In Between (23 page)

I grab a discarded pink kneepad and throw it in her direction, and Maxine’s deep laugh fills the tiny apartment.

On her return, my foster grandmother brings me a glass of lemonade and puts it on the coffee table. Right next to a coaster.

“
Sooo
. You were telling me about meeting Sam Dayberry at the theatre.” Maxine throws herself back onto the couch. She grabs a pillow and fluffs it.

“No, I wasn’t.” I keep my voice neutral, like this isn’t more interesting than
Days of Our Lives.

“Oh, I thought you said something about him. I’m old. I don’t hear very well.” She flicks a piece of lint off the couch.

“Maxine, the FBI doesn’t have equipment that picks up sound as well as you do. You know I didn’t say a word about Sam.
You
did.”

Maxine adjusts a ring on her finger, then studies her nails.

We sit in silence, and I begin to count in my head how many seconds it will be before she cracks.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three Mississippi.

Four Mississippi.

Five—

“Okay! Fine! Just tell me what you know!”

I pretend to consider this for a moment. Maxine drums her fingers on the arm. She crosses then uncrosses her legs.

“Tell you what . . .”

“Yes?” She moves in closer.

“You tell me what you know about Amy, and I’ll tell you what I know about Sam.”

Maxine leans back, straightens her posture—on alert. “What did you say?”

I know I’m pushing it, but I need information here. This woman knows everything. “I said I will give you Sam information, if you tell me about your granddaughter.”

The climate in the room changes like a cold front just swept in. Gone is the silliness. The fun of the sundaes has melted, and the dreaminess of the book has disappeared. Maxine is serious. Her face unreadable.

“What is it you think you need to know?”

I glance out the living room window, expecting Millie to drive up anytime. “Why is she such a secret?”

Maxine looks at the floor for a few seconds then returns her eyes to mine. “Every family has their heartaches, girl. Ours is no different. Amy is my granddaughter, and wherever she is, I love her.” Maxine nods her head, her peroxide blonde waves swaying across her shoulders. “I love that child.” She sips her lemonade. “But that story is Millie’s to tell.”

“Why is it Millie’s to tell? Her daughter shouldn’t be a secret.”

“She’s not a secret.”

“Oh, no? Well, then explain the phone calls no one will talk about or the packages Millie takes to the post office every week or the weird tension between James and Millie sometimes.”

Maxine’s mouth stretches into a slight smile. “Sometimes you let things simmer for a long time without even realizing it. And we all need someone to come along and remind us to stir the pot. You know what I’m saying?”

“Stir the pot? Simmering? No. I don’t have the slightest clue as to what you are saying.” I need information. Not a spaghetti recipe.

“Well . . .” Maxine breathes in deeply, considering her words. “All I have to say is the Lord knows what he’s doing.” Maxine considers me for a brief moment then nods her head again. “Yes, I do believe the Lord knows just what he’s doing.”

W
e should name
our pig.

Frances turns her notebook around so I can see her scribbled message.

I scrunch up my face and whisper a very strong “No.”

Due to some evil plotting on the counselor’s part, today’s schedule is mixed up to accommodate torturous standardized testing for the juniors. So it’s Thursday classes on a Wednesday schedule. It’s taken me the entire three weeks I’ve been here to learn my daily routine, and then they play today’s cruel trick.

I decide next time I’m bringing nose plugs to biology class. It reeks like pickled pork and formaldehyde in this room. Mr. Hughes partnered us up today for our first foray into pig dissection. I was lucky enough to get Frances. And I’m serious. She can be a bit overenthusiastic for me sometimes, but I’m not so dumb I don’t know the value of a good lab partner. Besides, she’s growing on me.

“You may begin cutting. . . .”

I block out the rest of the teacher’s instructions and focus on a
Star Trek
poster on the wall. What is it with
Star Trek
and science teachers?

“Katie, are you listening?” Frances taps her pencil on the metal tray the pig is in.

