Light as a Feather Page 8

  “Oh my God, you guys are so political,” Candace complained. “What am I going to do in this dump of a town when you’re both passing bills on Capitol Hill?”

  “Marry Isaac and have, like, fifty kids,” Olivia joked.

  We pulled into my driveway and my chest ached a little when I saw that Mom’s car wasn’t there. She was probably still on her way home from Sheboygan. Entering a dark house by myself was my least favorite part of any day, because it was then when it hit me hardest that if our old house had never burned down, I probably never would have had to spend any time alone. At least Moxie would be happy to see me, even if only because I would let her out to go sniff things in the backyard.

  As I gathered up my backpack and opened the back door of the car to climb out, Olivia said, “So, Violet still doesn’t have a date for the dance.”

  I froze. Olivia’s tone had gone from funny and joking to threatening just like that. How was it possible that it was Wednesday and Violet still hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask someone? Didn’t she know that Olivia and Candace wouldn’t permit her to attend the dance alone? Going to the dance with girlfriends was fine for girls who weren’t in the popular circle, but it was absolutely not going to be permitted by a girl who was expecting to be named homecoming queen in a few weeks.

  “Has she mentioned anything to you about going by herself? I mean, I know she said she has a dress, but that would just be . . .” Candace trailed off, looking for the right word. “Pathetic.”

  I shook my head, wanting to distance myself from Violet’s dateless state as much as possible. “No, she hasn’t said a word,” I claimed.

  “Well, if she says anything, could you, like, discourage her from going to the dance alone? I mean, obviously she can do whatever she wants, but that would be really weird,” Olivia said.

  I let myself into my house through the back door with my keys, feeling uneasy despite the fact that I knew Henry’s interest in me would prevent any such conversations about me from being had behind my back. But Olivia and Candace would have turned on me as quickly as they’d turned on Violet for any little reason. It was stressing me out to think about it, but it was becoming evident that having a real boyfriend was going to be more important in securing my popularity than even winning a Student Government election. Henry had only asked me to one measly dance; he’d given no indication of actually wanting to be my boyfriend. Homecoming was going to pose the same problem all over again.

  Moxie limped over to the back door to greet me, her tail wagging, and I petted her and stepped out into the backyard with her to watch her stretch her legs. The sun was already setting even though it was barely seven o’clock, yet another reminder that summer had passed. I heard the Emorys’ back door open, and felt what seemed like a bolt of electricity shoot through my body when I looked over the fence and saw Trey stepping outside carrying a can of cat food.

  “Hey,” he said unenthusiastically, crossing his yard to where we had seen the mother cat with her kittens under the bushes near the fence earlier in the week.

  “Hi,” I said, trying to sound as casual as he had sounded.

  He disappeared as he crouched down to place the cat food beneath the azalea bushes, and I shifted uncomfortably, wanting to say more. “How are they doing?” I called over the fence, wishing I could cure myself of the desire to have Trey pay attention to me.

  A moment passed before Trey stood up again and replied. “They’re all right,” he said, looking right at me over the fence. “One didn’t make it that first night. But the other five are already getting kind of bigger.”

  The thought of a kitten not living through its first night of life took my breath away with sorrow. Grief filled me, as familiar a sensation as hunger or sleepiness. “That sucks,” I said, my voice cracking a little. I hadn’t realized I was so close to tears over the loss of a little cat that I’d never even touched.

  Trey frowned, looking down at presumably where the mother cat was beneath the bushes, and then agreed, “Yeah.” It wasn’t quite dark out yet, but it almost was, and our solemn conversation was punctuated by the early chirping of crickets. The moon was already high in the evening sky, just a fraction of a crescent.

  Trey looked quickly over his shoulder toward his own house and then back at me. “That’s weird,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Do you feel that? It feels like someone is watching us.”

