Half In Love With Death (8 page)

“I always assumed Steve would be here to watch my games.” His face stiffened. “This war is ruining everything. My dad will kill me, but if it's still going on when I graduate, I'm going to Canada.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “And run away like Jess?”

“Caroline,” he said. He kicked a stone into the gutter. It clattered when it hit the bottom. “I meant to tell you a while ago, but I didn't know how. That party I mentioned was on the night your sister went missing.”

“Did you see her?” My heart was beating like a mad butterfly.

He sighed. “It was dark and I was drunk. I didn't see her there.”

“Did you see a red car or anything that seemed strange? Try to remember. Even the smallest detail could help.”

He pushed his hand through his hair. “I'm trying to remember. I wish I hadn't been so drunk.” He stared at me a moment too long. I wondered if he was about to kiss me. He started to say, “There was something,” but then stopped. Linda's car drew up to the curb. May and Sheila got out and came over to us.

“What's going on, guys?” May clasped her hands in front of her.

I glanced at Billy. “We were talking about Jess.”

She leaned into him and whispered, “Don't you go scaring Caroline with more stupid rumors.” Then she took his arm and the three of them headed toward his house. She asked if I was coming, but I told her no.

• • •

I'd hardly gotten through our front door before Mom was breathing down my neck, shouting, “I can't believe what you did.”

“What did I do?” I asked cautiously.

“Betty Beckham just called.” She sighed. “I know you lied about last night. Betty told me. The bus didn't break down and I don't know what's worse—the fact that you got a ride home from Tony, or that you lied about it.”

I glanced away. “I only said that because I knew you'd be more worried if I told the truth.”

“The truth? So tell me, Caroline, what is the truth?”

All I wanted to do was leave the room but she wasn't about to let that happen. “Mom, the bus was really late and Speedway was creepy, so we let Tony drive us home.”

“That's not what Betty told me. She said May wanted to wait for the bus, but you insisted on the ride from Tony. And now she thinks you're a bad influence on May. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is for me?”

“That's not true.” I wondered why May had said that. Was she mad because Billy walked me home?

“And I should believe you over Betty? You?” She stood there, looking wronged, in front of the yellow buttercup-splattered curtains that she'd managed to finish in spite of everything going on.

“Go ahead, believe her if you want. You don't care about me. You don't even care that Jess is missing. And you don't care about Betty, either. You only care about Ron.” The words just slipped out.

She gasped. “What are you talking about? Is something wrong with you?” She was staring at me as if she was convinced I was the worst person in the world. She went on, “Really, I'm worried you're becoming a pathological liar.”

“Mom,” I said, “I saw you and Ron on the patio.”

“So now you're spying on me?”

“I wasn't spying on you. I was outside by the pool.”

“Ron and I were just talking. He was comforting me. God knows, no one else does. You have no idea how hard this all is.”

I flinched.

She went on, “That's all it was, no matter what your twisted mind tells you.”

“Okay, Mom,” I said.

“It's not okay.” She grabbed my arm. “You lied and you put yourself in danger. Don't you think I have enough to worry about?” I wouldn't look at her. “You are never, ever to have anything to do with Tony again. Do you understand that?”

I bit my lip. “I do understand. I understand that he wants to find my sister. What's wrong with that? Tony said Schwab's Pharmacy was important, but Dad didn't even bother to go there. Both of you just want to drink and forget about her.”

She stared at me as if I was the greatest disappointment on earth.

I went upstairs and slammed my door, hoping she heard. It would serve my parents right if I never spoke to them again. But none of this was as bad as May telling on me for going with Tony.

I hadn't told on Jess for going off with Tony the night she disappeared. I thought I was doing the right thing—what anyone I knew would have done. It was so hard to know what the right thing to do was.

As I sat and thought, a poem for the assignment came to me and I hurried to write it down before I lost the inspiration. After a few tries I had this:

Death and the Buttercup

I went over to the window and peered down at the street. There were streets running parallel to ours, and more streets beyond those. All over the world there were streets and Jess might be on any one of them, reaching down to buckle her shoe, pushing her hair behind her ear, smiling at a stranger. She was
somewhere
, and if she was somewhere she could be found. I'd always assumed that even if no one else could, Dad would find her. But Dad had given up. Everyone had.

A red car stopped in front of Billy's house. My hand went to my throat, but it was just Linda again. May came outside with Sheila and Billy. They whispered to each other. Sheila glanced my way but didn't see me. I pushed up the window, but I still couldn't hear them. What were they talking about? Geraldine? About something Billy remembered from the party? My stomach twisted as they drove away. Dad had said we had to wait for a decent kid to come forward. But kids didn't talk to parents—they talked to other kids.

I felt something soft as I pressed my hands down on the sill. It was a dead moth, all gray and powdery. I screamed, frantically brushing it off my palm.

I took slow, deep breaths. They were going somewhere now, laughing at jokes I couldn't hear. But soon I would hear. I would listen to everything they said, and make them tell me their secrets. I turned away from the window. Maybe it was up to me to find my sister.

The next day at lunch, I sat down at a table with May, Sheila, and Billy. They all stared at me as I took a bite of my tuna salad roll.

“I'm going to look for Jess myself and I'm going to find her. If anyone wants to help that would be . . . .” I paused. “Fantastic.”

Sheila crunched on a chip.

I went on, “It's time to get to the bottom of all these rumors.” May dropped her fork, and Sheila scurried to pick it up for her. As May stared at it skeptically, I forced myself to continue. “We need to listen and look for things we might not have noticed.” I cleared my throat. “Like I just realized that Linda drives a red car.”

May leaned across the table. “Excuse me?”

“It's just that everyone's talking about a red car,” I said.

