On the Loose (38 page)

Millie swipes at her mascara and levels her gaze on me. “You could’ve ended it any time.”

I glare at Maxine. “Believe me, lesson learned.” I pull out a seat at the bar and rest my cheek on my fist. “How long were you gonna let this go on?”

James pats me on the back. “We knew we wouldn’t have to wait long.”

“What made you think I would tell on myself?”

He sits down next to me. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

“And we trusted you to make the responsible decision,” Millie says.

“You’re saying you trusted me?”

James nods. “Yes.”

“And you trusted me to be honest?”

“Yes.”

“And you knew I would tell you the truth, despite how hard it would be?”

“Yes.”

“And since I clearly have passed this moral test, you have decided not to ground me?”

James hops off his stool. “Not on your life.”

My hands fumble with the wet tea towel James used to dry the dishes. “I’m really sorry I let you down. It was a miserable night.”

Millie pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Despite the fun we’ve had at your expense, Katie, you know the reality of what you did isn’t humorous at all. We have rules, and they are to be followed. We expect more from you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Through you’ve suffered enough at the hands of Mom, you are grounded. And James and I have decided that includes the spring dance.”

I open my mouth to protest. It takes all my inner strength to shut it once again and bite my tongue. No spring dance. No Trevor picking me up in his Hummer. No flowers at the door. (What? A girl can dream.) No discovering “our song” as we swayed on the dance floor, gazing into one another’s eyes. No opportunity for Trevor to say, “Katie, I’m just a shell of a guy. Make me complete and wear my class ring.” Not that the Scotts would let me within ten miles of him anyway.

Hours later I roll over in bed for what must be the millionth time. I plump my pillow and jam it back under my head.

God, where is my hope in this? I want to be positive and accept my punishment with some maturity. Give me some encouragement. Something to hold on to.

I sigh and stare at the ceiling.

“Would you
please
go to sleep?” A drowsy voice calls from the other side of the room. “If I have bags under my eyes tomorrow morning, grounding will be the least of your punishment.”

And then it hits me.

I toss my covers off my legs and bound out of bed.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I feel my way across the room, find the door, and scoot my hand over a little more to the left.

And flick on the light.

“Augh!” Maxine jerks the covers over her head. “Are you crazy?”

I put a foot on her bed and hoist myself up. “No, actually I’m brilliant.” I balance myself on her mattress and rip her velvet picture down with a fierce jerk.

She gasps and bolts to a sitting position. “How
dare
you!”

“Grandma,” I drawl. “Jesus won’t be sipping mochas in
my
room
any
more.”

“I
f you’re interested
in trying out for cheerleading for the next school year, please attend the meeting today at lunch in the gym lobby.”

I twirl my pencil between my fingers in English class as the school secretary reads the announcements.

“Since the bubbles have been removed from the pool, the swim team tryouts have been rescheduled for Thursday after school.”

I hope it didn’t shrink anyone’s Speedo.

“The Powder Puff football game will be held April third. Girls will play football and boys will cheer. Please sign up if interested. Team captains, please make sure your cheerleaders wear underwear this year. That is all. Conduct yourselves as befitting the Chihuahua!”

Ms. Dillon stands up. “Turn in your books to page—”

The speaker overhead crackles and whines. “You go first. You’re the principal!”

Everyone in the classroom stops and looks up, like someone’s going to crawl out of the overhead speaker.

“It’s Mrs. Whipple,” someone behind me says.

Next we hear a deep, exaggerated clearing of the throat. Ew.

“Students, this is Mr. Wayman. Er . . . your principal.”

The class bursts into laughter.

“I would just like to say . . . That is, I would like to take this moment to . . . Well, on behalf of Mrs. Whipple and myself, I would like to humbly . . . er, deeply, truly, um . . . seriously apologize to Katie Parker. And . . . now here’s Mrs. Whipple to explain why.”

Everyone swivels in their seat to watch me. Angry whispers filter though the speaker then the sound of the phone exchanging hands.

“Oh, all right.
Ahem
, yes, students, I, too, would like to apologize to Miss Parker. There seems to have been an unfortunate misunderstanding. Really, anyone could have made this teeny, tiny mistake. And it may come as a surprise to you, but Mr. Wayman and I are not perfect.”

The class erupts in more laughter.

“We make mistakes too. And we are sorry for wrongfully accusing Katie of theft at In Between High. She has been completely cleared of any charges and accusations. I believe that is all, so . . . What?” The overhead speaker crackles with static. “No, Mrs. Beasley, I don’t think that is . . . oh, very well. To make amends for our grievous error, Mr. Wayman and I will be buying Miss Parker ice cream in the cafeteria for the rest of the month.”

Mr. Wayman’s voice booms out of the speaker again. “We need to see Angel Nelson in the office immediately.” Click.

The class erupts in excited chatter, and I field the hundred or so questions thrown my way.

Angel stomps down the row and knocks my book onto the floor.

I reach for the literature book, but Ms. Dillon’s voice stops me. “Miss Nelson, you are going to pick that book up right now. Then you’re going to apologize to Katie. And then you’re going to march yourself to the office.”

Angel turns to face me, her face red, her pupils dilating. I can tell she’s weighing her options.
Please don’t pick the one that says, “Hey, I have nothing to lose at this point, I think I’ll ram this book down Katie’s throat and pull it out through a nostril of my choice.”

Angel schools her features, bends down and pick up the book. She tosses it on my desk, her eyes shooting lethal daggers.

“And you will apologize,” Ms. Dillon repeats.

Angel squares her shoulders and turns her body so she is totally facing me. “I’m sorry.” Her voice carries to the back row. A leering smile grows on her face, and she drops her voice a decibel. “This is
not
over.”

