Part of Me (11 page)

“Have you made up your mind about the Bible study?” Cora asked. “Mrs. Elliot said she'd be our sponsor.” She slurped her carton of milk through a skinny straw, then looked at Annabeth like she was waiting for an answer.

Annabeth couldn't believe she was asking again. “I don't want to be in a Bible study.” Why couldn't she find someone else, besides Cora, to sit with at lunch? Someone who didn't think playing Twister was sinful. This year wasn't going at all as she'd planned.

“At first, it might be just the two of us,” Cora said, “but I'm sure once the word gets out, there'll be more.”

Annabeth stared over at Melody's table, where she was laughing with her friends. Her carefree manner annoyed Annabeth. She'd made a B+ on the first Spanish test because of late-night study sessions at the kitchen table instead of going to cheerleader practice like Melody. Annabeth was convinced that life at Marrero Junior High would have been better if she'd been a cheerleader. Then she would have had tons of friends, pearly white teeth, and be able to do a perfect split. Annabeth thought of Rick and the spunky way he snapped at Julie about the pencil. After Rick's remark, Julie had unzipped her floral pencil pouch and loaned her a yellow No. 2.

Before heading to the bus, at the end of the day, Annabeth rushed to see Mrs. Trulock. Inside the classroom, her teacher gathered her papers and slipped them into a briefcase. Annabeth tapped on the door.

“Yes? Oh, Ana, come in. Is something wrong?”

A lump gathered in Annabeth's throat and she tried to swallow.

“Yes?” Mrs. Trulock was waiting.

After taking a deep breath, Annabeth said, “I need to tell you something about my homework.”

Mrs. Trulock listened patiently and when Annabeth finished, she said, “I know this was hard for you to tell me, but I'll have to mark off from your grade.”

Annabeth studied the speckled linoleum floor.

“As for Miss Armstrong, I'll take care of her.”

“She won't—”

“No, she won't know you told me. I'd have to be stupid to not notice the same sentences. And as you both should know, our school has a very strict policy concerning plagiarism.”

Rushing to the bus, Annabeth wondered what Melody's punishment would be.

The next morning, Mrs. Trulock returned the assignments. All but one. Melody looked around as if someone else might have had her paper, then she turned in Annabeth's direction.

Annabeth's stomach sank. She glanced away. She could still feel Melody's glare.

At the end of class, Mrs. Trulock called Melody to her desk. Annabeth left the room, wondering what could happen to someone who squeals on the most popular girl in school.

By lunch, the news spread through the cafeteria like the flu. With fists beneath her chin, Cora gazed in Melody's direction. “She got a zero on her Spanish homework copying someone's paper. And—she's been suspended from performing at this week's football game.”

Melody and her friends shot glares across the room to Annabeth. She tried to ignore them, concentrating on the soft-drink machine and the space next to it where Rick Hanson had stood every day.

“What's wrong?” Cora asked.

“I feel sick,” Annabeth said.

When she couldn't stand it any longer, she escaped to the library. Mrs. Grant, the librarian, didn't mind if students hung out there. “Anything to get kids to read,” she was famous for saying. Annabeth thought Melody and her friends would never discover her in the library. She doubted they even read.

The musty smell of old books felt comforting. She headed to her favorite corner, the paperback section, and read the titles on the spines. She liked paperbacks best because they were easy to carry and easy to hold. One title caught her eye—
The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter
by Carson McCullers. The cover revealed a girl looking up at the moon. Haunted by the image, Annabeth opened to the first page.

Just as she started to read, someone bumped her so hard the book fell from her hand. “Excuse me!” Karla, one of Melody's friends, said, but by the way she said it Annabeth knew she didn't mean it.

Annabeth bent over to pick up the book. Her fingers barely brushed the cover when another shove knocked her off course.

“
Excuse
me!” Melody said, squinting at Annabeth, who had grabbed a chair to break her fall. A second friend of Melody's, who Annabeth didn't know, joined them, and the three girls stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a fence that blocked Annabeth from moving toward the door.

Annabeth glanced toward the circulation desk.

