My mind was in turmoil as I sat down in the large chair next to the sofa, trying hard not to look at anything but the TV. I didn't want to be the first one to talk, and it didn't take Mom long to interpret my body language and sullen expression.
“Sweetie, is something the matter?”
I nodded, still working out the details of my confession in my mind.
“Is there something wrong at school?”
I shook my head.
“Well, what is it then?” Dad asked.
Slowly, I turned to face them. I couldn't have felt any worse telling them about this than if it was me and not Kirsten. “Mom, Dad … if I found out something bad was going on with someone I cared about, would it be wrong of me to tell on that person?”
“Are we speaking hypothetically?” Mom asked.
“No,” I said, closing my eyes.
Mom leaned forward, reaching over and placing her hand on my knee. “Sophie, if there's something going on that we need to know about, than you should tell us.”
My breath became shallow, and I hoped I wasn't going to burst into tears. “It's – it's Kirsten.”
Now Dad was leaning forward too, making our three-way conversation even more intimate. “What about her?”
“I went into her room last week.” They both straightened up. Mom opened her mouth as if preparing to scold me, but before she could speak again, I added, “And I found something. Something bad.”
Whatever Mom was going to say about my invading Kirsten's privacy was washed away by my last statement. They both just stared at me. I imagined they had a dozen questions rolling around in their heads, unsure which one to ask me first, so again, I saved them the trouble.
“I was worried about her. She hasn't been acting … you know, normal. She's been … well, you know how she's been. But then there's this guy Duncan showing up at our house asking for her … I just wanted to make sure I was worried for nothing. But I found …”
I trailed off, a lump forming in my throat. I wasn't about to make a false accusation. I had evidence as to what was causing Kirsten's radical change in behavior, and it was confirmed by an actual police laboratory. Even so, I felt lower than I'd ever felt before. “… Adderall.”
I looked at Mom and Dad's faces, not knowing what I'd see: shock, outrage, concern, or disbelief. I ended up getting all four. We sat there, not speaking, for several tense moments. Finally, it was Mom who spoke. “How do you know that's what it was?”
I went on to describe the pill I found, where I found it, and my reluctance to trust anyone but Kelsey and her father until I knew for certain what it was. As I spoke, Mom slid her hand into Dad's and she buried her face in his shoulder. A stifled sob escaped her lips.
Mom was a twenty-year veteran of the District Attorney's office. She'd sat across the courtroom from murderers, drug dealers, and rapists, and she'd met their evil with a staunch professionalism that made her great at what she did. But when it came to kids, especially her own kids, her tough-as-nails exterior tended to falter. She was just as capable of being hurt, disappointed and heartbroken as anyone.
As I concluded my testimony – that's what it really felt like I was giving – I cast my eyes to the ground, awaiting my parents' judgment.
After taking several deep breaths and sharing a long stare into each other's faces, a wordless glance that only couples who have been together for decades would probably understand, my Mom and Dad stood up. I moved to stand as well, but Mom raised her hand, motioning for me to remain seated.
“Sophie,” Mom said softly, “you did the right thing.” She turned toward the staircase, looking up.
“Sweetheart, we're going to go have a word with your sister,” Dad said. “I'm going to ask that you remain down here until we return. Is that clear?”
I nodded affirmatively at both of them, and they both ascended the stairs. I continued to listen as they made their way down the hall, their footfalls stopping just as I heard a faint rapping on my sister's door. After a brief pause, her door opened and closed, and I was left alone.
I rocked back and forth nervously, tugging at the hem of my shirt, pulling at my fingers and massaging the tops of each hand with the other in rapid succession. I fought back tears while glancing at the staircase every two seconds. Time ticked by, and I strained my ears, listening for the faintest sound while praying that the discussion going on up there wouldn't end with raised voices, shouting, or fighting.
Please. Let whatever this is be resolved. Whatever Kirsten's gotten herself into, let this be the end of it. I want my sister back.