At lunch I sit among the churchies and other friends. I feel like I got promoted or something. I belonged before, but now more than ever I feel a part of my church friends. And soon, even
I
will know where Leviticus is.

“Thanks for the ice cream, Katie!” Hannah toasts me with her push-up.

“Yeah, this is awesome. The whole month.” Frances licks her fudge pop before it drips.

Nash approaches our group and holds out a hand for his. “How did you get all these?”

“I picked out fourteen from the ice cream freezer and charged them to Mr. Wayman. He said he’d buy dessert. He didn’t say I could only have one a day.”

“Did you find out anything more about Angel?” Frances asks, her eyes looking everywhere but at Nash.

“Yeah, actually Mrs. Beaseley told me Angel had made copies of her mom’s locker room keys, including the one to the back door. She’d pass it on to one of her friends, and while Angel was in PE, her friend would sneak in the back way and take stuff.”

“Then Angel would go in later and plant it. Dude, that’s crazy.” Nash sits in the only seat available—the one next to Frances. “Hey, Frances, you like fudge bars too?”

Frances grabs a napkin, blots her face, and picks up her tray. “I gotta go. Talk to you guys later.”

I try to catch her eye and read her face, but she looks down and charges through the lunch crowd.

Nash frowns. “What did I say?”

My eyes meet Charlie’s across the table.

“Did something happen on the mission campout?” Charlie asks.

Nash shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing happened. Every time I tried to talk to Frances last week, she did just what she did right now—clam up and leave.” He peels his ice cream wrapper off and takes a sad bite. “Maybe she heard I was gonna ask her to the spring dance and doesn’t have the nerve to tell me no.”

Our table freezes and my Oreo bar lodges midway down my throat. “What? What did you say?” My eyes jerk to Charlie, but he shrugs, totally clueless.

“Yeah, I know I’m not her type. She’s made it very clear lately I’m not the sort she wants to hang out with.” Nash’s head droops. “But ever since I pulled her out of her cousin’s birthday cake . . . I can’t get her out of my head.”

“Her cousin Esther?”

I send my elbow into Charlie’s ribs. “Frances, you dork! He likes Frances. All this time he’s
liked
Frances!” I jab my finger into his chest. “Why didn’t you know this? Are you telling me this entire time you didn’t just ask Nash how he felt about Frances? You never once tried to initiate some guy talk about her?”

Charlie removes my hand. “I didn’t know what to do! Do you think I match-make on a regular basis?”

“No, but I would think Mr. Four-Point-Oh could figure it out. One of the basic rules to setting people up is to find out how the other person feels. We
knew
how Frances felt. But did—”

“Wait.” Nash holds up his dessert. “What do you mean you knew how Frances felt?” He looks around then locks his eyes on mine. “Has she ever mentioned me?”

Charlie’s cheeks explode as he leans back and laughs.

“What are
you
laughing about? This is not a funny situation. Frances has totally given up. Didn’t you see her just now?” I clutch Nash’s jacket sleeve and jerk. “If you like her, you have to tell her. Now.”

His eyes round and he shakes his head. “No. I can’t tell her. She can’t even bring herself to talk to me. Are you saying she liked me at one time?”

I nod. “Yes. But it’s not too late, Nash.” If this were a Disney movie, I’d totally break out in song. “You’ve got to talk to her.”

He grabs his food and slings his backpack over his shoulder. “Nah. It’s too late. She made that clear over Spring Break. She obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me. She’s a shiny, polished flute. I’m a banged-up, out of tune, used Gibson guitar.” Nash walks off. The opposite way of Frances.

I smack Charlie on the shoulder. “Good job, Einstein.”

“What? How could I possibly know?”

Boys are so stupid. I mean seriously, Charlie’s good friend likes my best friend, and he didn’t even know it. Why did I ask for help from a guy whose first pick for a girlfriend is Snobby Barbie?

“Where is Chelsea anyway?”

Charlie checks his watch. “She’s rehearsing.”

“I didn’t have a rehearsal—”

“She said it’s not for the entire cast.”

My eyes narrow. “Just for her and Trevor.” Speaking of Trevor, I have to figure out a way to tell him I can’t go to the dance with him. I’ve avoided him all day. Well, I was
going
to avoid him when I saw him, but actually I haven’t run into him a single time.

“So when you were talking about English class earlier, you mentioned Angel saying to you that it wasn’t over.”

I ignore Charlie, still fixating on this secret rehearsal. How many rehearsals does it take to do a little waltzing, a little shoe fitting, and one big kiss?

“Katie, what do you think Angel meant by that?”

I snap my attention back to Charlie. “I don’t know. You’re the brainiac here. You figure it out. It’s not like I have anything left to lose. What’s she gonna do, steal my fake rubber nose before the play? TP my house?”

Charlie slaps the table. “The science fair.”

“What?”

“We set up for the science fair in the gym, right? She could easily get in and sabotage our project.”

“Angel got expelled today. She can’t be on campus.”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like that’s gonna stop her.” He grabs my hand. “We’ve got to stop her.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen. Why are you so paranoid?”

“Just humor me.”

I am. I’m letting you hold my hand.
Which, by the way, do I tell him he’s still got my hand? Do I remove it? What exactly are the rules for non-boyfriend hand-holding? What’s the protocol for hand-holding in a moment of scientific passion?

“I think we should hide out in the gym and watch for her.”

“Charlie, that’s crazy. Besides, I have play rehearsals.”

He looks down at our hands. And drops mine like a football with a penalty flag. “It’s not crazy. Katie, we have worked for weeks on this project. Can you honestly sit there and tell me you are one hundred percent sure there is no way Angel would try something like destroying our project?”

“No, I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty, but—”

“Then it’s settled.” Charlie jumps up from his seat and stacks his trash. “I’ll take the after school watch. Then you come over after play practice.”