I pull my shirt up over my nose. I will also be finding a face mask to bring with me to biology. I know dead pig vapors are seeping into my mouth. I’m eating pig air.

Frances hands me the dissecting knife. Like she thinks
I’m
gonna cut into that thing?

I slide the knife back her way. “I’m not ready to hurt this guy yet.”

Frances giggles. “You can’t hurt it, Katie.” She moves in closer, pushing the blade back onto my side of the table. “It’s already dead,” she whispers like she’s letting me in on a big secret. “Now let’s name him!”

“How do you know it’s a him?”

“Well, if you pick up his tiny leg and look to the—”

“Never mind! Okay, okay, let’s just get this over with.”

Frances sighs. “Tell you what. Rock, paper, scissors—best two out of three, and loser cuts into Sir Oinks-a-Lot here.”

I think it’s an established fact I don’t have good luck. Her rock smashed my scissors, and her paper covered my rock. Done deal.

I pick up the knife and approach the pig. Closer, closer, zeroing in on my target. Here I go—

“Frances, this seems ungodly.” I throw out the sentence I heard in church last Sunday.

She adjusts her safety goggles with the back of her gloved hand. “What?”

“Um, yeah. Last night when I was flipping through the Bible Millie gave me, I think I saw something in there about this.”

“Really? Let me guess, it’s in the book of Sausage?”

“Well, no.” There’s not a book of Sausage, right? “I think it’s in there with all the commandments. Like with the Ten Commandments.” I get another strong whiff of the animal, and my eyes cross.

Frances nods. “Oh, so thou shall honor thy father and mother. Thou shall not kill. Thou shall not commit adultery. Thou shall not—”

“Slice open a pig if you don’t want to, yes. Exactly. Chapter 12, verse 19, page one hundred?” I hold up my hand and add an amen. Because I am here to testify that I am not cutting into this animal.

Frances laughs and her whole face lights up. Even in a lab coat and surrounded by pig stench, she is beyond pretty. People like her should live on their own continent. That way the rest of us wouldn’t have to suffer.

“Katie, I won rock, paper, scissors fair and square; so get to it.”

All right. Here we go. And . . . cut.

“Hey, are you okay?” Frances’s voice echoes in my head.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I wore too many layers today. It’s an oven in here. “Did someone just turn the heat up?”

“Here, sit down.” Frances pulls out my lab stool.

“No, really, I’m good.” Seriously, did I forget my deodorant today because I am sweating like a—well, never mind.

“I’m going to work a little bit while you catch your breath, and then you can help me out.” Frances picks up the knife and goes to it, checking our lab manual every few minutes. “So . . . are you going to church tonight?”

“Bacon Bits.”

Frances looks around the room like she’s searching for a translator.

“What are you talking about?”

“Our pig.” The room spirals around me. “That’s his name.”

And then my world goes black.

“Katie! Katie, can
you hear me?”

Oh, no. I did
not
pass out. I have never passed out in my entire sixteen years.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

I peel open my left eye and see Frances’s face inches away from mine.

“Frances, if you administer CPR you will totally destroy any future chances of either one of us ever having prom dates.”

Frances sits back on her heels. “She’s come to, Mr. Hughes. She’s okay.”

Okay? I’m totally humiliated.

“You were only out a few seconds.” Frances checks her watch, then grabs my wrist, searching for a pulse.

I jerk my hand out of her grip. “Do you mind?”

Slowly I sit up, but only to find I am surrounded by twenty-five biology classmates gawking at me like I’m a new species. I stifle a groan, and with the help of an overly attentive Frances, I stand on my own two feet.

Mr. Hughes breaks through the masses. “Katie! Are you okay? Oh, you gave me such a scare.”

I rub the back of my head where a bump is starting to protrude. “Thanks, Mr. Hughes, but I’m okay.” Nice of him to care.

