Conformation Faults

by Bonnie Bryant

  Stevie raised one eyebrow in surprise. “The mall!” she exclaimed with a grin. “Since when do you like to hang out at the mall? I thought you decided it was totally lame after they closed the arcade last year.”

  Michael rolled his eyes again. “I can decide to go to the mall if I want to,” he muttered.

  “Sure you can,” Stevie agreed cheerfully, still grinning. “You probably want to check out the latest fashions at Sweet Susie’s. Or maybe you were planning to get one of those free makeovers at Maxwell’s.”

  Michael’s face was turning pink. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and backed away. “Never mind,” he muttered, sounding angry. “Forget I asked.”

  Stevie was surprised at his reaction. Like all the Lake kids, Michael had always been able to take teasing as well as he could dish it out. But now he almost looked upset. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “I was just kidding. I’ll drop you off if you want.”

  “Forget it.” Michael turned away and headed for the refrigerator. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to go to the stupid mall anyway.”

  Stevie shrugged. “Whatever.” She didn’t have time to figure out her brother’s strange mood right then. She was going to have plenty of more important things to think about on the twenty-minute drive to Phil’s house—most notably, what in the world the two of them were going to say to A.J. when they saw him.

  “Almost there,” Scott commented, swerving a bit to avoid a piece of debris on the highway. “Last chance to change your mind and turn back. If we ignore the fact that she’s here, maybe she’ll go away.”

  “Very funny,” Callie muttered, playing nervously with the buckle of her seat belt. She and Scott were on their way to pick up Sheila. Callie had begun the trip hopefully, but the closer they got to the airport, the more anxious she felt. And the obnoxious comments Scott had been making about Sheila weren’t helping her mood.

  She glanced into the side mirror, checking that her blond hair was behaving and that everything else was in order. Once again, she noticed the way the blue shirt she had chosen to wear set off her dark blue eyes.

  Of course, that was no accident, she accused herself silently. You know very well that Sheila has always wished she had blue eyes. Very mature, Callie. You’re off to a great start with this bold new friendship stuff.

  She averted her eyes from her reflection. Why was she so nervous, anyway? This was Sheila she was talking about—the girl she had made mud pies with when they were both still in diapers, the girl who had known her when she had braces, the girl she had told about her very first kiss …

  Chill! she told herself sternly. This really shouldn’t be a big deal, so don’t turn it into one. All you’re trying to do here is trust a little more, to stop competing and start sharing. That shouldn’t be so hard. Not with Sheila.

  She sighed. It was going to be hard, and she knew it. That had nothing to do with Sheila, and everything to do with Callie herself.

  “Callie!” Sheila squealed, hurrying forward with her arms outspread. “You look fabulous!”

  Callie automatically returned her friend’s hug. “Yeah, right,” she said dryly. “The metal look is totally in, here on the East Coast.”

  Sheila pulled back and glanced at Callie’s crutches. “Don’t be silly,” she insisted, pushing back her thick, wavy, dark brown hair. “I almost didn’t notice those. You look great, you really do.”

  “So do you.” Callie was feeling a bit overwhelmed. She and Scott had arrived in the terminal moments before to find that Sheila’s plane had landed early and that Sheila was already waiting for them. Callie hadn’t had any time to prepare herself for their reunion, and now here it was, suddenly upon her.

  She looked her friend over. Sheila really did look fantastic. Her hair had grown since Callie had seen her last, and now it tumbled over her shoulders. Her face was tanned and healthy-looking, and her clothes looked as neat and crisp as always, despite the fact that she had just spent several hours on a plane en route from a round of interviews in Boston.

  Meanwhile, Sheila had turned her attention to Scott. “My, my,” she said with a throaty, flirtatious laugh. “I’d almost forgotten how handsome you are, Cookie.”

  Callie hid a smile. Scott was doing his best not to show it as he gave Sheila the briefest of hugs, but she could tell he was already annoyed. He had always hated the nickname Cookie, which was why Sheila had always used it.

  “Let’s go pick up your luggage, Sheila,” Scott suggested. “Then maybe we can beat the rush hour out of here.”

