Peas and Carrots (8 page)

“I don't know how to do it French.”

“I'll show you,” Hope says. “Do you drink coffee all the time? If you do, Dad's going to have to use an actual coffeemaker, because this only makes, like, four cups.”

I give her a look. “I only need
one.
”

Hope rolls her eyes in explanation. “Dad. He'll drink all four, trust me. Haven't you noticed he's hyper?”

I sit down at the table, reluctant to be the one to cut the frittata but not sure what else to do. It's almost seven, and no one seems to be in any hurry to get to the charter school. It's so different from the group home. At this hour, there'd be bacon smoking on the stove and eggs sputtering and popping in the fat, and the cook, Carol, yelling, “Order up!” like we were in a diner. People would be grabbing plates and grabbing jackets, social workers would be coming in the door, and Rena would be yelling at people to hurry and not miss the bus.

It feels too weird to be two girls in a kitchen, just…quiet.

I don't like it. I know I won't like this new school. Too much quiet, with too many rich people. And they're crazy, all of them. Skinny little Mr. Carter. Big old Amazon lady. Hopeless and that dying kid. Everything's messed up. Farris just had to move me in with Baby, didn't she? My life was getting too good.

“My tummy's rumbling,” Baby announces, barreling into the kitchen. “Hi, Dessa!” he adds, like he hasn't already seen me this morning.

“Austin, what do you do if—” Hope breaks off, pausing as she dumps coffee from the grinder into the small glass pitcher. She glances at me and licks her lips. “Ask Dessa what to do if your tummy's rumbling,” she says, and for a moment I panic. Why the hell does she want Baby asking me? And then I remember. I'm the sister. This is what I do.

“Um…no toys at the table, wash your hands, and sit down,” I say, trying to sound like Foster Lady. It must work for her. Baby looks at me like I'm crazy, his little forehead all wrinkled up and cranky.

“I washed my hands yesterday,” he complains, and stomps out of the kitchen.

I don't even know I'm smiling until I see Hope grinning back at me.

On the front steps of the admin building, the vice principal was waiting in a bright fuchsia suit with a ruffled collar. “Hello, hello!” Ms. Aiello warbled, waving. Her lipstick, kind of a deep pinkish color, had come off on her top teeth. Hope thought this made her look like an aging vampire.

“Good morning, Mrs. Carter,” the vice principal said, even though the two of them normally called each other “Robin” and “Barbara.” “Is this our girl?”

Our.
Hope winced. It was too early for this.

“Good morning. Yes, this is Dessa Matthews,” Mom said, and gently set her hand on Dess's shoulder to bring her forward. Dess shrugged it off and stepped to the side, looking, as far as Hope could tell, at the fabric in Ms. Aiello's skirt.

“Nice suit,” Dess said, unsmiling. “That's a great color.”

“Why, thank you,” Ms. Aiello said, and beamed with pink teeth.

Was she even
serious
? Dess had to be playing suck-up, because that suit was
seriously
hideous. Hope decided she didn't want to know—and standing around through introductions was pointless. With a wave to Austin, who ignored her in favor of watching the big kids in the hall, wide-eyed, Hope edged around to the side of the group, hoping to escape.

“Don't run away yet, Hope Carter,” Ms. Aiello caroled. “You're Dessa's tour guide for the morning. After homeroom, please report to my office.”

Hope grimaced. She was stuck with Dess at school, too? Mom must've told Aiello about her “consequence.” Then Hope saw the look on Dess's face and felt a fresh wave of humiliation—Dess looked as if she'd swallowed something that wasn't going down.

It was obvious Dess didn't want to hang out with her. Well, Hope didn't want to hang out with Dess, either. She lifted her chin. “Um, Ms. Aiello? Can't somebody else do it?”

Her mother's eyes widened. Ms. Aiello's pursed lips looked like a pair of bumpy raspberries as she said disapprovingly, “I beg your pardon?”

“I don't mean anything negative or disrespectful,” Hope said carefully, avoiding her mother's eyes. “It's just that we've already met, and we live in the same house. It would make more sense if Dess got a chance to—”

“I need to meet new people,” Dess agreed before Hope could finish. She met Ms. Aiello's frown with an un-Dess-like smile. “Totally fine with me. Thanks, Ms. Aiello.”

