And Then I Found Out the Truth (5 page)

“Are you insane?” said Charley. She took me by the arm and began steering me briskly along the sidewalk, like she was a nurse and I was a patient who’d wandered away from the psych ward. “First, if you’re talking about
Flowers for Algernon,
it was a mouse, not a rat. And second, please, please tell me you’re not turning into one of those girls.”

“One of which girls?”

“One of those awful girls who spends all her time obsessing about some guy and dissecting his every single word and action for hidden meaning because if he’s tied his shoes with a double knot that means true love but a single knot means he’s moved on. I’ll tell you now: Quinn is totally into you. It’s absolutely, blindingly clear to anybody who’s seen you together. And when we get home, you’re going to call him and once you’ve finished finding out for sure whether or not his father’s off to Argentina, you’ll end up cooing at each other like little lovebirds and all will be well.”

Even under the best of circumstances I would’ve had doubts about the cooing lovebirds part, but I recognized Charley had a lot more experience in romantic matters than I did, which wasn’t hard since I had none. And I did need to confirm Hunter’s destination, too. So as soon as I thought there was a reasonable chance Quinn’s family outing had ended, I called him. And I had to admit, he sounded perfectly fine.

I mean, it wasn’t like he confessed his undying love or anything, but the conversation felt easy, the way it usually feels once I get past the brain paralysis. He wasn’t cool or aloof or indifferent. And I even managed to work in the Argentina question in a way that actually seemed to fit, though I didn’t get a chance to bring up Homecoming.

“How was Chuck E. Cheese?” I asked.

“The kids drank a gallon of Coke each, so they won’t get to sleep until sometime next year, but we all made it through in one piece. Or as close to one piece as Bea and Oliver will ever be.” I could hear them chattering in the background, along with assorted clattering and clanking. “They also won a bunch of prizes that require assembly, so now my dad’s trying to put everything together, and he’s not the handiest guy. He’s probably looking forward to eleven hours alone on a plane.”

Eleven hours was about the length of Rafe’s flight from New York to Buenos Aires. “It’s Argentina, then?” I asked as casually as I could. Charley was not so secretly listening in on my side of the conversation, and she silently applauded my subtlety from across the room.

“Yeah. And do you want to hear something scary?”

“Sure.”

Quinn lowered his voice. “I know I don’t always pay attention when Hunter says where he’s going, but when I do pay attention, at least I have some general idea what he’s talking about. But I don’t think Fiona gets the difference between Mexico and Argentina. She kept making Hunter promise he’d bring back piñatas for the kids. And that’s when she wasn’t warning him to go easy on the margaritas and reminding him nachos are high in saturated fat —”

There was a sudden crash behind him, followed by several thumps, and either Bea or Oliver or possibly both began to shriek, so loudly I automatically held the phone away from my ear so I wouldn’t burst an eardrum.

And by the time I got the phone back to my ear, I’d missed most of whatever Quinn said after that. All I caught was “emergency room” and “ ’night, Juliet.”

Then he was gone, before I could even say good night back.

Six

The next morning, I tried to convince Charley I was perfectly capable of getting around town without an escort. After all, nobody had tried to kill me in nearly a week — it was entirely possible the evildoers had decided they shouldn’t be worried about a sixteen-year-old Prescott student or, even better, forgotten about me altogether. But Charley still insisted on taking me to school, though she refused to talk about Quinn.

“I might be done having that discussion,” she announced on the walk to the subway. “A million times in twelve hours is a lot, especially when we were only awake for four of those hours.”

“It hasn’t been anywhere near a million times,” I said.

“It certainly seems that way, at least it does from the perspective of a sane and rational person,” said Charley, apparently unaware that sane and rational people tend not to wear outfits made entirely of purple corduroy, complete with a matching rhinestone-studded beret. “However, because I am your kindest and most understanding aunt, not that Patty offers much competition, I’ll say this one final time: Quinn likes you. He was also concerned his siblings might be in mortal danger, and I think that’s a legitimate reason for him to get off the phone without causing you to question his affections. It wasn’t like he suddenly decided he had to take up quilting or feed his pet sea monkeys.” “But —”

“Delia, I recognize developing confidence in a new relationship can be challenging, but you are the star of your own movie, not a supporting actress in Quinn’s movie. You don’t merely react to others; you determine how your own plot unfolds.”

Sometimes I wondered if Charley even made sense to herself. “But —”

“Not discussing it,” she said.

“But —”

Charley stuck her fingers in her ears and started singing “Holiday” out loud — ever since the code-drafting session, she’d had Madonna’s greatest hits playing nonstop in the loft — and she kept singing for the rest of the walk to the subway, which was still several blocks away. She only stopped after we’d descended into the station and she needed her fingers to get her MetroCard from her wallet.

“I have a brilliant idea,” she said as we waited on the platform for an uptown train. “Why don’t you try obsessing about Quinn with somebody else? Like Natalie. Or one of your friends from Palo Alto. Or anyone at all whose tremendous, saintlike patience hasn’t been worn dangerously thin by having to repeat the same advice over and over and over again.”

Charley had a point, though I didn’t think I could handle Natalie’s tough love on this topic. It was possible she’d be more indulgent now that she had a crush of her own, but indulgent for Natalie might still leave a lot of people emotionally scarred. On the other hand, talking to Erin, my best friend from home, wasn’t such a bad —

My heart did that sinking thing it does when you realize you might have done something unforgivable. I tore open the clasp on my book bag and began frantically searching for my phone.

“What’s the date?” I asked Charley.

“September,” she said. “Or maybe October? It could be October. I do know it’s a Wednesday. It is Wednesday, right?”

