Whatever Doesn't Kill You (13 page)

He thinks that over carefully for a minute, gnawing at his lower lip with that one giant adult tooth of his. Maybe the poor kid will be less goofy-looking when his other baby teeth fall out, but I doubt it. “I think she was here yesterday for a little while. She said she got a new job, and then she left again.”

“A job?” That sounds shady to me—probably illegal.

“Yeah. Aw, damn it, you made me die.” He throws his controller down and scowls at me.

“Sorry. And watch your language. What kind of job?”

Wex sighs, clearly disappointed that he didn't get a bigger rise out of me, and picks up his controller again. “Washing dishes at Mr. Woo's.”

“Hmm. That's not bad.”

Wex shrugs. “She says it sucks ass.”

“Dude. Language.”

“Whatever.”

I cuff him lightly across the back of the head.

Strange: he's not usually this disagreeable. “Where did this attitude come from all of a sudden?”

“I'm mad 'cause you were fighting with Uncle Simon. How come you're being such a bitch to him all of a sudden?”

“Because…” I weigh the idea of telling him what I've found out about Simon and Travis Bingham. But he's way too young to understand, and all this stuff is ancient history to him. “Because he can be a huge weenie sometimes.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And don't say
bitch
. It's not nice.”

Mr. Woo's. I've never eaten there myself—rumor has it they use cat meat in the chicken balls—but at least it sounds like an actual, honest-to-gosh job. I stand up, debating putting on my sodden sneakers and wading back out in the storm, but one look at the snow whirling around the parking lot and the cars skidding and skittering along the road makes me decide that perhaps Jenna Cooper, Girl Detective is going to sit this one out. After all, I've waited fifteen years for answers. Another day isn't going to kill me, but another trip out in that blizzard might.

THURSDAY

The snow has stopped by the time I wake up and stumble out to the kitchen, where I'm disappointed to find Wex sitting at the table, all ready for school.

“You should really get dressed,” he says through a mouthful of something neon-colored with marshmallows. “It's not a snow day today.”

“Damn it.”

“Language.” He swallows his mouthful of Day-Glo cereal and sticks out his tongue at me, brightly colored crumbs still stuck all over it.

“Ew. Disgusting.” I head off to the shower. I'm not used to having so little hair, and I use way too much shampoo. By the time I get it all rinsed out and decide which of my new clothes to wear—I pick an emerald-green T-shirt, with a grey hoodie over it, and a pair of jeans that Ashley said make my butt look great—I'm running late, and I really have to hustle to make it to school on time.

I'm still earlier than Marie-Claire, though, and I can't help but notice the double take she does when she sees me. She gives me this awkward little smile when she spies me looking at her, then quickly looks away and makes a point of sitting at a table on the other side of the room from me. All through class, though, I catch her looking in my direction, checking out my new haircut and new clothes. I can't tell if she's jealous or judgmental or both, but I guess it doesn't matter one way or another. It's not like we're friends anymore.

I look for Ashley in the hall between classes, hoping for a friendly face, but all I get are Marie-Claire and Katie chatting away with their backs to me when I go to my locker. It seemed like a great idea back in September, all of us getting our lockers so close together, but now it's just awkward.

“Do you want to come over tonight?”

I look up, wondering if Katie's talking to me all of a sudden, but of course not—she's asking Marie-Claire.

“Ah, I can't. I'm going to a party. At the university, you know? I'd invite you along, but
alors
, you don't have a fake
ID
.”

Katie lets out a little sigh that sounds like she's trying not to let her disappointment show. “That's okay. Another time.”

In gym class Ashley comes burbling over to me, chattering away about how great my hair still looks. I didn't get any new clothes I could wear in gym, so I'm still stuck in my ratty old track pants and one of Simon's T-shirts that comes almost to my knees. It's volleyball today, which I'm sure suits Katie fine, since it doesn't require partners and all she really has to do is step out of the way when the ball comes anywhere near her. But Ashley and I wind up on one team and Katie is on the other, so the whole time we're standing together and Ashley is talking to me, I can see Katie staring daggers at us through the net. I can't help but feel bad for her, especially having heard Marie-Claire brush her off not half an hour ago, but at the same time, she is the one who engineered all my other friends dumping me.

Ashley slides up to me in the changeroom afterward, oblivious to the fact that both Katie and all of Ashley's former friends are staring.

“So, what did your brother say about your hair?”

“He said it looked good. After he busted me for skipping school.”

“Oh, crappy. For what it's worth, my dad almost nailed me for taking the car. He didn't think there was enough snow on it for it to have been sitting there all day.”

“Oh no! What did you tell him?”

“I said I left my school bag in the backseat and had to go get it because my homework was in it, and I thought I would brush off the car to be nice.” She rolls her eyes. “He's so gullible. All I have to do is act like a total ditz and he'll believe anything I tell him.”

I think back to her performance with Travis at the hair salon, and I wonder how much of Ashley's day-today existence is an act…including her sudden friendship with me.

“Well…I'm glad you didn't get in trouble.”

“Even if I did, he always gets over it pretty fast. So what did you do yesterday?”

“I went to see my mom.”

“Wow, in the insane asylum?”