Unable to stand the silence anymore, I moved over to the staircase, continuing to stare up. Finally, I sat down on the bottom stair, hoping I was still technically obeying Dad's instructions. And still I heard nothing.
Finally, after the longest, most tortuous twenty minutes of my life, I heard my sister's bedroom door open. This was followed by the sound of muffled sobbing. A few seconds later, Dad reappeared at the top of the stairs. As he descended, I moved back to the couch, where he sat down next to me.
I was all out of words, so I leaned my head on Dad's shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around me. It felt so comforting, being there. Just like it had been ever since I was a baby, his arms were a shield, keeping all the monsters away. The fear, the doubt, none of it was a match for one of his embraces.
Finally, his grip relaxed, and I looked pleadingly into his eyes. “So?”
Exhaling deeply, he spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper, but in the quiet of our living room, it resonated off every wall, seeped into every corner. “Seems you were right.”
Kirsten taking drugs. My sister, the smartest, strongest-willed person I know has just become a statistic.
I can't even imagine what's going through Mom's mind right now. For years, she's been one of the most vocal public advocates in the fight against the drugs that have been poisoning our city's streets and schools, and now she finds those very same drugs have made their way into her house. Into OUR house.
In that moment, I felt every emotion a person could feel: happiness that we'd come to the truth, sadness that it'd happened at all. Relief in the hope that we could get my sister some help, and fear that it wouldn't be enough. I felt my body quiver, and Dad pulled me close to him again.
“How did …” I trailed off, my voice cracking under the strain.
“Your sister started her freshman year off fine, but …” Dad paused, and I could see worry-lines creasing his face, “… she began struggling in one of her classes, and you know how she is about her grades. She started to stress out, and, in a panic, she decided to explore … alternative methods so she could get her grades back up.”
“Duncan,” I whispered, more to myself than to Dad.
He ran his other hand through his hair. “Yes. To think that boy was on our doorstep.” I heard a terrible anger lacing his words, and his body shook with suppressed rage. “He was here, bringing that poison into our house. Our daughter … my God. She showed the signs, and we didn't see them.”
“What's going to happen now?”
“Your mother and I will be discussing that shortly. Whatever it is, it has to be handled delicately. Obviously, we'll have to get your sister some help, but it would be … bad if word got out that the daughter of an ADA fell victim to the very drugs she's trying to eliminate.”
“I understand.”
“Who besides the four of us knows about this?”
“As far as I know, just Kelsey and Ayden. Kelsey told her father she found the pill at school. He doesn't know Kirsten's involved.”
He nodded. I'd been friends with Kelsey long enough that Dad knew about her reputation. Her trustworthiness was not in question. “How about Ayden? Do you trust him?”
“Yes, I do. He's better at keeping secrets than anyone I know.”
Another set of footsteps approached, and Dad and I turned to see Mom descending the stairs. “Everything all right, Lizzie?” Dad asked.
&n
bsp; Mom nodded, still visibly shaken. Flopping into the chair by the sofa, she buried her face in her hands, composing herself. When she faced us again, it looked like she'd aged a year since she left the room a few minutes ago. “Teenagers today,” she said wistfully, “they're under so much pressure to succeed. Steven, did – did we do this to her? Did I?”
Dad reached over and took Mom's hand. “Lizzie, Kirsten's drive to succeed has always been as much a part of her as her intelligence. We've never pushed her to succeed at all costs. We've never had to.”
A tear escaped Mom's eye, slicing down her cheek. “I've spent twenty years trying to keep our streets safe, to keep other children safe. And no matter what I do, I can't stop it. I can't even protect my own family from it.”
“So what's going to happen now?” I asked, needing to be heard again.
Mom wiped away the tear with the back of her hand. “I have a very dear friend who's a drug counselor. She specializes in teen addicts. I've known her for fifteen years, and I'm certain she'll help Kirsten deal with this … problem.”