  Sheila turned to Callie as Scott headed toward the baggage area. “Are you okay?” she asked, looking worried. “Do you need any help with those?”

  Callie gritted her teeth. She’s just trying to be helpful, she thought. Don’t look for trouble. She knew she could sometimes be too sensitive, and she didn’t want to ruin things before they got started.

  “I’m fine,” she said, doing her best to sound normal. “I’ve had plenty of practice with these crutches lately. I’m practically an expert.”

  “That’s great.” Sheila glanced around the airport and groaned dramatically as the two girls moved along after Scott. “I’ll tell you something, Callie, I’m really getting sick of airports. This trip has been perfectly exhausting.”

  “How have the interviews been going?” Callie asked, careful not to allow herself to sound breathless. Sheila was walking a little faster than Callie was used to, and she was having to work hard to keep up on her crutches without seeming to hurry.

  Sheila waved one hand dismissively. “Oh, you know,” she said lazily. “They’re all kind of the same, really. All the schools just want to hear about my grades, my test scores, my academic prizes, that sort of thing. I really don’t know why these interviews are even necessary; everything they need to know is on my transcript.” She glanced at Callie and smiled. “But enough of that boring business. Tell me what you’ve been up to lately. How’s your new school?”

  “Great.” Callie hesitated, not quite knowing how to describe her first weeks at Fenton Hall. Should she start off by raving about the wonderful academic reputation of the school and the advanced degrees held by many of the teachers? Or should she reveal how nervous she had been, stepping into a world where most of the students had known each other since kindergarten?

  She could guess what Stevie’s answer to that question would be. But somehow she didn’t feel quite ready yet to open up. Not here, in public, so soon …

  “It’s been okay,” she said cautiously, opting for a compromise. “You know, starting a new school is always kind of tough.”

  Sheila nodded. “Oh, I know!” she exclaimed. “It must be so awful. Especially after … well, you know.” She glanced once more at Callie’s crutches. “I mean, your accident even made the news back home. It must have been kind of embarrassing to start school after all that publicity.”

  “Right,” Callie said weakly. This was even harder than she had expected. Everything Sheila said—no matter how innocent, how sympathetic—was rubbing her the wrong way. She cleared her throat. “Of course, at a school like Fenton Hall, the people aren’t nearly as immature as most of the kids back home. So that made things a lot easier for me.”

  Sheila didn’t seem to have a ready answer for that, and Callie felt a moment of triumph. But her elation almost immediately turned to sadness. What was wrong with her, anyway? She knew she wanted to improve her relationship with Sheila. But how could she if she couldn’t even change her own behavior?

  SIX

  “Come in, come in!” Mrs. McDonnell swung the door wide open and beamed. “It’s wonderful to see you. Stevie, it’s been too long.”

  “Hello, Mrs. McDonnell,” Stevie said politely, stepping inside.

  Phil followed her. “Who’s that hiding behind the banister?” he called out playfully.

  Stevie heard a giggle. Glancing in the direction Phil was looking, she saw A.J.’s six-year-old sister, Elizabeth, clinging to the stair rails
and smiling shyly at them.

  “Hi, Elizabeth,” Stevie said, waggling her fingers at the little girl. “Remember me? I’m A.J.’s friend Stevie.”

  Elizabeth’s smile faded, and her round face became solemn. “A.J. doesn’t have any friends,” she said, so softly that for a moment Stevie wasn’t sure she’d heard her right. “He doesn’t like anybody anymore. Not even me.”

  Mrs. McDonnell’s face paled, and she hurried over to the little girl. “That’s not true, Lizzie,” she said gently, kneeling down and putting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “Daddy and I talked to you about this, remember?”

  The little girl nodded, but Stevie thought her eyes still looked sad. Poor kid, she thought. She probably has no idea what happened to the nice, friendly big brother she used to have. And how could she? None of the rest of us understands it, either.

