by CJ Daly
• 130 •
anything except my own swirling thoughts. The bell rang, and Miguel picked up right where he left off.
“Katie, you’re such a bad liar,” he said, following me out the door. “You’re
tellin’ me you’ve never seen the guy before?”
He had me there. “Actually,” I hemmed, “I think I, ah . . . might’ve waited
on him before.”
“You think you might’ve waited on him before?”
“Correctomundo.” I always said stupid things like that when I was evading
the question.
“Where? At the diner?” he persisted.
“Duh . . . obviously.”
Miguel stopped walking to give me a wounded expression. “Wow.” He
stretched his arms up to get the kinks out. “Now you sound like Ashley-Leigh.”
“Really, Miguel. There’s nothing to tell,” I smiled thinly at him. “Sorry,
I’m just a little tired. I’ll be less weird tomorrow, I promise.” I smiled more
convincingly.
He eyed me sideways before deciding to let it go. “You work too hard.
Have you ever heard the one about the girl who was all work and no play?”
I laughed. “It just so happens I have. But not to worry . . . I get to play
now—soccer that is. I’ve got P.E. next, so I’d better get goin’.”
“Okay, chaparita, I’ll see ya there. I’ve got Athletics—I play football,
remember?”
“How could I forget my favorite player?” I smiled, and he grinned and
flashed the peace sign.
I trudged across campus to gym, which was easy to spot with the giant
purple wildcat painted onto the brick. P.E. was a requirement I’d been hoping
to dodge. It wasn’t that I didn’t like sports. I did. “Too much,” according to
my mother. Anything I could poke my ponytail through the back of a baseball
cap for was my favorite. Even with Mama insisting I sit out half the game, I
still had fun. It was just . . . well, I needed to do jumping jacks like I needed a hole in my head. My day was a workout, so I considered P.E. to be a waste of
precious energy. And since I wasn’t in Athletics, I was stuck taking Phys-Ed
with the rest of the nobodies, who either didn’t make the team or weren’t
interested in fitting in.
My palms slapped metal doors, and the familiar odor of our school’s
gymnasium wafted over me, reminding me of what high school smells like:
sharp sweat, cleaning product to mask it, waxed floors, and teen spirit. I
hooked a right to the girls’ locker room, where I had to endure more ear-
splitting chatter about the “amazing, new, hot guy.” The adjectives are getting
• 131 •
a little tired I thought , slamming my locker shut with more force than was required.
I sat on the bench to put on my new sneakers and realized—they were
compliments of the man-of-the-hour. After furiously whipping my laces into
shape, I glared down at my shiny new shoes as if they were to blame for
everything.
The whistle blew, and I followed behind Coach Sams and the ragtag
group of girls that made up our P.E. class, marveling at the variety of clothes
they considered athletic wear. High, piercing squeaks from new sneakers
stopping short on court, and the hollow thump of balls echoing against palms
was the background noise as we filed into gym. It was a busy place sixth-hour
because volleyball players and cheerleaders shared floor space. We marched
through the middle of the mayhem toward the back door leading to the
football practice field.
Ashley-Leigh was sprawled out on the floor in a circle, stretching and
gossiping with some of the other cheerleaders. I acknowledged her with a
little wave. She just narrowed her eyes at me, leisurely pulling her hair into
a ponytail as I filed past. I tried a smile, but that only prompted her to lean
over and whisper something into Maddy’s ear. They both looked up at me,
followed quickly by the rest of the squad. I faced forward again, feeling the
weight of their stares pushing at my back as I exited through the double doors
outside.
We were sitting together in the scratchy grass lining the football field,
listening to our first day lecture on the importance of physical fitness. I
exchanged eye rolls with a girl whose dye job was even worse than mine.
My eyes squinted in the sun as I lazily scanned the uniform rows of football
players behind Coach Sams. They were jumping-jacking in purple unison,
counting down with low huffs of air followed by claps.
I was barely paying attention so was caught off guard when Coach Sams
began counting us off, “One, two, one, two.” She pointed to me and said
“two,” so I moved over to where the “twos” were clumped together. A mousy
sophomore in a boobtube I recognized from my computer class last year came
up to slap me five. I raised my hand with a small smile that instantly froze on
my face. A tall guy, with blonde hair shading to brown, sauntered past with
a crew of boys, who looked very motley next to him. A toothy grin flashed
my way the second he spotted me huddled up with Goth-girl, Gangbanger,
and Boobtube.
Oh. My. Gosh! What’s he doing out here with the rest of us rejects? Shouldn’t
• 132 •
he be, like, captain of the football team or something? And why do I get the funny feeling him being here isn’t an accident?
My hand was still suspended midair, so Boobtube followed my line of
vision. “OMG!” she gasped, mimicking my thoughts exactly. “Is that the hot,
new guy everyone’s been talkin’ about?”
“Yup,” I said, cringing at the well-worn adjectives.
