"Welcome back," Daniel mumbled. "I forgot how much I hate this sh--crap." He smirked at me and laughed to himself.
"Yeah, welcome home," I said. And this time I was the one who walked away.
LATER
I didn't know how many people would remember Daniel Kalbi. He'd had only a handful of friends growing up, and he'd moved away from Holy Trinity before his sophomore year. Regardless, I expected the appearance of someone like Daniel to at least spark some controversy and gossip. However, there was another scandal sweeping through the halls of school that upstaged Daniel's return tenfold: the sudden death and mutilation of Maryanne Duke, devoted Sunday-school teacher, childhood babysitter of many, and-- despite her old age and meager means--volunteer at almost every school activity.
I was the recipient of many sidelong glances and backhanded whispers as I made my way from class to class. I was used to people talking about me. Watching me. It was just part of being a Divine. Mom always said I had to be careful about the clothes I wore, how late I stayed out, or what movies I was seen going into, because people would set their own behavior by what the pastor's kids were allowed to do--like I was some kind of walking morality barometer. Really, I think she was more concerned about people having a reason to talk bad about the pastor's daughter.
Kind of like the talk that was going on today. Except, it was Jude's and Dad's names that came up in conversations that halted as I approached. A lot of people had the decency to stick up for my dad against Angela Duke's accusations of mistreatment, but stories spread fast in a small town. It was only inevitable that wild speculations about my family's "involvement" in Maryanne's death would be everywhere. Crap like, "1 heard that Mike said that the pastor refused to take Maryanne to her doctor's appointment and then he said he was going to kick her out of the parish if she didn't ..." Or this gem I heard outside the gym: "They said that Jude's on some type of meds that made him go all nutso on Maryanne about being sick ... ," which I'm ashamed to say made me break the rule I'd set for Daniel about not swearing at school.
But as sad and distraught--and prone to bad language and dirty looks--as J was, I could only imagine how Jude must have felt. April was the only person considerate--
or clueless--enough to actually speak to me in person about all the things that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
"Okay," April said the second I sat next to her in art. "Number one: where the heck were you last night? Number two: what the heck is he doing here?" She pointed to
Daniel, who sat with his feet up on a table in the back of the room. "Number three: what the heck happened to your brother, and is he okay? And number four: numbers one, two, and three had better the heck not have anything to do with one another." She scrunched her lips and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I want answers, sister!"
"Whoa," I said. "First of all, I'm sorry I missed you last night. I got stuck in traffic."
"Traffic? Around here?" She pointed her finger at Daniel. "You were in the city," she whispered. "You were with him."
"No, I wasn't--"
"I know he lives downtown because I saw him by the city bus stop this morning."
"That could mean anything. ..." But really, what was the point in lying? "Okay, I was. But it's not what you think."
"It isn't?" April did this sassy little head shake that made her curly hair bounce like spaniel ears.
"No, it isn't. I was just delivering a message for Barlow. It's your fault, anyway." I mimicked her feisty stance. "You're the one who turned in his picture and made Barlow want him back in class."
"Oh, no. Did I get you in trouble? I didn't mean to. How did he know it was Daniel's?"
"I told him."
"What, are you crazy?" April's eyes widened. She leaned in close and whispered, "You're in love with him, aren't you?"
"With Barlow?"
"You know who I'm talking about." She looked back at Daniel, who was playing the drums on his leg. "You're still in love with him."
"I am not. And I never was to begin with. It was just a stupid crush." I knew she was wrong, but I felt heat rushing up my neck. I grasped for the first thing I could think of to change the subject. "Don't you want to hear about Jude and Maryanne Duke?"
April's demeanor changed immediately. Her eyes softened, and she brushed her fingers through her hair. "Oh, my gosh. He looked so sad last night when I came looking for you at your house. And then this morning I heard Lynn Bishop--her brother is an Oak Park paramedic--talking about Maryanne Duke in the hall. I heard her say that Jude and your father had something to do with it. But I couldn't tell what she was saying. And these guys in bio were going on about the Markham Street Monster."
I shook my head. "You know the monster's just a story, right? Besides, Maryanne doesn't--didn't--live on Markham." I knew it was just a story--one I hadn't heard since I was a kid--but it gave me chills to hear people talk about the monster again. And I also knew not living on Markham didn't make one immune from strange happenings, either. I hadn't been able to get the memory of my mutilated little dog out of my head since I'd heard about Maryanne.
"Yeah, but what happened to Maryanne wasn't a story," April said. "And why is everyone saying that Jude was involved?"
I glanced up at the window of Barlow's office. Barlow was on the phone, and he looked like he was going to be a while. April seemed genuinely concerned, and I really wanted to talk to someone about what had happened. I lowered my voice so no one else (especially Lynn) could hear, and I told April about how Jude had found the body and how the Dukes blamed my father. I told her about the aftermath, too. How Jude had freaked out and how my parents had fought.
April gave me a hug. "It's going to be okay."
But how could she know that? She hadn't felt how strange it was to eat dinner at the table by myself, or heard the way my parents shouted at each other. But I guess
April would know how those things felt. She moved here when her parents split when she was fourteen, and her mom's work hours had been getting longer and longer lately. I'd invited her to our Thanksgiving dinner so she wouldn't have to spend the day alone.
None of that seemed "okay" to me.
Barlow came out of his office. He dumped a box of empty Pepsi cans on his desk and went to work without any instruction to the class.
"Do you want to go to the cafe for lunch today?" I asked April. "Jude totally wouldn't mind if we just showed up. In fact, I think he could use the change."
April bit her lip. "Okay," she said. "He could probably use some consoling." She half frowned, but trembled in that excited way of hers.
LUNCH
It usually took a lot of coaxing to get April to come with me to the Rose Crest Cafe. And the few times she had come, she'd hung back from the group with Miya, Claire, Lane, and a few of the other juniors who watched the seniors with nervous reverence. April was so like my old dog Daisy that way. She had a lot of yap and spunk when it was just the two of us, but she totally cowered in most social situations.
Except today she seemed like a totally different breed.
We had been there only long enough to order our food before she was the center of attention, talking animatedly about her trip to Hollywood with her dad last summer.
Brett Johnson and Greg Divers were practically drooling at her feet, but when Jude came through the door, she ditched them and went to his side. Within a matter of minutes, they were sitting together in a corner booth. April patted his hand sympathetically as he spoke to her in low, confidential tones.
"Wow," Pete said as he pulled up a chair next to me. "I can't believe April's cracked his stoic shell." He tipped his soda can toward Jude. "I haven't gotten a word out of him all day. In fact, he's been acting strange for almost a week now."
"I know what you mean," I said, and picked at the uneaten sandwich on my tray.
"You doing okay?" Pete asked.
"Yeah. Just tired of being sad." What's weird is that the only time I hadn't felt sad or hurt all day was the few minutes I'd spent with Daniel. But maybe that's just because he's so darn aggravating.
Pete tapped his soda can. "Well, I had fun the other night," he said with a slight upturn in his voice like it was a question.
"Me, too," I said, even though "fun" wasn't how I'd describe Friday evening.
"I plan on calling in that rain check for bowling, you know." Pete grinned. "It'll give me a chance to prove I've got better skills than my ability to fix a car."
"Good." I glanced down at my tray. "But give me some time."
Pete's'grin wavered. "Oh, okay." He started to scoot away.
"Things are really crazy right now," I said quickly. "You know, with Maryanne and Thanksgiving and everything. I just won't have time for a ... uh ... date for a while." I half smiled. "I am looking forward to it, though."