The Dirt Diary (13 page)

Steve Mueller comes to my locker the next day, his face unusually serious. For the first time in over a year, I don’t have that familiar bubbly feeling in my stomach at the sight of him. All I can think about is how he’s been bullying Andrew.

“So I found another note last night,” he says.

“Note?”

He leans in and his cologne shoots up my nostrils. “Yeah, in Briana’s room. I went through her desk when she was in the bathroom. This one was signed.”

Oh my goldfish. The fake secret admirer I invented is
real
? “Who was it from?”

“Some guy named Kurt. Do you know him?”

I shake my head before realizing that I
do
know someone named Kurt. Is it possible Briana’s cheating with Evan’s teammate? Remembering Kurt’s hot breath on my face, his mocking tone, makes me shudder. He and Briana deserve each other.

“I need you to go look through her room for me one more time,” says Steve.

“Sorry, I don’t think so.” My days of snooping are over. From now on, I’m going to earn my money the honest way, one smelly toilet at a time.

“Please,” says Steve. “If I break up with her and then it turns out the note was old or something, it’ll all be for nothing.”

“Why don’t you just ask her about it?” Pretty ironic, me telling someone else to talk something out, but still.

He shakes his head. “Briana’s really sensitive. If I say anything, she’ll think I’m accusing her and flip out.”

Nice girlfriend. “Are you sure you really want to be dating her?” I can’t help asking.

Steve looks surprised at my question. For some reason, that gives me the courage to keep talking.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” I say. “I’ll take one more look around Briana’s room. I’ll even do it for free. But only if you promise to leave Andrew Ivanoff alone. No more vandalizing his house. Got it?”

Steve shrugs. “It’s not like we hurt anyone. It was just—”

“A joke? Well, it wasn’t funny. I don’t know what happened to you. Ever since you started dating Briana, you’ve been acting like a jerk.”

His eyes widen. “Say what?”

“I used to think you were this super nice guy, and I’d defend you when people said you were just like all the other popular kids. But I think I was wrong.” I can’t believe I’m saying this to Steve Mueller.
The
Steve Mueller! But I can’t keep it inside a minute longer.

“I
am
a nice guy,” he insists.

“Oh really? Would a nice guy throw fake blood at someone’s window and ask me to snoop around his girlfriend’s room?”

Steve’s dimpled cheeks get red. “You don’t understand—”

“And I’m not the only who’s noticed how much you’ve changed. Caitlin thinks so too.”

“She said that?” Steve seems to think this over for a minute. Finally, he nods. “I promise, if you look around Briana’s room one more time, that’ll be the end of it. I won’t ask you to do it anymore. I just need to know the truth. And don’t worry about Andrew. We’ll leave him alone from now on.” He looks down at me, and there’s something like amusement in his eyes. “I always thought you were really quiet. I never realized you had so much to say.”

I almost laugh. “I guess I didn’t either.”

As I watch him walk away, I expect to be disappointed not to have those gooey feelings about Steve anymore. But I’m actually relieved. Okay, it was fun to obsess over him for the past year, but now I know for sure that nothing will ever happen between us, and I’m okay with that. In fact, I’m not even sure I’d want to date someone like Steve Mueller. Like Marisol said, there has to be someone much better out there for me.

As Mom and I unload the minivan outside the Rileys’ house on Saturday morning, I notice the “mop” label on our mop has disappeared. As much as I hate to admit it, I know I have Mr. Hammond to thank for my mom’s returning sanity. Because of his easygoing personality, she’s started taking things a little less seriously. I wonder if his influence will mean my grounding will be cut short so I can go to the Spring Dance after all, but that’s probably too much to hope for.

When I open the door to Briana’s room, I expect to find new horrors staring back at me. But everything looks normal. Then I take a step forward, and something crunches under my feet. Oh my goldfish. The entire carpet has been sprinkled with glass.

This is a new low, even for Briana. I guess this is her way of getting back at me after what happened with Caitlin. Pulling off her worst prank yet as some kind of last hurrah. There’s no way to clean up all the glass, not without cutting myself a million times in the process.

Still, I have no choice but to at least try. But first, I want to get the snooping over with. Then I’ll deal with the impossible glass problem.

I crunch over to Briana’s desk and look through it one more time. I don’t know where Steve found the note, but I don’t see anything else. Then I notice that the door to the walk-in closet is open. Ever since that first day when Briana found me going through her things, she’s kept her closet tightly shut. Maybe she’s hiding something in there?

I go inside the closet and look around for anything that could be a hiding spot. After a minute, my eyes fall on the rows of Briana’s bras, and I remember what Caitlin said to her in the hallway.

As I get closer, I notice that even Briana’s sports bras are hung up, which is beyond weird. When I hold up one of the lacy bras, I realize it doesn’t have regular padding. Instead, the bra is heavy and stiff, and the fabric is much firmer than foam. When I inspect the sports bras, I find the same kind of padding sewn into them.