“Oh man! I gotta say—the rumors don’t even do him justice!” She started
flapping her arm at him like an idiot, a risky move considering her choice of
tops. “Oh my God! He’s lookin’ right over here!”
I was still staring back at him when I was on the receiving end of a
mocking salute.
“Did you see that?” Goth-girl gaped.
“No,” I lied, dragging my eyes from something that was beginning to
mesmerize me. “I didn’t see anything.”
The whistle blew, and we followed Coach Sams downfield to an unused
portion of grass to practice kicking soccer balls between neon orange cones. It
wasn’t the most athletic bunch, so I kind of dumbed down my skills to match
their level. It was so easy that I would’ve been deathly bored except for the fact
that the boys’ P.E. class was right across from us doing the exact same thing.
I tried hard not to look over at him, but it was nearly impossible not to.
Even Coach Sams stopped yelling at us for one second to stare at Pete. He was
bouncing a stray soccer ball from knee-to-knee then foot-to-foot while waiting
his turn. Show off. He certainly wasn’t keeping his athletic prowess under wraps for the benefit of his comrades. Feeling inexplicably piqued, I hurried
off to the gym as soon as the whistle blew without so much as a backward
glance. But I may have been the only one out there not glancing back at him.
In the locker room, I changed back into my street clothes, adding a bell skirt
to my ensemble instead of the jeans I’d worn to school. I figured switching
back here was the safest bet in case Daddy was actually home
for once when
we got there. Almost all of sixth-hour just remained in their athletic attire.
Not me. If Daddy found out I was even wearing shorts in the presence of boys,
he would most likely force me back into homeschooling myself.
After stuffing my gym clothes and jeans into my backpack, me and
my bell skirt swung back out the double doors into the milling bouquets of
laughing classmates enjoying their afternoon of freedom in the sun. I parked
close to the gym this morning, knowing it would give me a quick getaway.
Unfortunately, most of the jocks and cheerleaders also parked there and were
• 133 •
gathered together now, socializing before heading back in for after-school practice.
One hand over my eyes, I scanned the crowded parking lot for my car and
saw an imperious hand waving me over. What does she want? Whatever it was, I wasn’t in the mood. I pushed out a sigh before winding my way through the
maze of cars to where my former friends were posing against a convertible
Mustang in various stages of undress. I eyed Steph’s blinged-out belly button
ring. Guess the dress code is rendered null and void after three o’clock.
She caught me staring. “Do you like it?”
“Um, yeah . . . it’s cool,” I said.
“I got it over the summer—my cousin did it in her bathroom.”
Ashley-Leigh broke in, “Okay, now that everyone’s all caught up . . .”
She rounded on me. “Do you mind telling us why you acted like you’d never
seen Pete Davenport before when you two, like, obviously already know each
other somehow?”
“Yeah, Katie, he was totally flirting with you,” Steph added jealously.
“I wouldn’t exactly go so far as to say he was flirting with her, but,”
Ashley’s made-up blue eyes glared at me, “I could totally tell somethin’ was goin’ on.”
Several sets of made-up eyes stared at me expectantly.
“Did you, like, check out a book for him or somethin’?” Ashley-Leigh
prompted.
I decided to stick to the same micro-version of the truth I told Miguel. “I,
uh, waited on him and a friend a couple of weeks ago.”
“Hold up.” Ashley-Leigh held up one limp hand in front of her. “So you’re
sayin’ he went voluntarily into that dumpy dive you work at to, like, actually eat?” The hand moved to cover her mouth in mock horror. I noticed that all
her nails were painted purple except one, which was metallic silver with a
purple wildcat on it. I wondered how much time it took to do that.
“Katie! How could you? You could’ve, like, killed him feedin’ him that
poison!” Of course everyone laughed at her little funny. I didn’t bother to tell
her it was a mute point since he didn’t eat anything anyway.
“Hopefully, he has better taste in . . .”—she eyed me over skeptically—
“other things.”
“Yeah, well . . .” I pushed past her, “I guess we’ll see”
Ashley-Leigh called after me, “Hey Katie, I noticed you put your nun
habit back on—your Daddy know you started wearin’ jeans to school?”
My back stiffened. I spun around, stung. Wow. She was really playing
dirty now. How could she? She was the one begging me to start dressing
• 134 •
“normally” all these years. The betrayal on my face must have registered in some tiny portion of her heart not yet petrified by getting her own way all
the time.
“I’m just kiddin’, Katie-Kat . . . your secret’s safe with me.” She winked
then turned back to her friends and began animatedly talking again, seeming
to forget about me the second I left her sight.
• 135 •
14
THE MENTOR
Twitchy with impatience, I crawled through the school zone, my mind
racing with unanswered questions. Four o’ clock this afternoon I
would pick Andrew up at his elementary school. Half an hour. And I
would be face to face with Pete Davenport, my enemy, and the most intriguing
guy I’d ever met.