  I looked around, very aware in that instant that he was right. It did feel like someone was with us, watching us, just like it had felt in Olivia’s basement the previous Friday night, when we had been playing Violet’s game. I knew it was ludicrous to even consider, but Violet had told me that she saw things when she touched people, things about their lives that she otherwise couldn’t have known. I wondered if it was her who was watching us right there and then. I felt the little hairs on my forearms raise with goose bumps. The feeling was unnerving and made me wish that Trey and I were both at least on the same side of the fence.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “I feel that too.”

  Trey looked as if he was about to say something more, but then we both heard the engine of my mother’s car, and her headlights blasted the aluminum siding on the Emorys’ house as she pulled into our driveway, country music playing on her stereo.

  “See ya.” Trey waved, dismissing himself at my mother’s arrival. He returned back to his house through its back door, and I clapped my hands to summon Moxie.

  “Moxie! Come on, girl,” I called. My beloved old dog’s ears perked up and she limped back toward me as quickly as she could. Mom went inside to set down the bags of fast food she’d brought home.

  I waited for Moxie to climb up the stairs onto the deck. In the kitchen, she whined when she caught a whiff of the foil-wrapped burgers on the table. “Was that Trey you were talking to when I got home?” Mom asked.

  “The Emorys have kittens in their backyard,” I said, dancing around the matter of my having been talking to Trey.

  “He could use a haircut, that Trey,” my mother continued, blocking my attempt to change the subject and handing me a plate. “You and Jennie used to always play over at the Emorys’ when you were little. They had that great swing set. Trey took you girls on the school bus for the first time when you started first grade.”

  I unwrapped my hamburger in silence, not wanting to remember back that far. I vaguely remembered the three of us in the Emorys’ yard, pumping our legs on the swings, soaring higher and higher. Jennie used to say she wanted to touch the sky.

  “I always used to think that one of you girls would marry Trey. The three of you were as thick as thieves back then. Mary Jane used to let that boy run wild. He would absolutely refuse to eat the crust on bread whenever he would stay here for lunch, because she always used to cut it off for him—”

  “Mom,” I interrupted her coldly. “I really don’t want to think about it.”

  The words were out of my mouth before I thought them through, but they were accurate. I didn’t want to remember. It was just too weird, made me too nostalgic, to remember back to what it was like to run up and down Martha Road with Jennie. We roamed the neighborhood during summers when we were kids, and the memories were flooding back of bicycles toppling over, skinned knees, hide-and-seek up and down the block, climbing over fences.

  Mom made a serious matter out of squirting ketchup and mustard onto her burger and then setting the bun back on its top, trying to prepare her response for me with care. “I’m sorry, McKenna. It’s just that time of year. As soon as the leaves start to change, I can’t help but remember what things were like when you girls were little.”

  Choosing to ignore her, I handed Moxie a significant chunk of the meat from my burger. “I don’t have a crush on Trey. So just . . . stop thinking we’re going to get together. It’s not gonna happen.”

  Later that night as I waited impatiently to fall asleep, all my apprehension earlier that week about Violet and the game had abandoned me, and my
thoughts were completely devoted to Trey Emory. In both of my recent encounters with him, I hadn’t thought to look closely enough to see what color his eyes were. Light, I was pretty sure. Green or blue? I couldn’t recall. He hadn’t been wearing the army jacket earlier that night, and I’d been so surprised to see him in the yard that I hadn’t even noticed while we were talking. I was thinking about his biceps, how they had been a little more noticeable than I’d been expecting beneath his tight black T-shirt. I was wondering if he lifted weights, and if so, where, and why he went to such great lengths to hide his jacked arms beneath his ratty jacket.

  I wasn’t thinking about the fact that Olivia had found her dress, but still didn’t have a pair of shoes for the dance.

  CHAPTER 5

  ON FRIDAY MORNING, I STOWED my pink cashmere cardigan in my school bag in preparation for the game in Kenosha later that night.

  “I’m going to be home late tonight,” I informed my mom in the kitchen, where she was correcting papers submitted by her students with a red pen between her fingers, ready to strike.

  “How late?” Mom asked, barely looking up from her grading task.

