? It’s a little chilly back here.”
He frowns into the rearview mirror. “No problem.”
I lean back in the soft black leather and close my eyes, needing to think. It’s been quite a day. And that is a definite understatement. During those long, slow hours, I learned about the people who had mattered most to me in my previous life. Through those realizations, though, I learned a little about who I had been. As it turns out, I’m not particularly proud of that person.
Certain moments from the past twenty-four hours stand out in my mind: the flash of surprise in Beatriz’s eyes when I’d thanked her for something, Amber’s ability to so easily dismiss someone like Kyle as a “nobody,” Duke’s belly laugh when he’d dumped Ben onto the floor.
I was once a part of all of that—a big part, apparently, since the rest of them cluster around me like moths to a flame. I’m so ashamed. A tear clears a path through the makeup Stacy so lovingly painted on me, and a sense of loss creeps through me.
Have I been cruel and self-centered my whole life?
Have I wasted all my years behaving like a spoiled brat?
“John,” I say, leaning forward, “could you please take me to the soup kitchen? I want to stop in there. Maybe a few other places, too. I need to find a friend of mine.”
“Sorry,” he replies. “I’m not allowed to take you there.”
What? I'm not allowed to go?
“But my friend might be worried about me,” I say. “I never got to tell her where I was going. She probably thinks I’d been hurt or something. Please?”
He shakes his head. “No can do. Your parents specifically told me no soup kitchen, no homeless places, and nowhere that might be dangerous.”
“That makes no sense!” I exclaim. “How can they worry about me now? I spent an entire week living on the street, and I did just fine.”
“Well, you were hit by a car . . . ”
“Okay. Other than that, though, I was fine.” I puff out a breath and cross my arms, trying not to remember Bill’s awful proposition by the food truck, the terror of having to live under a bridge, and the gang beating up Patch. “I’m not a child, you know.”
“I know that, Miss Holloway. But I’m not the one who made the rules. Sorry.”
The rest of the drive is silent, with me fuming, staring out the window at the mansions and exotic cars. John says nothing more.
When we get home, I look for Beatriz and find her polishing silver in the kitchen. She turns and smiles, but I’m in no mood for small talk.
“Where are my parents?”
Her smile drops into a frown. “Busy, Miss Holloway.”
“Of course they’re busy. They’re always busy. But where are they? I need their permission to go downtown to see my friend Carol.”
“Your mother is in her room,” Beatriz says, concentrating on her work. “And Mr. Holloway won’t be back until later. He says he has some late meetings tonight.”
I turn to go. “Fine. I’ll talk with her.”
“I wouldn’t suggest that,” she says quickly. “Today’s not a good day, mija. Your mother don’t feel so good. Wait until tomorrow, sì?”
I frown. “Not a good day?”
“No.” She sets the silver down and turns her eyes on me.
She looks so tired that I’m tempted to give her a hug, but I know that isn’t acceptable around here. Still, seeing her like this takes some of the wind from my sails. What right do I have to take out my anger on anyone, let alone Beatriz?
“Can I help you make dinner?”
Beatriz’s expression goes completely blank. It takes a moment before she can reply. “No, graçias. You must be tired. This was a hard day for you, no? Why don’t you go to your room and get some rest?”
“I’m not that tired.”
The maid’s eyes dart sideways, as if she’s concerned.
About what? About getting caught talking with me? Could it possibly be that bad?
“Sure you are. Don’t worry, Miss Holloway. I’m just going to cut up some vegetables and put them in to stew for a few hours.”
“Well, I can cut vegetables.” When Beatriz doesn’t say anything, I make up my mind. I pick up a knife and start chopping carrots.
Behind me, Beatriz quietly comes to my side. She catches the knife and shows me a better angle to chop. “You know what? I would love your help,” she says.
For the first time in a long time, I feel useful. Using my hands on something other than makeup and texting seems to have a calming effect on me, and I find I want to talk.
“How long have you worked here, Beatriz?” I ask.
She slices onions expertly, the blade of her knife moving so quickly, I can hardly see it. “Oh, I came here from Mexico many years ago. When you were just a little niña.”
“Do you like working here?”
“Si. Very much. This is a beautiful house,
your parents are good people, and they pay me well. They have some wonderful parties. I meet many celebrities—” She glances apologetically at me, as if she feels guilty. “Well, I don’t really meet them, but I see them, and I listen to them while they are talking to each other.”
“What about your family?”
“I have a very large family,” Beatriz says, smiling faintly. “Most of them live in Mexico.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Of course. But I know we’ll be together again one day. For now, I send them money. And I bought them a computer so we can see each other on the Internet sometimes.”
We work together for half an hour or so, talking and eventually laughing. Almost every word Beatriz says unknowingly helps me understand the person I was. And she makes it easier to see the person I want to become.
“Were you and I friends before?” I ask.
Beatriz’s smile is wistful. “I don’t think you could say—”
A loud wail and a thump coming from the living room interrupts us. Beatriz and I exchange a look. Her expression says I just heard something I wasn’t supposed to have heard.
“What was that?” I ask.
Beatriz wipes her hands on her apron, her expression set, and heads toward the door. She’s all business now. “It’s nothing, mija. Just wait here, okay?”
“Was that my mom?”
“She’s not feeling so good. You just stay—wait! Sia!”
I push past her, desperate to find out what’s going on. As soon as I see what she’s trying to hide, I understand. My mother is stumbling from chair to chair in the living room, holding an empty vodka bottle and demanding that Beatriz get her some more. “Mom?”
She stops ranting and places one clammy hand on my cheek. “My beautiful, beautiful baby,” she gushes. “Have I told you how much I love you, Sia? I just love you so much. You’re so, so beautiful. I’m so lucky to have you.”
“Mrs. Holloway—”
“Beatriz!” Mom snaps, jerked from her drunken trance. “I need another bottle!”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Holloway, but we have no more.”
“Go buy some!”
“I’m afraid the car isn’t here, Mrs. Holloway.”
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