Mrs. Grant peered over her glasses. “Can I help you girls find a book?”

“No, thanks.” Melody sneered at Annabeth. Then she and her friends left the library, but not before glancing back at Annabeth with their chins held high, warning.

Annabeth's head pounded as she picked up the book and walked to the circulation desk. As she checked it out, Mrs. Grant asked, “Is everything okay?”

Annabeth nodded and left for fifth period.

*   *   *

At home, a letter was waiting from Gamma Rose. She dropped her books on a chair and read it in the foyer. She loved her grandmother's letters and today Rose's closing words comforted her.
I'm so proud of you.
She'd try to answer the letter before she went to bed.

Red beans were cooking in the Crock-Pot on the kitchen counter and she could smell the smoked sausage that had been added. It was amazing how food would cook in that pot without burning while they left the house. Her dad gave it to her mom for Christmas last year, but he used it now.

Annabeth grabbed a dill pickle and flopped in front of the television, watching the rest of
Another World.
She missed John Dean and his wife, Mo, at the Watergate Senate hearings. Next to visiting Gamma Rose, following the hearings had been the best part of the summer. John Dean couldn't possibly be as guilty as those other men, Annabeth thought. He had such a nice face, not extremely handsome, but he was good-looking enough to get a pretty, blond woman to marry him. Mo wasn't a ditzy blonde like some Marilyn Monroe–type. She looked sharp with her hair pulled back and dressed in suits. Annabeth would never forget the June day that she first saw them on TV. She watched John testify with Mo sitting behind him, supporting him through a hard time. They seemed so romantic. Most days, Annabeth's dad sat next to her on the couch, watching the trials.

“He's a crook, too,” her dad had said about John Dean. “Only the worst kind, a squealer.”

Today Merle wasn't home. Maybe he was on a job interview. When he had lost his job six months ago, her mother went to work at Sears to help make ends meet. It had been an adjustment seeing her dad instead of her mom when she walked in from school. Once she found Merle sleeping on the couch and when he awoke he'd acted guilty as if he was a little kid who'd been caught doing something wrong. She hadn't liked how that made her feel.

She missed her mom asking how her day went. Lily was a good listener. If Annabeth had a bad day, her mom knew right off. “How about some hot tea and vanilla wafers?” she'd offer. Ten minutes later she'd told her mom everything. She felt instantly better. Now Lily was always tired. Annabeth didn't want her to fret over her problems.

The house was dark, so Annabeth drew the drapes covering the sliding glass door. In the backyard, her brother, Ryan, was playing soldiers at war with his friends. For that she was relieved. With the way things had gone today she might kill him if he crossed her.

An hour later Merle walked in, dressed in gray sweats and a light jacket. He held his prized metal detector in his right hand. Gamma Rose often mentioned how as a boy he'd loved to trap wild animals. That thought repulsed Annabeth. Now Merle scouted for metal. Mostly he found dropped coins that he added to a giant pickle jar to be used for a future Disneyland trip. There had been other finds—some Mexican coins, an aluminum salt and pepper shaker set, a child's wagon handle. Sometimes Ryan went with him. Once they got excited because they thought they'd finally found something big. They were right. After digging for an hour they uncovered a Volkswagen bumper. They'd all had a good laugh at that treasure. The bumper now hung on the garage wall right next to the prized bobcat Merle had shot as a kid.

Annabeth wished he'd hurry and put away the detector before her mother returned from work. Lily expected Merle to be on job interviews all day. Annabeth could tell she hated working at Sears. Lily wanted to be home again, cooking for the family and watching
Days of Our Lives.
These days Merle watched her soap opera. He claimed to do it to keep Lily caught up. Doug and Julie Reports, he called them. And the first few weeks, her mother clung to every word. Lately, though, he hadn't brought up the soap opera at all and her mother hadn't asked.

“Hey, Tinkerbell!” her dad said. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” she lied.

“I noticed that you got a letter from Gamma Rose. What did she have to say?”

“Miss Erma got sick last week, and Gamma Rose got to drive the bookmobile. Do you want to read it?”

“No, it's your letter. I'll try and write her soon.”