  “Somewhat late,” I replied smartly. Kenosha was a three-hour drive from Willow, and the game started at seven.

  Even if it ended promptly at nine, which I was sure it wouldn’t since I knew from past experience that the halftime show would last at least twenty minutes, the earliest I could possibly expect to be home again was midnight.

  “Can you define ‘somewhat’?” Mom asked, finally putting her red pen down, adjusting her glasses, and looking at me.

  I rolled my eyes, knowing that she was going to make a big deal about my being out past midnight. “I’m going to the football game with Olivia and Candace. It’s supposed to start at seven, but I’m sure it’ll start late. And it’ll be at least two hours long, and it’s all the way in Kenosha, so I’m going to miss my curfew if we stay for the end of the game.”

  “I don’t feel very good about you being out past midnight, McKenna,” Mom told me. “Who’s going to be driving?”

  I hesitated, not really wanting to divulge that we’d be in Pete’s car. Pete’s expensive car.

  “Olivia’s boyfriend,” I replied.

  “And how old is Olivia’s boyfriend? Old enough to buy beer?”

  It was becoming difficult to resist the urge to groan and tell my mom she was being ridiculous. “Mom. No one is going to be drinking beer. I don’t see what the big deal is. You let me go to all the away games last year with the band and you weren’t a huge freak about it.”

  My mother sighed as if she couldn’t stand to hear another word come out of my mouth. “McKenna, I liked you a lot more before you were fabulous. I want you home by midnight. End of story.”

  I exhaled loudly to let her know that she was ruining my social life. How was I going to tell an entire car full of my friends that I had to be a party pooper and get home before everyone else?

  At lunchtime, the entire cafeteria buzzed with excitement. The football team, including Isaac, was loud and obnoxious, obviously getting psyched up for the game that night.

  “We should leave no later than three forty-five,” Pete told us. “I have basketball practice for an hour after class, but after that, we should all meet in front of the library.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever orientation Mr. Dean had planned for those of us wishing to run for student office couldn’t possibly take more than an hour. “You’re going to the Student Government election meeting, right?” I asked Olivia, really wanting for us to attend the meeting together, kind of innocently hoping that she hadn’t been kidding about us running together as a team.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, wrinkling her delicate button nose. “I have a small crisis on my hands. I still don’t have a pair of shoes for the dance tomorrow that matches my dress. I mean, I have a pair of white heels from my uncle’s wedding, but they totally clash. I was thinking about making a mad dash for the mall after school and then meeting you guys at the game.”

  My stomach began to feel queasy. If Olivia wasn’t at Mr. Dean’s meeting, then how serious was she about running for class president again? What if Mr. Dean wouldn’t let her run because she had so casually disregarded his required meeting? What if Michael Walton saw an opportunity to surge past her and snatched the coveted role of president from her, and I had to spend the rest of junior year listening to his sniveling narrative about the lack of adequate recycling bins in the cafeteria?

  “Oh my God, Olivia, that’s just like the story Violet told,” Candace announced, her eyes enormous.

  Violet, at the end of the table, turned in our direction. “The story was just silly,” she murmured.

  It was indeed strange that it was Friday, the day of the big game, just as Violet had started her story about Olivia’s fictitious death, and Olivia was talking about going to the mall, just as she had done in Violet’s story. I got a little chill thinking back to what Violet had told me on the track after Olivia’s party, about how sometimes she saw things.

  “What about the dance?” Olivia asked Violet suddenly, as if it had only just then, in that second, occurred to her that Violet had not yet confirmed a date. The topic of the similarities between the day’s circumstances and those described in Violet’s story was banished. “Who are you going with?”

  Violet’s face brightened and her eyes sparkled. “Didn’t I tell you guys? I’m going with this guy from my church. He goes to St. Patrick’s in Ortonville.”

  Mischa raised an eyebrow at me, and I looked away, not wanting Violet to observe our doubt. She definitely had not mentioned this mysterious guy before. Olivia, never a skeptic until she had irrefutable reason to be one, looked genuinely surprised. “Really? That’s awesome! What’s his name?”