I located my phone at the very bottom of the bag and dug it out, hoping it would tell me it wasn’t too late. But when I saw the date on the screen, my heart sank even further.

I’d missed Erin’s birthday.

And not just by one day, either. She’d turned seventeen a full forty-eight hours ago, and for the first time since we’d met at Palo Alto Montessori, I hadn’t been there to celebrate with her. Which would’ve been okay if I’d bothered to send a gift or call or make any effort whatsoever to show her I actually cared. Instead I’d completely spaced.

The worst part was that she probably wasn’t even angry. Knowing Erin, she’d made excuses for me, telling herself I hadn’t forgotten because I was a negligent friend but only because I had other things to worry about, what with being recently orphaned and miserable in a cold, unfeeling city three thousand miles away.

Which just made me feel all the more negligent, since it was so far from the truth. I mean, I wasn’t orphaned, not really, and while I was definitely looking forward to having T.K. back for good, Rafe had assured me she’d be safe as long as she took the proper precautions. And T.K. was like a poster child for proper precautions — we had a fully stocked first aid kit in every single room of the house in California, not to mention both the glove compartment and the trunk of the Prius, and neither of us was particularly accident-prone.

And as for being miserable in a cold, unfeeling city — well, that wasn’t exactly accurate, either. I’d be wearing my I
NY T-shirt at that very moment if I didn’t have to wear a uniform to school. Somehow, it was all both new and right at the same time, even when I was worrying about Quinn’s emotions potentially seeping away in a slow but irreversible decline.

The fact of the matter was there was only one real problem with the entire situation, and that was it was beginning to feel normal. Like this was home, and Palo Alto was a nice place where I’d lived a long time ago, back in some other life.

Which might complicate things when T.K. did return.

A brightening gleam of light from the mouth of the tunnel signaled the train’s approach, and thirty seconds later it pulled into the station with a screeching wail of brakes. The doors slid open, and we squeezed ourselves in with the other rush-hour passengers. Then the doors slid shut, the train left the station, and people started staring at us.

There might have been some strange glances before, out on the sidewalk, but I’d chalked that up to Charley’s singing. And for the first couple of stops, we were busy talking about how I could make up for missing Erin’s birthday, so I didn’t catch on right away. But once I did notice, it was impossible to ignore, and it just got more and more creepy at each stop, as some of the people who’d been staring would get off and new people would get on, take their places, and start staring at us, too.

When I saw a woman nudge another woman and point at us, like we were chimpanzees at the zoo, I couldn’t take it anymore. Charley was telling me about a service that would send Erin an ice sculpture carved from our own original design, but she stopped talking when I elbowed her. I had to stand on tiptoe to whisper in her ear. “People are staring at us,” I said.

“I know,” she whispered back. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.”

“How could I not notice? What do you think is going on?” “I have no clue —” she started to say.

And then we pulled into the station at 51st Street, the doors opened, and suddenly, everything became clear.

Charley gave a yelp. “I don’t believe it,” she said in shock. I was speechless, so I couldn’t reply.

“I’m going to kill him,” said Charley as the doors shut. “Kill him.”

Through the windows the tiled wall of the station began to blur as the train picked up speed, but I could still see the row of billboards, with the same image on each: the moment Charley and I first met.

It was from the night Dieter had been filming up on the roof of her building, when I’d accidentally wandered onto the set. Charley stood with her hands on her hips, looking imposing and glamorous in a red satin dress. I was also standing with my hands on my hips but looked far less imposing and glamorous since I was wearing jeans.

“What does Dieter think this is going to accomplish?” demanded Charley, as if I’d have any idea. “Is this what he meant by harnessing the power of visual media?”

I was still speechless, so I still didn’t reply.

“I’m going to kill him,” Charley said again.

There wasn’t any text on the billboards — just the two of us, standing there for no obvious reason. And judging by the way people had been staring before we reached 51st Street, there were similar billboards at other subway stations.

“Yes,” said Charley, not in response to anything I’d said but as if she’d definitively resolved an internal debate. “Dieter must die. I’m not going to tell you how, because that might make you an accomplice, but rest assured it will be a slow and painful experience for him.”

Charley had her phone out and Dieter’s number pulled up before we’d reached the station for Prescott, and she pressed SEND as soon as she had reception. Not surprisingly, his number went straight to voice mail. If Dieter had even half a brain, he’d hightail it out of the country before Charley could strangle him with his own scarf, and he’d stay away until she had an opportunity to calm down.

I couldn’t say I was thrilled, either, though I took some comfort in the knowledge that I didn’t have to worry about what people would say at school — hardly anybody at Prescott would have seen the billboards, since doing so involved public transportation. Except for the faculty and a few kids on financial aid, the Prescott community traveled by limo, car service, or taxi.

I only hoped the evildoers were equally subway-averse.

Seven

Rage made Charley walk faster, which also might explain why Patience was always so speedy. We arrived at Prescott a full ten minutes before the first bell.

Even though we were early, there were so many people out front it looked like school had already started but the building had been evacuated. Practically the entire student body and half the faculty had collected on the broad steps leading up to the main entrance, and they were all standing around in groups of two and three and four, talking intently in low voices.

“Is something special happening today?” asked Charley, taking in the mass of people.

“Not that I know of,” I said. It was possible there’d been an announcement of some sort, but I hadn’t been doing such a great job of paying attention lately.

Then a silver van pulled up and double-parked on the street, fencing in the headmaster’s Volvo in its reserved spot at the curb. This was like the Prescott equivalent of aggravated assault and treason combined, so a hush fell over the crowd, but the murmur of voices resumed with even greater intensity when two guys got out of the van. They wore matching black suits and white shirts, and each carried an aluminum attaché case. Wordlessly, they marched up the steps and disappeared inside.