“Well, that could have been a disaster!” The teacher puts a hand to his chest, like he’s having heart palpitations. “It’s a good thing you didn’t knock the pig off the table. Those things cost over two hundred dollars!” With an exaggerated smile, my teacher runs a hand across his forehead. “Whew!”

“Mr. Hughes . . . I . . . you . . . oh . . . I’m taking Katie to the nurse.” Frances grabs my arm and begins to lead me out of the classroom.

“Oh, yes, by all means, take her to the nurse. I was going to suggest that myself.” Mr. Hughes takes one last survey of the pig and hands Frances the hall pass.

I follow Frances out into the hall. She grumbles to herself and stomps at quite a good pace.

“I mean, the
nerve
of that man!”

“Hey, Frances—”

“All he cares about is science and his precious equipment.” She throws her hands in the air and continues to storm away from me.

“Hello, injured here. Slow down.” My head is really starting to hurt.

“I should’ve let him have it last year during the science fair when Billy O’Rourke’s volcano experiment blew up, and Mr. Hughes made a mad dash and knocked Billy out of the way to save the beakers.”

“Frances . . .”

“I love science. I do. But I will not be one of those scientists who is disconnected from the world and everything around me.” Frances turns a corner and continues her conversation with herself.

I stop in front of the water fountain and get a drink, comforted by the cool of the water (but totally grossed out by what’s always in the water fountain). I wonder how long it will take before Frances realizes I’m not with her.

“Oh!”

Six seconds.

I hear Frances running down the hall. She skids to a stop beside me. “Katie, I’m sorry. Are you okay? Do you need help walking?”

I begin to laugh, but it jars my head. “No, I’m fine. I just wanted to let you have some alone time with yourself. You seemed to be in a pretty deep conversation. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Frances returns my smile, and it hits me that our status has changed. Does she think of me as her friend? Do I consider her a friend?

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Seriously. I’m fine. I would like to get some aspirin though.” We continue our walk, slowly this time, toward the nurse’s office. “So . . . I was going to check out the drama department at lunch. Get a look at those cast pictures you were telling me about.”

“The pictures of Amy Scott?”

“Yeah. Um, do you want to come with me?” Maybe seeing the pictures would jar Frances’s memory about anything she might know about Amy.

“I have a student council meeting during the last fifteen minutes of lunch—”

“Oh, okay, yeah, no problem. I don’t need help or anything. I was just being polite and—”

“We could go during the beginning of lunch.”

My mouth opens. Then closes. “Really?”

“The bell is going to ring any second now. If we go as soon as the nurse is done with you, it will give us a good fifteen minutes to check out Amy’s pictures.”

“Thanks, Frances. I really appreciate it.” I’m touched that Frances, who’s a member of nearly every club and organization in this school, and who practically needs her own secretary to keep up with it all, would pencil me into her schedule.

The bell rings when I’m in the nurse’s office, and after five minutes of assuring Frances and the school RN I’m fine, I am released with a couple of aspirin and a baggie of ice to put on the bump.

“Okay, on to the theatre department. Have you met Mrs. Hall yet?” Frances keeps up a steady pace while I walk behind her, leaving a trail of water from the leaking ice pack.

“Um, no, haven’t met her.”

“She’s the head drama teacher. Maybe you’ve seen her. Long, red hair and wears a different colored scarf over her head every day? She usually dresses in black. Wears a lot of jewelry. She’s cool though.”

We enter the school theatre, and I toss my ice pack in the trash.

I pause in the doorway for a moment and take in the theatre. Like the Valiant, this place just kind of speaks to me. It’s like it has an attitude of its own. I love the quiet. And the history. That old beat-up stage has seen a lot of plays, I would imagine. Lots of Chihuahua thespians. What would it feel like to be on the other side of those heavy black curtains when they rise? What would it be like to be in the spotlight, getting a standing ovation, being in an auditorium full of people who can’t stop clapping for you?