Dad nodded. “You mean Sylvia?”
“Yes,” Mom confirmed. “Sylvia Howell. I'm going to call her in a few minutes.”
“What did Kirsten say?” I asked.
At long last, the tiniest of smiles cracked onto Mom's face. “She agreed to the program.”
I exhaled long and hard in relief, and I heard Dad do the same. “Thank God,” he said.
“She broke down, telling me over and over how sorry she was. I told her we support her, we're proud of her, and we love her, no matter what her grades are.” Mom stood up, and Dad rose to his feet and hugged her. They held each other close, the two wisest people I knew, as they comforted each other. Their world, our world, had been rocked to its foundation.
Things might get better after this, but they'll never be the same again.
I heard a sniff from the direction of the staircase. We all turned to see Kirsten, who'd come out of her room to seek her family's company. Tears were still streaming down her face, as she'd been forced to confront failure for the first time in her life.
She approached cautiously, as if wondering if she was still welcome, still a part of our family. I'd never seen such anguish on her face, but as I looked, I saw just a glimmer of the sister I grew up with, one that had been absent for many weeks.
I couldn't stand it anymore. I jumped to my feet and ran to her, crushing her with an embrace that I never thought myself capable of. She was my sister, my inspiration, my best friend, my hero.
“I'm sorry,” she sobbed on my shoulder. “I'm so sorry, Sophie.”
I'd held the tears back all night, but I couldn't now. I held Kirsten close, kissing her cheek as my tears flowed like a dam had burst. “I love you, Kirsten. I love you so much.”
Mom and Dad came over and enveloped us both in their arms. No more words were said. There would be a lot more to say later, but not now.
Our perfect little family had been cracked. But it hadn't shattered. The damage could be fixed, repaired. A scar would form, and none of us would ever forget.
Chapter 25
~ Day 78 (Mon.) ~
AYDEN
The last three weeks went by so slowly, it felt like a year. It was a little unnerving being in our house, knowing the police were listening to everything I said. Mom and I agreed that we'd give Ron as wide a berth as possible, so he'd be comfortable and wouldn't know we were on to him. It wasn't all that difficult to do. The only time I spoke to him was to ask for my comics back, but he merely responded with a sleazy grin and a promise to return them by Christmas. Jerk.
If Detective Callahan's information was correct, today was the day of Ron's next “shipment.” Assuming his and his buddies' plans didn't change, today the cops would finally catch him in the act. When I woke up this morning, I had half a mind to taunt him, but I was actually more relieved that he was long gone, yet another confirmation today was indeed the big day.
Thankfully, I had rehearsals – and Marissa – to take my mind off my home life. Now that we'd expressed our true feelings for each other, things were a lot less awkward between us, but we still had to work hard not to embarrass ourselves while we were practicing our lines. I found myself fantasizing about a time when we could have a real boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, one that included time together away from school grounds.
Last week, Ms. Hough and her set-design team transported the nearly-finished sets to the auditorium's stage area, where they would put on the finishing touches. I had to hand it to them; they looked amazing. Kayla would often wave to us as we practiced, as would Autumn, who was almost unrecognizable from the sad, shy girl who had hidden in the library for the past year. It looked like they'd become best friends, which was awesome.
Mr. Danbury ran us ragged over the last few weeks, and I spent every minute I could practicing. With Mom proudly watching, I nailed both my songs on Saturday, our final run-through before performing for the underclassmen on Tuesday afternoon. I was even given my Peter Pan costume to try on. It fit perfectly: a loose shirt, pants and a vest, all various shades of green with some cool leaf-patterns on them and with only a red feather jutting from the brim of my floppy green hat to break up the color scheme. I looked like Peter. I felt like Peter. I was Peter.
Siobhan's Captain Hook costume was spectacular, complete with her fake hook, which she brandished in front of everyone. Marissa's Tiger Lily outfit was cream-colored, contrasting beautifully with her dark skin, and Wendy's blue night-dress looked awesome on Sophie. We were ready to kick butt and take names.
