Then I Met My Sister (18 page)

She starts rushing back into the kitchen, but Aunt Nic is shooing her away. “We’re got it, we’ve got it,” she assures her. Mom hesitates, then smiles and walks out of the room.

Aunt Nicole and I squat on the floor and gingerly start tossing pieces of glass into the wastebasket.

“Should I tell her?” I ask.

She looks at me quizzically.

“Should I tell Mom about the journal? Doesn’t she deserve to know?”

Aunt Nic’s eyes lock with mine. “I don’t know what to tell you, honey. I’m sorry I’ve put you in such a tough spot.”

I pluck more glass from the floor.

Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like such a tough spot anymore.

Thirty-Six

“Can I help you?”

“Uh …”

I stare frantically at the plump brunette who has just opened the front door of her apartment to me, a baby in her arms. She’s dressed in shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Her eyebrows seem locked into a perpetual V, making her look angry.

Even when she arches her brows (which she’s doing now, prodding me to say something), the V stays in place.

God. Why didn’t I anticipate somebody besides Chris answering the door?

“Um … ” I say. “I’m looking for Chris Ferguson. Is he home?”

She narrows her eyes.

“He went to Chapel Heights High School, right?” I ask, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Yeah?”

“I’m a senior at Chapel Heights. Well, I will be in the fall. We’re doing an alumni survey. I was hoping he might be willing to answer a few questions.”

She tosses her head sideways.

“Chris!” she calls.

We stand there for a second, the baby reaching a pudgy hand in my direction.

“Chris!” the lady bellows again.

Jeez. The poor baby has to look at that scowl all the time.

I hear footsteps listlessly approaching the door.

Then I see him.

He gives me a blank stare. I pitch forward slightly, studying his face. He’s got a slight paunch, dirty-blond hair, and a receding hairline. His features are even, and pleasant enough—I guess he had the potential to be good-looking a few years back. But now he just looks average, like the person you have to pass in a front office to get to the office of the person you’re there to see. The kind of person nobody ever notices.

What the hell did Shannon see in him?

Now he’s doing the eyebrow arch thing, waiting for an explanation.

The brunette turns and disappears into the apartment with the baby.

I take a deep breath. “I’m Shannon Stetson’s sister.”

The slightest hint of surprise flickers in his eyes. He stands silently for a moment, then closes the door as he joins me on the stoop, nudging me slightly backward in the process.

“What do you want?” he asks in a lowered voice.

He’s towering over me. I didn’t realize how tall he was until I could feel his breath on my face. My knees buckle slightly.

“You dated Shannon before she died … right?”

He studies my face for a second, then nods almost imperceptibly.

“But you broke up?” I continue. “Right before she died?”

He holds a steady gaze. “Okay,” he says evenly.

Whatever that means.

“Why did you break up?”

He rubs his chin. “Why are you here?”

“I just … I don’t know. She kept a journal before she died. I’m reading it. She writes about you.”

His jaw tightens. I can tell that words are bouncing around in his head. “She was a nice girl.” That’s what he settles on. “I really don’t have anything else to say.”

I take a deep breath. “I’m meeting with Jamie later today.” I blurt out this lie so quickly, I don’t even remember forming it in my head.

Chris looks … what? Mad? Panicked? “What the hell?” he says, rubbing his chin again. “Why are you dredging up all this crap?”

I’ve really got his attention now. “Jamie told me that …”

“Jamie got pregnant on
purpose
.”

My jaw drops for a nanosecond. I shut my mouth and suck in my bottom lip.

“Right,” I say, trying to sound calm, almost bored even. “Shannon found out Jamie was pregnant, and then …”

“Jamie was always chasing after me,” Chris says, spitting out his words. “She was nothing but a pest.”

I bite the inside of my lip, willing my face to stay expressionless. I brush a windblown lock of hair out of my eyes.

“She faked being Shannon’s friend so she could get to me,” Chris continues, clenching his fists. “I told Shannon she was nothing but trouble.”

“And yet … you and Jamie ended up getting together.” It’s the most benign way I can think to phrase it. I don’t want to make him defensive.