  Mrs. McDonnell had risen to her feet again and was gazing at Phil hopefully. “I’m so glad you decided to come by today,” she said, her voice choked with worry. “If anyone can reach him …” She rubbed her forehead. “Well, I just don’t know what else to do anymore. My husband and I are at our wits’ end. We feel as though our wonderful son has been taken away from us and there’s a—a stranger here now in his place.”

  “Don’t worry,” Stevie said as cheerfully as she could. “I’m sure Phil and I can smack some sense into him.”

  “I hope so.” But the woman didn’t look very optimistic.

  Phil glanced at the stairs. “Do you mind if we head straight up?” he asked. “Is he in his room?”

  “All the time now,” Mrs. McDonnell replied with a touch of bitterness. “Go on up. And good luck.”

  Stevie let Phil lead the way upstairs. She had been in the McDonnells’ house before, but only downstairs. Much like the first story, the second story of the spacious colonial home was casual and comfortable, with cheerful throw rugs on the polished pine floors and family photographs decorating nearly every spare bit of wall space.

  Phil headed for a closed door about halfway down the upstairs hall. Stevie could hear rock music pounding away from the room on the other side.

  “Here we go,” Phil murmured. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

  “What?” came a voice from within.

  Stevie felt an unpleasant jolt of surprise. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought a stranger had answered Phil’s knock. That morose, sullen voice couldn’t belong to A.J., could it?

  Phil didn’t bother to answer. He simply swung the door open and stepped inside, a brave smile on his face. “Surprise,” he said. “Stevie and I were in the neighborhood, so we decided to stop by and say hello.”

  Stevie entered the room after Phil. The first thing that met her eyes was A.J., lying on his unmade bed and staring up at the ceiling. Both stereo speakers, positioned on a dresser nearby, were aimed directly at his head. The music was a lot louder in there, and Phil had to raise his voice to be heard.

  “So how are you doing, buddy?” he went on, taking a step toward the bed.

  A.J. had raised his head off the mattress when Phil first spoke. Now he let it fall back heavily and returned his gaze to the ceiling. “Okay,” he said dully. “What do you guys want?”

  Stevie raised one eyebrow in surprise. “Do we need a reason to stop by and hang out?” she asked, purposely keeping her voice light and playful.

  A.J. didn’t bother to answer. He tapped his fingers against the bed frame in time to the pounding music.

  Phil glanced at Stevie, worry in his deep green eyes. But when he spoke, his voice was as carefully cheerful as Stevie’s had been. “So what’s up with you these days, man?” he asked, taking a step closer to the bed. “You’re turning into quite the hermit lately.”

  “Right,” Stevie added, forcing a laugh. “If we didn’t have such big egos, we’d think you stopped liking us or something.”

  A.J. propped his head up on one hand and looked at them. His face remained passive. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said dully.

  Stevie shoved her hands in her jeans pockets to stop them from shaking. This was really weird. She had known that A.J. wasn’t acting like himself these days—Phil had told her that often enough—but she hadn’t been expecting anything like this. Who was this cold, distant stranger lying on the bed in front of them? He looked like A.J., he even sounded a little like A.J., but he wasn’t acting like A.J. at all.

  “Hey, dude, if we have B.O. or something, you can tell us, you know,” Phil returned. “We won’t …” His voice trailed off, and he gulped.

  Glancing over at him quickly, Stevie guessed what was happening. He had been trying, as she had, to joke around with A.J. in the way he always had, hoping to tease him into telling them what was bothering him. But that clearly wasn’t working, and now Phil was too worried to go on. Stevie reached over and squeezed his hand.

  “Listen, A.J.,” she said bluntly. “You’re acting like a totally different person or something. We want to know why.”

  Phil cleared his throat. “You really haven’t been acting like yourself, man,” he went on, his voice serious now. “We’re worried about you. I know you’re bummed about the Julianna thing, but—”

  “This has nothing to do with Julianna,” A.J. interrupted sharply. He rolled over on his side, reaching for the volume control on the CD player. Giving it a sharp twist, he raised the volume another few decibels.

  Stevie winced. The music was so loud now that they would have to shout to be heard. What’s his problem? she thought with a flash of irritation. We’re trying to help, and he’s being a total jerk.