Simon was all smiles as he set his lunch-tray down on our table today. He'd been smiling a lot lately. He and Michelle had become practically inseparable. They had their first-ever kiss only a week after Marissa and I did, following a particularly successful round of Hellfire. It wasn't a long one due to the inconvenience of both of them wearing braces, but to listen to him talk about it, you'd think there'd been actual fireworks going off nearby. She taught him some low-impact exercises they could do together, as well as some basic karate moves. His stick-figure arms were finally catching up to the rest of his body, and his newfound confidence shone through as he recited Michael Darling's lines during rehearsals.
Our first performance was scheduled for 2:00 tomorrow. I was a bundle of repressed nerves as I sat in the dugout with Marissa during recess period. My legs were moving of their own accord, and I could barely sit still.
“Hey, settle down, novio,” she said, placing her palm on my thigh in an attempt to stop it from twitching. I smiled. She didn't speak Spanish around me very often, and hearing her call me 'boyfriend' always made me happy. “Showtime's not till tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I know.” I put my hand on top of hers. “But it's my first time in front of an audience, you know?”
“I know.”
“What was it like for you the first time you performed?”
“Oh my God.” Her face flushed. “It was in The Wizard of Oz last year. I only had a tiny part, and I was always in the middle of a crowd of people, but when I walked out on stage, I thought I was going to puke.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Well, that's encouraging.”
She smirked. “But even so, Mr. Danbury did a great job with us. He really makes you feel … special.”
“Yeah, he's a great teacher. I've learned so much from him.”
She put her arms around me, and I did the same. Her smile chased all my nervous thoughts away. “You're gonna be amazing, Ayden. I just know it.”
We both leaned in, sharing a long, sweet, romantic kiss. We weren't able to get alone-time in the dugout every day, so we enjoyed being able to share our affections when we could. After three weeks, we weren't shy about kissing each other anymore. Always at the back of my mind, however, was the matter of her parents. She still hadn't told her folks about our relationship, and that was another thing that couldn't be put off indefinitely.
After a few minutes of making out, we released
each other, and dang it, my leg started twitching again. She gave me a bemused frown and a dramatic eye-roll. “That's it, I give up. If my kisses can't cure you of this, then nothing can.”
I grinned. “You're probably right. You wanna go for a walk?”
She checked her watch. “Yeah, we got about fifteen minutes before the bell rings. Let's go.”
With our arms around each other, we strolled alongside the chain-link fence that marked the western edge of the school grounds. We just made small talk, laughing at each other's silly jokes or complaining about this test or another. It was nice and warm out, and despite my earlier nervousness, I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this happy.
We'd walked about a hundred yards, approaching the northwest corner of the playground, when Marissa stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes had gone wide, and she was staring straight ahead. “What the hell …?” she whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear, before she grabbed my hand and hauled me down to my knees, right behind another set of bleachers on this corner of the field, which happened to be right next to another big shade tree, its thick trunk shielding us from whatever it was she'd seen.
“Riss, what is it?” I asked, perplexed.
“Look over there,” she said, peeking around the trunk of the tree and pointing.
I followed her gaze. About fifty yards away, hiding behind the main storage shed that held most of the school's field-maintenance equipment, were a boy and a girl. I couldn't tell who they were because they were making out as furiously as Riss and I were a few minutes ago.
I said softly, “They're just kissing. What's the big deal?”
She glared at me. “You don't see who it is?”
“Not with their faces mashed together.”
She exhaled. “I'm getting this on video. You should too.”
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
I pulled out my cell phone, activated the Camera app, aimed the lens at the couple and zoomed in. They'd finally broken the kiss, and were now looking at each other with self-satisfied smiles. The boy was tall with sandy brown hair, and the girl was also tall, with long blond hair that came past her shoulders.
Sophie's Different (James Madison Series Book 3) Page 20