“
One
time,” Chris says, his eyes bulging. “
One
time I let my guard down. And that’s all it took.” He jams his hands in his pockets, his face reddening. He shakes his head slowly.

“Right. Then you told Shannon that Jamie was pregnant.” I’m trying so hard to sound casual, you’d think we were discussing the weather.

Chris’ eyes flicker at me. “Jamie told her,” he mutters, the indignation still fresh in his voice. “Shannon would never speak to me again.”

I swallow hard. “So then, Jamie had the baby and …”

A vein in his neck throbs. “She told you she had my kid?”

“Um …”

Chris eyes me suspiciously. “What did Jamie tell you?”

I feel my face flush. “Nothing … nothing. I haven’t talked to her yet. We’re meeting later today, remember?”

He shakes a finger at me. “Well, don’t believe anything she says. That psycho is a liar.”

I glance at him anxiously. “So she didn’t have the baby.”

He eyes me suspiciously. “Are you playing some kind of game with me?”

Damn. I fold my elbows across my chest, shift my weight, and stare at my sneakers. “No, I just …”

“Look. I don’t know what you know and what you don’t know, or why the hell you’re showing up on my doorstep, but I’ve said all I’m going to say.” He turns to open the front door.

“Wait …” My eyes fill with tears. “Did you love her?” I ask, and he stops in his tracks.

“Did I love Jamie?”

My jaw drops again. “No. Shannon. Did you love Shannon?”

My sister, you moron.

He shrugs. “Shannon? Yeah.”

Oh God. He might as well be commenting on his favorite football team.

I clamp my teeth together. “Because she loved you, you know.”

His eyes fall.

“
She loved you
,” I repeat, my voice trembling.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah.” He looks puzzled. “We were kids, you know?”

This imbecile. This stupid clod that Shannon wanted to marry, to spend the rest of her life with, was screwing her best friend behind her back and dismissing Shannon as casually as if she’d been a girl behind a counter serving him ice cream.

“Did you even go to her funeral?” I suck in my bottom lip to steady it.

Anger flashes across his face, but then his expression softens. “It tore me up when she died,” he mutters. “Especially since I never got a chance to explain …” He sighs. “I guess there was nothing
to
explain. I was a jerk. But I was sorry. I wish she’d let me tell her I was sorry.”

A tear rolls down my cheek and I take a deep breath. “Do you think she hit that tree on purpose?”

His shoulders stiffen. “On purpose? You mean, because of … ?”

He can’t even comprehend it—being heartbroken enough, betrayed enough, to want to die.

“No,”
he says emphatically, but it’s obvious he was considering the possibility for the first time. Bastard. Did he even lose a single night’s sleep over Shannon’s death?

I hug my arms tighter across my chest, shivering in the humid ninety-degree heat. What do I want from him? A lifetime of teeth-gnashing?

I don’t know. But I can’t bear him reducing Shannon to a fling, an afterthought.

“I wish I’d been here to protect my sister from guys like you.”

Chris plants a hand on his hip and wags his finger at me again. “Like I said, I don’t know why you showed up on my doorstep, but the past is the past. That’s it.”

He turns around, flings his front door open with a flourish, and slams it shut behind him.

That’s it.

The rubber soles of my sneakers pad down the concrete apartment steps.
Thud, thud, thud.
I reach the landing and run toward Gibs’ car in the parking lot.

He gets out of the driver’s seat as I approach him. I fall into his arms, crying.

“Bastard.
Bastard
,” I mutter.

“What did he say?” Gibs asks, pulling my shoulders back so he can study my face.

I shake my head, squeezing tears out of my eyes. “She was nothing to him. A fling! It never even crossed his mind that she might have wrecked her car on purpose.”

“He said that?”

I nod. “Among other things. Remember Jamie, the ‘best friend’?”

Gibs’ eyes prod me on.

“He got her pregnant. Chris got her pregnant! That’s what Shannon was so upset about.”

Gibs exhales slowly.

“It was just another summer vacation to him,” I say bitterly. “Shannon was nothing but some cute girl to hook up with. As long as he got what he wanted from her, he was happy enough. Then, when he got bored … on to the next girl.”