Sheila smirked. “Jesus, Caroline. They're looking for someone driving a red car to California, not Linda's car that is parked in the school lot right now. I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

I glanced around the table. May had ratted me out about Tony. Sheila was awfully quick to put me down, and Billy looked like he was in a fog. Could I trust any of them? But I had to try. “I was just using it as an example. All I'm saying is we could start by asking kids we know if they've heard anything. We could listen in on conversations in the halls but pretend we're not listening. We might learn something important.” Sheila tugged on her hoop earring. May nibbled on a carrot stick.

Billy started to speak, but May cut him off saying, “That sounds like a good idea, really. Of course we'll help. It's just so hard to know what to do.” She looked up at the clock as if she was bored.

Sheila leaned close to her and said in a baby voice, “So a little birdy told me you and Billy are back together. Was Tweety right?” She glanced my way to make sure I heard.

May said, “We are.”

I noticed she and Billy were holding hands. She had big hands for a girl, and long, fat fingers. They weren't delicate like mine. I tried not to look at him, but I couldn't help it. He'd kissed me. I'd thought he liked me.

• • •

In English, May asked to borrow a pencil and I gave her one, but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of a smile. Then she asked to see the poem I'd written for the assignment due that day. I handed her “Death and the Buttercup” and watched as she bent over hers, scribbling furiously with
my pencil.

“Last-minute inspiration,” she said with a weak smile.

When Mr. Raymond said, “Who wants to read first?” there was a collective groan. He eyed May. “How about you, Miss Beckham?”

She dropped my pencil and made her way forward, one foot in front of the other in her charm school way. Her hands shook as she held up the sheet of paper, but before she could open her mouth he said, “One thing first. Can you answer a question?” She looked up.

Mr. Raymond smiled. “Is May short for anything? I find myself craving another syllable. Maybell. Maybelline?”

“No.” She frowned, and he told her to go on.

“Thinner.” Her lips sort of twitched as she read about wanting to be thin as a pin, as a grin, as the scar on the skin of a wrist that is slit, as a buttercup. I gasped as she added, “Before Death picks it.” She'd not only stolen Billy. She'd stolen my poem. She stared at the class grimly, and hurried back to her seat.

Mr. Raymond stroked his chin. “Thank you, May. Any comments?” When no one replied, he turned to her. “What we have here is another poem in the fine tradition of poets who are half in love with easeful Death. Would that be correct, Miss Beckham?”

She sighed. “I guess.”

I was relieved that the class ended before I had to read my poem. Mr. Raymond would probably have thought I'd copied her.

• • •

Lockers banged shut all around me as I grabbed my books. I was a fool for even trying this. I wasn't like Jess, meeting people at every turn, not caring if they didn't like her. I was too quiet. Kids rushed by without noticing me. They weren't going to talk to me. Billy wasn't going to be waiting at his locker for me, either. I slammed mine shut.

May came up behind me as I was heading outside. “I can't believe Mr. Raymond made me go first,” she said breathlessly.

“Well, I can't believe you practically stole my poem,” I said.

“That's not fair, Caroline. I just used it for inspiration.”

I turned to her. “You know what's really unfair?” She raised an eyebrow. “That you didn't cover for me about Tony.”

“It was your idea to go with him.” She stepped back. “And you never told me to cover for you.”

I sighed. “I suppose I never told you not to steal my poem, either.”

She hunched her shoulders and looked down at the ground. “I don't even belong in that class.”

Poor May, too tall, not thin enough.

“My brain is a like a dead frog,” she said.

“Why don't you write a poem about that? It's a brilliant metaphor.”

“Very funny, Caroline. You're so smart. You think of all these cool things so easily.”

If I didn't know better I'd think she was jealous of me, but everything except poetry came easily to her. Girls like May always got what they wanted. And no one ever told her “no.”

“Want to walk over to Billy's practice together?” She gave me her sweet smile.

I shrugged. “I'm not going today.”

She frowned. “It's not good for you to sit in your room and write about death.”

This was simply too much. “I have more important things to do than going to football practices. Like I told you at lunch, I have to find my sister.”

She stared at me. “You're not mad at me about Billy, are you?”

Mad? I was livid. She hadn't even told me they were back together until now. “I thought you broke up with him. You said he was boring.”

She paused, considering this. “I did, but things changed. Billy and I were together a long time. It's complicated with us. You can't expect me not to feel what I feel just because of what you feel. That wouldn't be fair, would it?” When I didn't answer she repeated, “Would it?” as if somehow I'd missed her ridiculous point.

It was no use arguing with her—she was always right. “No, it wouldn't be fair.”

I started walking away.

“You can't make a person feel bad for something they didn't do,” she called out after me. I pretended not to hear. She went in one direction toward where the playing fields were, and I went in the other. Billy's kiss wasn't that great, all teeth and tongues out of sync with each other. Nothing like the movies. And thinking about the orange soda taste in his mouth made me gag. May could have him.

I kicked a rock in the dust. So what if my friends couldn't be bothered to help me find Jess. I didn't need them. I'd talk to the person who'd been waiting for me after school almost every day this week, the person who knew my sister better than anyone, and who liked talking to me, though he wasn't talking to anyone else. The person who everyone told me
not
to talk to. I glanced across the street, disappointed to see that on today of all days he wasn't there. It figured. But as I was trudging home a car roared past, sending dust into my eyes. It banged a U-turn and fishtailed all over the road as it headed back my way. I squinted, my eyes stinging, and stopped dead in my tracks. No one else drove like that.

Tony slowed to a stop beside me. Debbie sat next to him, wearing a white uniform, a silver snowflake pin gleaming on her collar. He leaned out the window and said, “Something wrong, Twinkle Toes?”