“If that's okay,” Hope said awkwardly, aware from her mother's sharp silence that not everyone agreed this was the best plan.

The vice principal gave a little shrug. “All right, then, if you girls have it figured out. Come on into the office and let's get to know you…Dessa? Or is it Dess?”

Hope exhaled in relief as Ms. Aiello herded Dess away, but her mother gave a disgusted
tch
and turned away.

“Mom,” Hope began, but her mother shook her head.

“Not now,” she said, hefting the baby seat in one hand and leading Austin toward Ms. Aiello's office with the other.

Hope waved again to Austin and shrugged off her mother's disappointment. It wasn't that doing one little campus tour would have been that bad, but Hope knew it was a gateway job for what Ms. Aiello really wanted. Just like her mother, Ms. Aiello no doubt wanted Hope to walk around campus and hold Dess's hand until she made a friend. But seriously, there was
no way.
Hope couldn't work miracles. Someone as mean and snarly as Dess wasn't going to
make
friends.

Like, this morning. Dess had been okay for five minutes in the kitchen, kind of relaxed and nice, and then, boom, she'd asked Hope what the “deal” was with her “bushy hair.” Okay, so she'd smiled like she was joking, but
still.
What kind of question was that? Some African Americans wore their hair in really big crinkly curls, and so what? So what if Hope's hair wasn't bleached blond and smooth and straight? It wasn't
bushy.
She'd just combed it. Or she'd been going to before she'd heard her dad talking to Dess….Anyway, the point was Hope couldn't
make
people be friends with Dess, no matter what Mom or Ms. Aiello thought.

Also, all Mom's talk about how Hope needed to “open up” and “make new friends” was kind of stupid. She didn't really need more friends—she had Natalie and Liesl Stockton and Jas Singh, when he wasn't being a total goof, and lots of other kids in her class. Yeah, so her closest friend had left the country. And? Hope had been on her own all summer. Missing Savannah didn't make her so lonely and desperate that she had to hang out with someone who sniped about her appearance.

She stalked down the hall, barely acknowledging the many clusters of students. Headwaters Academy was a charter school and catered to kids from all kinds of families: African American, East Asian, Haitian, South Asian, Latino, and Caucasian. Emphasis on math, science, and technology made it a California Distinguished School, but Hope thought of it as just plain school. She tried to see it from Dess's point of view, wondering what her foster sister would think of it.

In Mr. Workman's room, Hope dropped her bag on a desk three rows back, where she usually sat. Fortunately, today that was on the other side of the room from Rob Anguiano, who smelled as if he'd drowned himself in cologne that morning. An empty desk sat next to her, and Hope put her bag on the seat, as if someone was coming back. She didn't want Dess coming in later and getting the wrong idea, and claiming space right next to her.

Maybe Dess would be on a totally different track. Maybe they wouldn't have classes together at all. But at a school this small, no classes together at all was probably asking a little much.

Hope frowned as she thought of Dess. She wished her mother hadn't come into the office last night. She needed to have found out more. It was so weird to think of Dess as a secret foster child, with her mom practically in protective custody. Did that mean somebody was protecting Dess—like she'd have a bodyguard, or “witness protection” people? Hope wished there was someone she could ask about Dess's father. What had he done to be put into jail? She wondered if Miss Odessa LeAnn knew the whole story, and felt a smug warmth building. She would bet anything that Dess didn't know as much as she did.

The bell rang. Mr. Workman quickly took attendance and then sat on the corner of his desk, reading out loud his “weird news item of the day.”

During announcements, Ms. Aiello's voice sounded scratchy and tinny over the loudspeaker. “Good morning, Headwaters Academy! Donation boxes will be going up today in the cafeteria for our gift-card drive. We're collecting for the Embrace Kids Foundation….Freshmen, please be sure to have your permission slips to Mrs. Stevenson by Thursday if you'd like to be included in the symphony trip on Monday….Don't forget that the lost-and-found…”

As Ms. Aiello droned on, Hope felt a folded paper being shoved under her arm. She slid her hand around and picked it up and opened it.

doing hdwters tour for new girl. not 2b nosy, but is she staying with you?

Hope frowned and twisted in her seat. Two seats behind her, Kalista wiggled her fingers.

Hope scribbled back,
Yes, staying idk how long.
She hesitated. She didn't want to be unkind, but Kalista needed to be warned about Dess….
tty after?
She folded the note and shoved it back under her arm toward Carey, sitting behind her, to wait until he noticed it and passed it back.