Gibs interlaces his fingers with mine. “I think that’s all that most guys are capable of at this age.”

I shake my head. “Why couldn’t she have met someone like you?”

His dark blue eyes look so kind. Usually he looks down when I compliment him, but this time, his eyes stay locked with mine. “Thank you,” he says softly.

A breeze ripples through my hair. “She wanted to marry him,” I say, rolling my eyes at the stupidity of it all. “Shannon was so smart, but she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this stupid, shallow guy. If only she’d listened to Mom.”

Gibs studies me closely, then the slightest of smiles creeps across his lips.

I drop my head and laugh. I’m as stunned as he is at what I’ve just said.

Thirty-Seven

“Excuse me …”

I hadn’t planned on stopping by Mr. Kibbits’ classroom. It’s registration day at school and I’ve come to the cafeteria to pick up my schedule. It was while I was standing in the
N-Z
line, smiling nonchalantly at familiar faces as they milled around the room, that I decided to pop my head into his room. I’m glad I haven’t thought it through. I have no idea what I’m going to say to him. I’m not even sure he’s here.

But he is.

“Summer!” he says brightly, looking up from his desk as he sees me hovering in the doorway. His gray hair looks freshly trimmed, framing his boyish face. His tie is loosened.

“Come in, come in!” he adds, glancing at the piece of paper I’m holding. “A problem with your schedule?”

I shake my head.

He smiles. “I didn’t think so. Come sit down.”

He nods toward a chair by his desk, then stands up and waves me toward it.

I sit down as he gathers the papers on his desk into a stack and moves them aside. He crosses his arms, leans back casually, and looks me in the eye.

“So. How are you doing?”

I tug a lock of hair. “Okay. I just wanted to say hi.”

He pauses, studying my face. “Have you finished Shannon’s journal?”

My eyes fall, and I stare at my fingers. “
She
didn’t finish it,” I say softly. “Life just … left her hanging, you know?”

He pauses, then nods. “I guess that’s what ultimately happens to everybody. We’re here one day, gone the next.” He clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to sound insensitive,” he qualifies.

“It’s okay,” I insist. “I know it’s a bummer she died so young, but I’m kinda getting that. We’re here one day, we’re gone the next, and life goes on.”

I steal a glance at him. “Did you know her boyfriend got her best friend pregnant?”

Mr. Kibbits blushes and looks at his lap. “There were rumors.”

“Did Jamie have the baby?”

He tugs at the knot in his tie. “No. She was in school that fall.”

“An abortion?”

He blushes again. “I don’t know, Summer. Maybe a miscarriage. I never knew Jamie very well, and I think she dropped out before she graduated. But she was in school most of the year, and she obviously wasn’t pregnant. For whatever reason, her pregnancy didn’t last long.”

“And Chris?” I persist. “Did she and Chris stay together?”

He shakes his head vigorously. “I don’t think they were ever together.”

Of course. She was just having his baby, that’s all. Jamie meant nothing to Chris. For the first time, I feel a stab of pity toward her.

I take a deep breath, then look into his eyes. “Do you think Shannon drove into that tree on purpose?”

I can tell that Mr. Kibbits wants to look away, but he forces himself to hold my gaze. I hear the ticking of his clock as a few seconds pass.

“No,” he finally says in a firm voice. “Shannon was a very smart, sensible girl. She had her whole life ahead of her.” He pauses. “She didn’t … imply anything like that in her journal, did she?”

I clutch my schedule tighter. “She found out right before she died that Jamie was pregnant. She was really upset.”

Mr. Kibbits’ eyebrows weave together.

“But a couple of days after she found out, she wrote about going to school to pick up her schedule … just like I’m doing now,” I continue. “I’m sure she was still upset, but the entry was … I don’t know … matter-of-fact.”

The clock ticks away more seconds.

“She wouldn’t have picked up her schedule, she wouldn’t have seemed so matter-of-fact, if she was planning to …” My voice drifts away.

Mr. Kibbits nods quickly, as if he’s convincing himself at the same time he’s trying to convince me. “Right. She was moving on.”