  “Mark,” Violet offered. “Regan. I think he went to public school in Willow until around fifth grade before his parents switched him to private school.”

  “I remember him,” Candace announced in a bored voice. “I remember him in first grade eating uncooked pasta when we were supposed to be stringing it together as necklaces for our mothers in art class. Curly hair, dimples?”

  Violet nodded.

  “Interesting. I can’t picture what he must look like now,” Mischa commented, peeling the dimpled skin off an orange.

  I tried to remember any curly-haired boys from elementary school in our grade who had switched to private school at some point, but there were so many names and faces flooding my memories of kids who had moved out of Willow that Mark Regan didn’t come to mind.

  “Cool,” Olivia said with a genuine smile, relieved of having to chastise Violet for failing to spark an interest in a boy before the dance. “Is he coming to the game tonight?”

  Violet shook her head. “No. He’s on the St. Patrick’s football team and they have their own game in Ortonville tonight. I might go to that instead of ours. I mean, if that’s okay with you guys.”

  Consensus around the lunchroom table was that it was okay for Violet to attend the game in Ortonville instead of riding to Kenosha with the rest of us. Olivia was pleased that the risk of Violet showing up alone at the dance had been mitigated. She and Pete wove their fingers together across the table, beaming at each other in a way that only the most popular kids in school can smile when they’re also in love. No one could ever be more perfect than Olivia and Pete.

  After eighth period, I rushed to my locker, eager to get the Student Government meeting with Mr. Dean over and done with. I still felt pretty anxious about the possibility of a dark horse entering the race and stealing my chance at victory. There were an odd handful of people in the junior class who could do exactly that: any number of guys from the basketball or football teams, one of Tracy Hartford’s friends from the softball team or French club. I didn’t want to simply assume I’d win, not even for a second.

  Olivia appeared next to my locker, already carrying her books in her canvas monogrammed bag over one should
er. “I talked to Mr. Dean,” she informed me. “He told me since I’ve already run for office before, I’m excused from today’s meeting.”

  She was smiling like she had a wicked secret, waiting expectantly for something.

  “Oh,” I replied, unsure of why she remained standing there, next to my locker, as I stuffed my backpack with books I wouldn’t touch again until Sunday afternoon.

  “Sooooooo,” Olivia said, dragging the word across an entire octave of notes, “will you come to the mall with me?”

  I closed my locker and twisted the lock. “Olivia, you’re excused from the meeting, but I’m not. I have to go if I want to run, even though it’s just a dumb requirement.” Under any other circumstances, I would have abandoned whatever plans I’d made for myself to partake in anything Olivia asked of me. But Olivia already had everything; she didn’t really need me to forfeit my shot at holding class office to go shoe shopping with her. Still, I felt like refusing to join her on her drive to Green Bay might jeopardize every element of my new life, including my plans to go to the dance with her brother in just over twenty-four hours.

  “I know, I know. I really don’t want to drive to the mall alone, though. Please? We can drive down to Kenosha together, and I’ll even buy you tacos on the way?” Olivia stared me down with those warm lagoon-blue eyes of hers, clearly accustomed to getting her way. I felt my insistence on attending the meeting beginning to slip from my grasp. I couldn’t give in to her will; I wouldn’t. If I folded on my intent to run for office, it would be a hasty decision that I’d regret all year.

  I tried to suppress my rising annoyance with her for suggesting that her reluctance to shop alone had greater importance than my need to establish myself at school. “I would, Olivia, honestly, but I really want to run for class treasurer. It’s just one meeting. It’ll probably be over in twenty minutes, if you can wait.”

  Olivia sighed; she was cross with me but accepted that I wasn’t going to cave. “Not even. Mr. Dean will blab for, like, forty minutes, and make you all suffer through a lesson about the electoral college and how our stupid Student Government elections at Willow High School compare to presidential elections in this country. I’ve endured it twice.”