“Um, it's a nursing home, but yeah.” I watch Katie tuck her regular clothes under her arm and duck into a toilet stall to change. I can tell from the look on her face that she's trying not to cry. I look back at Ashley, determined not to let it get to me. Katie brought this on herself, after all. “So what are you doing tonight?”

“I don't know. You want to do something?” Ashley pulls a pack of gum—the kind with the liquid center— out of her purse and pops a piece into her mouth. “Gum?”

I take a piece—I never turn down an offer of gum or breath mints, because you never know when it's a hint. I give Ashley a good once-over. If I'm thinking about tracking down my sister and getting her take on the Travis Bingham situation, and if I'm playing detective, I could do a lot worse for a sidekick than someone as quick on her feet as Ashley. “I was thinking of going for some Chinese food,” I tell her. “You want to come along?”

After school I find Simon up on the third floor, cleaning out 318. The potheads who lived there were two months behind on their rent and bailed when they found the eviction notice on their door. “Hey,” I say. “I need twenty bucks.”

He looks up from scrubbing a nasty brown smear off the wall of the living room. He's wearing a paper mask and rubber gloves, and sweating so much that his hair is slicked down over his forehead.

“What is that?” I ask him.

“Three guesses. Bunch of idiots.”

“They smeared…poop on the wall?” I can feel my face squinching up in disgust. “That's so nasty.”

“I need a can of gasoline and a match for this apartment. Burn it out and start from scratch.” The mask wiggles up and down as he talks. If it weren't so disgusting in here, I would laugh at him.

The mess really is incredible. There's a hole through the bathroom door like someone has punched it, a huge stain on the floor that may or may not be blood and, of course, the poop on the walls. I guess they really wanted to send Simon a message of some kind, although I can't imagine why. It's not like he had much choice about kicking them out—not when they weren't paying their rent. And it's not like Simon owns the building—he just collects the rent and plunges the toilets. And scrapes caca off the walls. It literally is a crappy job. For a second I feel sorry for him, but then I remember why I'm here.

“So, twenty bucks.”

“Don't you have a job or something? Oh, wait. You blew all your money on a haircut and new clothes, so now you need a loan.”

“Um, a loan?”

He laughs. “Of course. Not a loan: a gift. And what do I get out of this?”

Not much point in lying at this point, I may as well tell him where the money's going. “Uh, I'm going out for Chinese food with Ashley. I'll bring you back some leftovers.”

“Chinese, huh?” He uses the back of his wrist to push the mask down off his mouth. “What restaurant?”

“I think she said Mr. Woo's.” I watch his face carefully for a reaction, but there isn't one; I guess he doesn't know Emily is working there. If she even is. It wouldn't be the first time she's lied to Wex.

“All right.” He peels off one glove, fishes his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and hands it to me. “Take what you need. Bring me back a combo four.”

“What's in a combo four?”

“I don't know. I've never eaten at Mr. Woo's. But combo four is always the best choice.”

Combo four, it turns out, is chicken balls with spareribs, fried rice and mixed vegetables. The egg roll is a dollar extra, but I figure since dinner is on Simon anyway, I'll splurge. I opt for combo two myself—chicken with mushrooms, sweet-and-sour pork and those skinny noodles on the side. I've never been inside Mr. Woo's before, but it's cleaner than you'd think from the dingy, coal-flecked exterior. It's a long, skinny room with black-and-gold wallpaper, a red carpet and little fake candles on the tables. There's a two-foot-high bronze Buddha on the takeout counter by the front door. Our waiter's name is Dave, which disappoints me a little. It's embossed on a little silver name tag that looks like it's been through the laundry with his shirt a few times. He's Asian but doesn't have an accent, which somehow makes the whole place seem less exotic to me. Mr. Woo's is about as close as I'm ever going to get to China. The least Dave could do is make the experience more authentic for me.

Still, it's a little odd being at a sit-down restaurant where they bring the food to your table. Other than when Katie's mom takes us out for dinner, I think the last time I actually had a waiter and a menu was back when Momma was more or less holding things together, working at the No Frills as a cashier, and we used to go to Swiss Chalet on Thursday nights after she got paid.

Ashley is obviously used to eating in restaurants and even manages the chopsticks like she knows what she's doing. Once we get our meals—including Simon's in a Styrofoam takeout container—Ashley leans across the table with a conspiratorial grin. I've told her why we're here, and I think she's excited to have another project. As detective's sidekicks go, she's kind of a natural.

“So, what's the big plan?”

“I don't know…ask Dave the waiter if Emily's working and find out if she has a break coming up?”

“Oh.” She looks disappointed, like she was expecting something more dramatic. “Yeah, I guess that'll work.”

When Dave brings the bill, I lean back in my chair a little, like I couldn't care less about the answer, and ask him if Emily Cooper is working tonight.

“Oh, Emily? Yeah, I think she just went out back to have a smoke. You want me to tell her you said hi?”

“No, that's fine.” I hold back a grin and leave Dave the twenty Simon gave me, which isn't much of a tip on a seventeen-dollar tab, but it's all I have so it'll have to do. The alley that leads to the back of the building is two stores over, so I have to hustle a little to make it there before she finishes her cigarette. I'm still wriggling into my coat as I round the corner into the back alley.