  Phil scowled. Taking a few steps forward, he grabbed the volume knob and twisted it back the other way until the music was barely a whisper.

  “Hey!” A.J. protested angrily, reaching for the knob again.

  Phil grabbed his wrist and held it. “Listen, man,” he said angrily. “This has gone far enough.”

  Stevie reacted quickly. Phil was an easygoing guy most of the time, but he had clearly reached his boiling point. “You’re right about that,” she said, grabbing her boyfriend by the arm. “Let go. I think it’s time for us to get out of here.”

  Phil shot her a furious glance. But after a second he released his grip on A.J.’s arm. “Fine,” he said, his jaw clenched tightly. “There doesn’t seem to be much point in staying.”

  Stevie sighed in relief and glanced at A.J., who was sitting up now, rubbing his wrist and frowning. He was significantly shorter and slighter than Phil, which was sometimes easy to forget since his personality tended to fill any room he was in. But now Stevie couldn’t help noticing how pale and thin A.J. looked, how much smaller he really was than the more athletically built Phil. Then again, she had never seen the two friends come so close to a physical confrontation before.

  She put an arm around Phil’s waist. “Come on,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “Let’s go.” Her own anger at A.J. had fled in the face of Phil’s sudden outburst, and all she could think about was getting out of there before things got out of hand. They would go back to Phil’s house, talk this over, see what they could come up with. Stevie usually wasn’t one to back down from a fight, but in this case she suspected that if she and Phil lost their tempers with A.J., things would only get worse. They had to figure out a different way to help him.

  Phil gave A.J. one last angry glare, but he allowed Stevie to steer him out of the room. Stevie glanced over her shoulder as she pulled the bedroom door shut behind her. She was just in time to see A.J. shrug, then turn to the CD player to crank up the volume once more. The throbbing beat of the music followed them as they made their way out of the house.

  “Tell me, Sheila,” Congressman Forester said, reaching for the salad bowl in the middle of the dining room table, “are you enjoying the college interview process?”

  Callie poked listlessly at her food with her fork. Her parents had commandeered Sheila’s attention from the moment she had stepped into the house a
n hour before, bombarding her with questions about people and events back home. Scott had been uncharacteristically quiet on the ride home from the airport, and he was maintaining his silence now as the family ate dinner.

  “This is such a thrilling time of your life, isn’t it, Sheila?” Mrs. Forester chimed in before Sheila could respond. “You and Callie are getting so grown up—looking at colleges and all that sort of thing!”

  “I guess that’s true,” Sheila replied. “It would be fun if Callie and I were doing this interview thing together.” She glanced over at Callie with a half smile. “But I guess she’s too attached to high school to let it go quite yet. And, of course, she is younger than me.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Forester chuckled, Scott rolled his eyes, and Callie smiled tightly, pretending to be too involved with her rice to answer. Shoving a forkful into her mouth, she chewed slowly as the others turned their attention to a discussion of Sheila’s interviews in Virginia, D.C., and Pennsylvania.

  How did I do this before? Callie wondered helplessly. Have I really changed that much in a few short months?

  She suspected she had, and the thought made her uncomfortable. Six months ago, shooting back some dry, witty response to Sheila’s comment would have come as naturally to her as breathing. But now that she was trying to make a change, she didn’t know what to say, how to act, or even how to feel.

  I really do want to change things between us, she thought, glancing at Sheila out of the corner of her eye. I want to be a better person, a better friend to her, than I was before. I’m just not sure how to do that.

  Somehow, once she and Sheila were together again, all Stevie’s clear, logical advice had flown right out of her mind. All Callie could seem to do was react in her usual ways to Sheila’s usual comments. She’d been holding back as much as possible, staying quiet and letting things pass, but she couldn’t seem to take that next step and move their conversations in a different direction.

  Meanwhile, her parents were still chatting with Sheila about her college tour. “How are the athletics programs at the schools you’ve visited so far?” Congressman Forester asked. “I remember how much you always loved playing volleyball, Sheila. Are you still on the Valley Vista High varsity team?”