“That was her last journal entry,” I say. “The Wednesday of that week is when she found out about Jamie. She wrote,
I want to kill myself
. But then, two days later, she’s writing about picking up her schedule, what classes she’s taking, planning to carpool with Eve. Did you see her any of that week? The days before she died?”

“No,” he says quietly. “I wish I had. I didn’t know she was going through such a hard time. About all that, anyway. The rumors about Jamie didn’t get cranked up until school was back in session, so … I didn’t know. I wish I’d been able to help her.”

My eyes flicker toward his. “I know about my dad now.”

He studies my face for a second.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I finger my chin. “All her illusions evaporated that summer,” I say, more to myself than to him. “She found out about Dad’s affair, she realized Mom was all about appearances, she got her heart broken …”

Mr. Kibbits picks up a pencil and taps it against his desk, the rhythm jarringly dissonant with the ticking of the clock. “Life’s never that cut and dried,” he says. “Shannon had some problems, but she was working through them. If she’d lived longer, she would’ve had
new
problems, then worked through those. Like all of us do.” He lets the pencil drop from his grasp. “That’s life.”

He leans closer toward me. “I’m sorry you had to learn about the turmoil she was going through. I’m sorry she had some tough breaks before she died. But her life wasn’t about turmoil and tough breaks, Summer. I knew her. Trust me—she was happy.”

I hug my arms together. “As best as I can tell, her life never had many tough breaks before that summer. Maybe it was too much for her. Maybe she didn’t want to live unless her life could be perfect. Maybe she didn’t think she
deserved
to live if her life wasn’t perfect.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“You know what I think?” Mr. Kibbits says in a faraway voice, fingering his pencil again. “I think she was growing up that summer, getting wiser and stronger. I think she would have made a hell of a grown-up.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“I wish I could have helped her,” I say.

Mr. Kibbits smiles at me. “She would have wanted to help
you.”

I swallow hard to tamp down the knot in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut, and when they open, they fall on the schedule I’m holding in my lap …

1st period: Spanish II, rm. 108, Dawson

2nd period: English Composition, rm. 222, Brantley

3rd period: Sociology, rm. 206, Parkinson

4th period: Lunch

5th period: Anatomy, rm. 417, Raleigh

6th period: Gen. Statistics, rm. 303, Portman

7th period: Study Hall, rm. 136, Bell

I glance up at Mr. Kibbits.

“Here’s my schedule,” I say, handing it to him. “Wanna take a look and give me the inside scoop on my teachers?”

His face brightens. He takes my schedule and feigns a look of intense concern.

“My God, you’d be better off getting taught by monkeys.”

We laugh.

“Kidding,” he says. “Although Mrs. Parkinson
is
a little on the boring side. The word in the teachers’ lounge is that several students have actually lapsed into comas during her class. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

He hands me back my schedule and we smile.

“Sorry I can’t be in your English class,” I tell him. “AP classes are a little out of my league.”

He taps his pencil on the desk again. Now, it’s in synch with the ticking of the clock.

“I’m sorry, too. I don’t think you have a clue how much you’re capable of. But you’ll find out.”

I nod. “Thanks for talking to me,” I tell him.

He nods back, then holds up an index finger. “You know … a teacher’s recommendation is all it would take to transfer you from College-Prep English to AP Comp,” he says. “And if
I
happened to be the teacher to make the recommendation, then I could pretty much guarantee which AP Comp class you’d end up in.”

I blush and smile.

“Push yourself a little, Summer,” Mr. Kibbits says. “I think you’d do a great job in my class. What do you say?”

I shrug. “I think I’d love your class.”

He nods. “Then it’s a done deal. But rest up this weekend. I’ll work you pretty hard.”

I smile. “I think I’m up for it.”

He smiles back. “I think so, too.”

I whisk a lock of hair off my shoulder. “Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome. Really. I think you’re going to have a wonderful year.”

I smile and stand up. I reach out to shake his hand, then feel vaguely self-conscious. A handshake? When the hell did I start shaking people’s hands?

But Mr. Kibbits takes my hand and embraces it warmly.

“You’re going to have a great year,” he repeats.

And, just like that, I believe him.