It takes me a minute to believe what I’m seeing, but there’s no other explanation. Briana Riley stuffs her bra! Of course, she does it in the rich-kid way: she has bras specially made for her so that no one will suspect. Ever since the first day of sixth grade, all the girls have been jealous of Briana’s perfect chest and the attention it gets from guys. And all this time, it’s been a fake. No wonder Briana was so ready to apologize when Caitlin threatened to expose her secret.

How’s that for an entry in the Dirt Diary?

What’ll happen if everyone at school finds out the truth? My mind swirls with the possibilities. But then I realize I can’t tell anyone, because if I do, then I’ll be just as bad as Briana or Angela. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that secrets make me feel like scum.

I put the bra back where I found it and go back to searching. I finally give up on the closet, and my eyes fall on the TV stand in the corner. In my rush last time, I didn’t check there.

There’s nothing behind the TV, but when I open a drawer that’s supposed to be for movies, there’s a jewelry box staring back at me. I carefully lift it out and open it. There are only a few things inside. A silver heart necklace, a matching bracelet, and a couple of greeting cards. I open one of the cards and hit the jackpot. It’s a note from Kurt, telling Briana how special she is and how he hopes she’ll finally dump Steve for him.

I’m just deciding whether or not to pocket the note to show Steve when I hear someone clear his throat behind me.

I jump up and see Evan standing in the doorway.

“Evan, hi,” I say, still holding the jewelry box. I can’t imagine how guilty I must look.

“What are you doing?” he says, unsmiling.

“Um. Well, it’s kind of a long story. But it’s not what it looks like, not really.”

“What it looks like is that you’re going through my sister’s stuff. Is that not what you’re doing?”

“Er. Okay, kind of. But it’s for a good reason.” My body suddenly feels hot and jittery, like I’ve just sprinted a mile. “You see, her boyfriend was afraid she was cheating on him, so he paid me to look around her room.”

“He
paid
you?”

“Well, at first. But then I said I’d do it for free.” Oh no. This is sounding worse and worse. “I’m not doing a very good job of explaining, but—”

“I came in here once, and it looked like you were going through Briana’s drawers, but I told myself that I was just being paranoid. I mean, why would you be doing that? But here you are again. And now I find out you’ve been doing it for a while.”

The jitteriness is so bad now that my teeth are actually chattering. “Evan, I’m sorry. It was just—”

“I think you should be apologizing to Briana, not me.” He shakes his head. “I don’t get it. I mean, I was really starting to like you. I was even jealous that someone else had asked you to the dance.”

I take a step back, and the carpet crunches under my foot. The jitters fade, replaced by a strange warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. “You were?” I say. “But I thought you had a girlfriend.”

He frowns. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Who told you that?”

“Well, I saw that picture on your computer—”

“You were on my computer?”

“No!” Why is it that no matter what I say, it just sounds bad?

“The girl in the picture is my cousin. She goes to my school,” says Evan. Then he shakes his head, like he can’t make sense of what’s happening. “Briana warned me that first day. She said you couldn’t be trusted. I didn’t want to believe her, but now I don’t know what to think.”

“Evan, I’m really sorry. I swear, I can explain.”

He won’t look at me. “I think you should probably just go.”

“But—”

“Please, Rachel.”

It’s no use. He hates me. I want to cry, but instead I shove the jewelry box back in its hiding place and close the drawer. Then I crunch my way toward the door.

“Is that
glass
on the floor?” Evan asks.

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”

But suddenly Mom is in the doorway. “No, you won’t. That’s ridiculous. You can’t be expected to clean up something like that! It’s unsafe.” She turns to Evan. “Tell your mother that we’re very sorry, but that she’ll have to get someone else to take care of this mess. Come on, Rachel.”

Mom takes my hand, and I’m glad to let her lead me downstairs. I don’t even bother looking back.

As we pack up the car, my head is ringing like a giant bell. “Are we going to lose this job?” I ask.

Mom shrugs. “Maybe. But I am sick of Mrs. Riley’s attitude. And if they expect us to clean up hazardous materials, then I say good riddance. I think you were right about us taking this job, honey. It was a bad idea from the start.”

“But what about the other jobs? If Mrs. Riley spreads the word, won’t other people fire us?”

“I was worried about that at first, but Ms. Montelle is a well-respected woman in this town, and she happens to be a big fan of ours. I think we’ll be fine. And if people do give us a hard time, we’ll just travel a little farther for work. There are dirty houses everywhere.” She smiles, and I can’t help feeling relieved. At least that’s one less thing to worry about. Because thinking about how betrayed Evan looked is about all the pain I can handle.

When it’s time for our usual lunch break, I expect Mom to grab some sandwiches from a cooler so we can eat them in the car. Not that I’m hungry. Everything that happened with Evan has filled my stomach with rocks.

Instead, Mom drives into town and pulls up in front of Molly’s Diner.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

“I think we could both use a treat,” she says, opening the car door.

