Don't Kiss Him Good-Bye (18 page)

I opened the music. One title definitely caught my eye. “You Don’t Have to Call Me.” Why hadn’t I spoken up and said I didn’t want Ian to have my number?

Too
nice
, maybe.

Chapter 37

Thursday afternoon I came right home and
thwapped
that day’s Wexburg Academy
Times
down in front of Louanne, who was in the kitchen once again. “Here you go,” I said. “Practically ran home, as I promised I would.”

“Thanks, Savvy.” She gave me the first genuine smile I’d seen in a long time. But she wouldn’t open the paper before I left the kitchen. I peeked in from the living room and noticed Louanne moving toward the back door.

Dear Asking for Trouble,

I have a big problem and I don’t know what to do. It’s not dangerus, but it could be a bigger problem really soon. My family is nice, but if I tell anyone, they’ll make me do something I really can’t do and then I would have to disobey and get in even more trouble. What should I do?

Dear Dangerus,

It’s really hard to have a big problem and keep it all to yourself. Sometimes there are ideas or solutions you can’t see that someone else can. That’s why it’s always wise to get a few opinions or help from other people when trying to solve your problems. Why don’t you ask someone with the same values as you to help you out? That way they won’t ask you to do something you really can’t do, and you won’t have to disobey, either. Give yourself no more than one week to figure out who that might be. I can assure you that asking for help is better than asking for trouble.

Trustworthily Yours,

Asking for Trouble

Today was Thursday. I’d give her till Saturday the seventeenth, a week plus one day’s grace, and if she hadn’t spoken up by then, I’d have to break my own code of silence and let her know who I was.

Of course, someone else already knew who I was. I was toying with the idea of e-mailing them back, but I wondered if ignoring it altogether was a better strategy. I had to figure it out before someone else did. Like Natalie.

Chapter 38

Saturday afternoon was rainy, but Mom and I decided to walk to Be@titude anyway and make a day of it. We huddled together under a large brolly, giggling as we made our way up Cinnamon Street. Several others recognized us by now and waved in a friendly manner.

“Bit damp—can’t let it get the best of us then, right?” one plump neighbor lady said as her broom
tsk-tsked
correctingly across her damp sidewalk, brushing cigarette butts, soppy leaves, and a stray piece of paper into an obedient pile.

“Of course not!” Mom called back with a cheery wave. I think we’d earned some respect points by not letting the wet get to us.

“Let’s have tea beforehand,” Mom offered. Never one to turn down a snack, I agreed.

We walked up to the Orange Pekoe, and Mom shook and closed the umbrella before we walked in. A matronly woman with a white apron as wide as her smile greeted us. “Drop your brollies in the bucket, please!” she said before seating us at a cozy table near the window. She handed a tea menu to each of us—yes, a whole menu with only tea selections on it. I ordered blackberry bramble, and Mom ordered queen’s choice. A few minutes later, our waitress came by and set two plump white pots on the table along with charmingly chipped white china cups. Right in the middle of our table she gently set down a three-tiered tray with plates of treats on it.

“Lower tray you’ll find your sandwiches and such,” she said. “Do try the watercress. It’s particularly lovely today.” She then pointed out the middle layer. “Here are the hot items. Youse might want to try them first. Crab cakes, a little quiche. Mistress Brown in the back prides herself on the quiche.” She then indicated the smallish plate on top. “The sweets, of course. Little pot of sticky toffee pudding. Our homemade biscuits. And chocolate custard. Our specialty.”

She toddled back to the kitchen, and Mom and I started in on our food and tea. “Are you excited?” she asked me.

“About the tea?”

“About the dance, silly. And the dress.”

“I am
so
excited about the dress, Mom. I only hope she still has the one I like. Although . . . I don’t know how much it costs.” I had some money saved, but I was going to need help from Mom and Dad. I was well aware that this whole deal was going to cost a bundle. Dress, shoes, ball tickets, splitting the limo. Rhys had insisted on paying for my dinner. I had reluctantly agreed.

“And how about Rhys?” Mom asked. “Is he excited?”

I didn’t want to tell her that I thought it unlikely he got excited about anything because she’d like him even less than she did now. But I also didn’t like keeping secrets from my mom. Louanne had a secret. It wasn’t a good thing. Was mine? “I think he’s really looking forward to it,” I said. I popped a crab cake into my mouth and then ate some pudding and tried a watercress sandwich even though I was full to bursting. If I kept eating, I didn’t have to talk.

Mom didn’t seem to mind. She was going on about all the flowers she’d seen on her latest excursion to a huge garden centre the day she drove Dad to work so she could take the car. “The things I could do if I had that whole back garden,” she said. “It wouldn’t be big like your friends’ gardens,” she mused. “But I’d think of a theme.”

Just as we were about to pay, I heard an argument starting a few tables behind me. By nature or culture, British people have soft, controlled voices, especially in public. So a loud disagreement would certainly be considered bad form.

“So rude,” Mom said. “She looks to be about your age, and she’s treating her mother terribly.”

I could hear some of the things being said, and they sure didn’t sound kind. I couldn’t help it. Even though I didn’t have my notebook (in fact, I left it home more often now), my journalist’s sensibilities got the best of me. I had to see who that was.

“I’m going to the loo,” I said. “Before we shop.”

As I stood up, I purposely dropped my purse on the floor so I could turn around to see who it was. She didn’t seem to recognize me, but I recognized her.

Chloe.

Chapter 39