I was dizzy with anticipation.
He’s here to tear my family apart I staunchly reminded myself as the spire
from the Mission style Catholic Church we attended came into view. I drove
around to the back of the stucco structure—that looked like something built
solely upon earth and faith—to where the preschool program was located. All
the kids were shrieking and going about the serious business of play. Except
for Mikey. He was sitting alone, on the top stoop, shoulders slumped. Uh- oh.
As I advanced to the playground, I smiled tentatively at his teacher and
threw an encouraging wave at him. Mikey’s face lit up like a Christmas tree
when he saw me, then he bolted over, almost knocking me down with the
force of his hug.
“Kadee! Mrs. Reyes is mad at me, but it wasn’t my fault! He gave it to
me—I pwomise I didn’t take it fwum him, but I still gotted in trouble!” he frantically explained.
“It’s okay, buddy . . . We’ll get it all straightened out.” I squeezed his sturdy
body, hoping to convey my support without saying too much of anything
because Mrs. Reyes began weaving herself our way. She approached with a
sad, starter smile on her creased face. I’ve seen worse looks before.
“Hi, Mrs. Reyes,” I greeted, warily.
“Good afternoon, Katie. How was your first day back to school?”
• 136 •
“It was fine, thanks for askin’.” I decided to cut to the chase. “What happened today?”
“I already tol’ you, Kadee!” Mikey exclaimed.
“Yes, well, now I want to hear from Mrs. Reyes.” I turned to her expectantly.
“I’m afraid Mikey is up to his old tricks again,” she said, her voice drooping
weariness. “I know it’s the first day back after a long summer break, so I want
to nip this in the bud. We don’t want a repeat of last year. He’s four-years-old
now and more than capable of controlling himself when he chooses to.” Mrs.
Reyes subjected Mikey to her sternest look.
“What did he do?” I asked.
“He, ah . . .” she paused as if searching for the right word, “persuaded
another child to give him his snack when he knows everyone just gets one.”
She held one bony finger up to Mikey, and he scowled at her.
“Okay . . .”
“The thing is, Katie, Mikey can be a little . . . for lack of a better word,
I’ll use the term bullying.” I started at this, so she quickly explained, “I don’t
mean in the sense of knocking someone off the swing set. It’s more of a . . .
lording it over the whole class—myself included.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When Michael gets it into his head he wants something, he can be very
determined to get it.”
True dat. Dogmatic might be his most dominant character trait. I nodded.
“I know it sounds like a minor thing, but I cannot convey to you the
amount that Mikey tries and does r un the classroom!” Her words began
picking up speed and volume as though to mimic the chaos.
“I’m sorry this is causin’ such a problem for you.” I immediately dropped
an apology, then a hint to slow things down. “Have you tried timeouts or
takin’ a privilege away?” She was so quiet for so long I thought she didn’
t hear
me. “Mrs. Reyes?”
Something strange flashed behind her eyes. “I-I find it hard to correct
Michael to be honest. I think . . .” she faltered and waved her hand as if waving
the thought away. “I think it must be because I know he lost his mother,” she
finished. “But we’re not doing him any favors by letting him get away with
so much. A smart boy like Mikey needs firm boundaries or he’ll likely run
over us all!”
I could see she was quite upset by this. Maybe she was getting too old to
maintain control? Four-year-olds could be rambunctious as bucking broncos.
“We’ll definitely take care of it; don’t you worry, Mrs. Reyes.”
• 137 •
“Katie, you’re a good girl, and I don’t want to add to your family’s burden by leaving you without quality childcare for Mikey. I’m just at my wit’s end!”
“We appreciate all you do,” I said, alarmed at the thought of trying to
find a new preschool.
“I’ve been doing this for twenty years, and I’ve never seen such a precocious
child. He literally runs the class! I can’t have that, and I won’t tolerate it anymore!” She fisted her hand as though to firm her resolve. “We only put up
with it last year because he was only three, and your family has been through
so much. But enough is enough—I have eleven more kids to think about!”
“We’ll take care of it,” I assured her again. “Mikey, you need to apologize
to Mrs. Reyes for today.”
“But Kadee, I didn’t do nothin’ wrong!” he insisted, breaking from my
grasp.
I nabbed him back by the arm. “Michael Alexander Connelly, you
apologize to her right now!” I leaned over with my I-mean-business look.
“It’s the right thing to do—she’s upset and she’s your teacher. You have to
respect her.”
“Fine!” Mikey looked up mournfully, his big eyes fighting tears. “I
‘pologize that youw’re mad at me!” he said in an outraged tone.
I sighed. It would have to do. Apparently, Mrs. Reyes decided she would
take it, too. “I accept, Michael.” She bent down to hug him, and I noticed
how pale she was and that her face had a light sheen of sweat.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Reyes? Would you like me to get you a drink of
water?”
“I’m fine, Katie,” she said, sounding anything but. “Just make sure you