Annabeth knew he probably wouldn't. When he had a job they called Gamma Rose once a week. They would all take turns talking two minutes because long distance was so expensive. Annabeth enjoyed the letters best anyway.

“Your grandmother writes great letters. She used to write stories, too.”

“I didn't know that.”

“Yeah, you ought to ask to see one of the hundreds she wrote in those old tablets. Your granddad used to tease her that she was going to make him go broke from buying paper and pens.”

Annabeth wondered if her grandmother had thrown the stories away because she'd never seen any tablets. She'd make a point to ask the next time she visited.

Merle disappeared into the kitchen to finish making dinner while Annabeth turned off the television and went upstairs to do her homework.
The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter
was on top of her text-books. A sour feeling filled her gut, remembering the incident at the library. If only she'd thought about Melody's power to team up for revenge, she would never have told. She opened the book and began to read. An hour passed before she knew it. She already cared about each character, but most of all for Mick, a thirteen-year-old girl who wants friends.

Later Annabeth set the dinner table, placing the turquoise Fiestaware on the woven placemats. Gamma Rose gave the dishes to their family when she discovered Annabeth's mother had bought one in an antique shop. “Mercy, Lily Bea, don't pay for that,” Gamma Rose had said. “I have that old stuff in a box in my closet and I've wanted to get rid of it. Heck, Merle Henry ate on those, growing up.”

“Dinner is served,” Merle said in a lousy attempt at a British accent. Ryan and Annabeth giggled, but Lily just rolled her eyes.

“Did anybody try to rob you today?” Ryan asked. Ever since he heard about the armed robbery at a Canal Street jewelry store, her brother thought the Sears jewelry counter at the West Oaks Mall might be next.

“No,” their mother answered, smoothing a lock of frosted hair behind her ear. “But someone in my department did get fired today.”

“Cathy?” Annabeth thought it must be the sixteen-year-old girl who kept forgetting to lock the jewelry cases when she closed at night.

“Yep.” Lily smirked, then took a sip of iced tea. “The security manager asked me to check the cases this morning and let him know if she forgot to lock them again. Apparently they'd warned her and she's been on probation.”

Annabeth couldn't help but think how her mother was a squealer, too. Maybe the trait ran in the family. Only, telling on Melody had been painful for Annabeth, and Lily almost looked pleased about helping Cathy get fired.

“Foolish girl,” Lily said. “She was making good money for a kid.”

Merle glanced away.

After dinner, Annabeth went for a walk in the neighborhood park, taking the book with her. A ray of light beamed through the gray clouds, and she thought of turning back but changed her mind. She settled on a bench and began to read more. She'd been reading a half hour or so when a guy walked up and asked, “How do you like that book?”

His question took her a moment to register, before she answered, “I like it.”

“I read it when I was in college,” he said. He was dressed in a sweater and neatly pressed pants, but he looked like he needed a shave.

Annabeth smiled.

“McCullers is great,” he said. “Didn't care much for
Ballad of the Sad Café,
though.”

“I haven't read that.”

“Mind if I smoke?” He settled on the other end of the bench.

Annabeth shook her head. She suddenly felt sophisticated, sitting next to an older guy who was smoking and talking to her about a book. Maybe if Rick had lived, they would have started talking about books. She wondered what John and Mo Dean talked about.

“My name's Edward.” He took a long drag from his cigarette and peered sideways at her.

“I'm Annabeth.”

*   *   *

Each night after dinner, Annabeth returned to the park bench. So did Edward. Two weeks later, she knew nothing about him except that he liked Steinbeck, Camel cigarettes, and thought Hemingway was a chauvinistic ass. “He has no respect for women. That's evident in his stories. He's probably one of those men who hated his mother.”

Annabeth wondered what her own mother would think if she knew that for the past couple of weeks she'd shared a park bench with an older guy. She didn't care. Knowing that she would see Edward later got her through the school day. Though when she'd think about meeting him, it wasn't Edward's face she imagined but Rick Hanson's. She thought of that image so much that she was almost startled when each night around seven o'clock it was Edward who approached her and not Rick.