Ms. Aiello got through the Headwaters pledge—“Capable of meeting any challenge, we learners will be leaders. Headwaters Academy, it all starts today!”—just before the bell rang. Hope ignored whatever Mr. Workman was shouting over the bustle of movement and hurried toward Kalista, who was making a beeline for the door.

“Kalista—wait,” she called, trying to hurry up the sea of students going the opposite direction.

Kalista was already in the hallway, waving an arm clattering with bracelets. “Ms. Aiello? I'm here!” Heads turned, and she bounded down the hall toward Dess, who stood, shoulders hunched, outside Ms. Aiello's office. The vice principal was beaming as Kalista came toward them.

Dess was looking over Kalista's outfit—skinny jeans and a tan Headwaters T-shirt under a blazer—and Hope was suddenly worried. Dess was giving her the same narrow-eyed once-over she'd given Hope, and she was going to say something—no doubt, about Kalista's wildly curly brown hair, her wide mouth, or her long, sharp nose. Hope pinched her bottom lip between her teeth unhappily. Even though Kalista drove her nuts, she wouldn't wish Dess on her worst enemy.

“So, Kalista, right?” Dess said, and then glanced up at Ms. Aiello with a shrug. “Okay. I'm ready. Thanks, Ms. A.”

Ms. A?
Hope blinked at Dess as she walked past, then looked again, more closely. Since Mom had dropped them off, Dess's messy ponytail had been changed to two braids that just brushed her shoulders. Over her gray tank she wore one of last year's pink button-down uniform shirts, tied at her waist, emphasizing her cleavage, which Hope was now positive was helped along with a bit of padding. Her jeans were cuffed into capris, and her black skater shoes had been replaced by the white ballerina flats she must have had stuffed into her backpack. Even her makeup looked lighter, less Goth stark and more smudged and smoky. The tiny, subtle changes made Dess look like a whole different person.

“Thanks for showing me around,” Hope heard Dess say as Kalista walked her down the hall.

“No problem!” Kalista gushed. “I love meeting new people.”

Hope shook her head as Dess smiled and gave a little wave at a group of students who were all staring at the new girl.

Okay,
that
was weird.

And things only got weirder.

By lunch, Kalista's table was full of girls from the drama club. The new girl had been to New York and had seen
Wicked
and
The Lion King
and had been in the drama club at her old school.

She also was rumored to be trying out for Headwaters cheer squad with Ronica Jones, since she had an Auntie Doris who had been a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.

Fat chance,
Hope thought darkly.

Hope
expected
players like Rob Anguiano, Micah Sherman, and James Gilberto to be all over a new girl, lined up three deep to be the first to get her number and then tell lies about how they'd hooked up with her. But even smart boys, like Clayton Stone and Jas Singh, who were on the Headwaters TAG team (for talented and gifted students), were talking to her in the hallway before study hall.

“What's going on?” Hope asked Rob, who was lurking in the vicinity.

“The new girl wants to try out for the chess team,” Rob said, looking impressed.

Hope rolled her eyes so hard, she gave herself a headache. Blah, blah, blah, new girl, new girl, new girl. Who cared? Savannah's dad had tried to teach Hope to play chess last summer. Except for the queen, which moved anywhere it wanted, all across the board, she couldn't keep track of what any of the pieces did. And Dess knew how to play chess
and
was good enough to be in the chess club?

She was such a
liar.
Hope shook her head. People were such sheep. Obviously,
no one
was that amazing about everything. Dess was a total fake, and everyone would soon know it.

Hope was feeling frumpy, grumpy, and envious, and had concealer slathered on the zit beside her nose. But she pepped up at the second-to-last period of the day. The mixed concert choir had rehearsal on Tuesdays and Thursdays with Mr. Mueller, who was Hope's absolutely favorite teacher in the whole world. While everybody had to take an elective, not everyone loved their choice the way Hope did. Mr. Mueller always said he liked freshmen and sophomores best, because they still pretended to laugh at his (very bad) jokes.

Chorus was almost always fun. It helped that Mr. Mueller was insane and made them sing Broadway-style warm-ups and parodies of pop songs. There was only one thing Hope didn't like about chorus, and that was the very first day of the term…when Mr. Mueller heard auditions.