As I stare out the window at the cheerful Molly’s sign, my body refuses to move.

“What’s the matter?” Mom asks, realizing I’m not following her.

“I don’t want to go in there. That was our place, when we were still a family. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”

“I know things are different.” Mom leans back in her seat. “But does that mean we can’t do any of the old things anymore?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “It just feels wrong to come here without Dad.”

Mom puts her hand on top of mine. It feels warm and reassuring. I realize this is the most honest I’ve been with her in forever, besides the times when I’ve lost it and screamed at her.

“How about we give it a try?” she says. “If it’s terrible, we’ll leave and go somewhere else. I promise.”

That sounds reasonable, even if I’m still not thrilled about it. Besides, Mom is clearly making an effort to make me feel better, even after I lied to her and went behind her back. I owe it to her to at least try.

When we go inside, the familiar smells of coffee and maple syrup hit me like a slap. I have to swallow the tears that threaten to leak down my cheeks. I’m about to tell Mom that I can’t do this, that we have to go, when she wraps her fingers around mine. Suddenly, I feel like a little kid again, safe and warm.

Before I know it, we’re seated at a tiny table in the corner, far from our usual spot, and Mom is ordering two hot chocolates.

“Are you okay?” she asks after the waitress goes to get our drinks.

I nod, realizing that, surprisingly, I
am
okay. It still feels strange to be here without Dad, but Molly’s has been my favorite place for as long as I can remember. Being here brings a little bit of comfort with it, even if it also brings up painful memories.

“Now, what are we going to order?” Mom asks, grabbing a menu.

I have to laugh. “We’ve only been getting the exact same thing for like ten years.”

She smiles and pushes the menu away. “Good. Now that that’s decided, we’ll have more time to talk.”

“Talk?” I say, thinking of all the awkward dinner conversations we’ve had since Dad left.

“I know you and your father were always close,” she says. “And I have to tell you that I’ve always been a little jealous of that. I always wished that we were able to open up to each other the way you and your father could. Now that it’s just you and me, I want us to find a way to talk to one another.”

I blink. Never in a million years did I think my mom was jealous of my relationship with my dad. She’s always seemed too uptight to join in our silly games and our bad jokes. But now that I think about it, maybe she was just always too stressed out trying to keep our family together to be able to loosen up.

“Me too,” I say.

“Okay, then talk to me,” says Mom. “I know you’ve been miserable this year. I could tell something was wrong even before your father left. What’s been going on?”

My instinct is to shrug it off and tell her it’s nothing, but the truth is, I want to find a way to make her understand what I’ve been going through. “First, you have to promise me you won’t try to fix anything.”

“Fix anything?” she repeats. “What do you mean?”

“It’s my problem, and I’ll find a solution, okay?”

Mom takes in a deep breath and then nods. “Okay.”

So I start telling her about everything that’s happened since the start of the year, about Fake Boyfriend Troy, about Briana and Caitlin, and even about Steve Mueller. Before I know it, I’m even telling her about Evan Riley! I have to look down at my napkin as my cheeks burn with embarrassment, but I don’t hold anything back. The only thing I don’t mention is the Dirt Diary. It feels wrong to talk about secrets that aren’t mine.

When I’m done talking, I glance up expecting to find Mom judging everything I just told her, but instead she’s smiling gently, her eyes glistening.

“Thank you for trusting me,” she says. “And if there’s anything you need, any way that I can help, just tell me, okay? That’s what I’m here for.”

I nod, knowing that she means it. It’s up to me to fix all the things I messed up, but it’s still nice that Mom genuinely wants to help. Not because she’s dying to butt in and take over my life, but because she really wants me to be happy.

The waitress comes back with our orders, which gives Mom a chance to wipe her eyes. As I glance down at my Nutella and banana crepe, my stomach rumbles so loudly that even my mom hears it across the table.

She laughs as she bites into her own crepe, which is filled with apples and brie.

“You know,” I say as I dig into my food. “There is one thing you could help me with. The bake sale is this Monday, and I still haven’t figured out what to make.”

“What have you tried so far?” she asks.

I go through all the different kinds of brownies I’ve baked, none of which have been good enough.

“Hmm,” Mom says, chewing thoughtfully. “It sounds like you were pretty unhappy when you came up with those recipes. Maybe you should try to make something when you’re feeling more positive.”

My first instinct is to brush off what she said as more of her power-of-determination advice. But I realize she’s right. I made coconut brownies when I desperately missed Dad, cayenne pepper brownies when I was furious, and sea-salt brownies when I was upset. But I never tried making anything when I was happy. Probably because I haven’t been much of that lately.

My mouth drops open, making a piece of crepe fall out onto the table. “Mom, you’re a genius!” I can’t believe the answer has been staring me right in the face all this time, and I didn’t see it. But now I have it, and it’s perfect. There is no way I’m going to lose to Angela or to anyone else this time.