Lovely Vicious

“Would you like some juice? I have milk, too.”

“No, it’s alright. We’re just here for a moment. I wanted to know if you could get me your WIC paperwork. I need the pin on it and I was in the neighborhood, so I figured I’d drop by.”

“Of course! One second.”

She shuffles upstairs. Wren turns to me and sweeps his arm around.

“It’s cozy, isn’t it? Four bedrooms. Three baths. Not bad for a single mom with two mouths to feed.”

“It’s nice, but I don’t understand –”

“She works as a maid. Almost minimum wage.”

“So how does she get the mon –”

“Jack.”

I immediately start choking on nothing. “What?”

“He sends the money. Through me. To Belina, I’m a student who works with the food bank’s outreach program to supply funds to single mothers. But in truth it’s only her who gets the money.”

“But why –”

“I don’t know what Jack does exactly to get this money,” Wren interrupts coolly. “But I have an idea. If only someone could confirm it for me, I’d be very grateful.”

I bite my lip. “I can’t. He made me promise, Wren. He has my voice on tape –”

“I understand. That’s more than enough. Thank you for confirming my suspicions.”

“You can’t tell him you know.”

Wren chuckles. “Do I look like I have a death wish?”

“So –” I lower my incredulous voice. “So why Belina? What did she do?”

“It’s not what she did. It’s what Jack did.”

It dawns on me, a slow crawl of illuminating light-thought.

“Whatever he did that time in middle school. That’s linked to Belina?”

Wren nods. I’m about to ask another question when Belina trundles down the stairs. Wren makes a show of checking her papers and making small talk. So the money’s not just for Sophia. He lied. But why? Because he didn’t want me to know? Why the hell would Jack feel he owes Belina money? It’s a nice thing to do, but it has to have a reason. I feel like I’m missing some huge part, the one clockwork gear in the middle that’ll co

Wren and I take our leave, Belina waving from the porch and my head filled with more questions than ever. Wren won’t answer any more of them, keeping his mouth shut the entire way to his house.

I go home and scribble madly on paper like it will help me unravel the threads.

Two men hired by AveryBaseballbatSophiaWren with cameraJackBelina Belina moneyJackAveryWren fear SophiaJack Jack jack Jack Jack???jack

Sophia

Sophiais important

Jackloves her

My stomach twists.

Jack lovesher

***

There’s a sad finality as Thanksgiving approaches. People start freaking about college application deadlines. Teachers nag us to finish them and turn them in. The weather gets bitter-cold, the last of the trees shedding their golden fall leaves. The piles turn to mulch, and mulch turns to dirt the winter-fall rains wash out of the gutters and streets. Nothing is pretty anymore – gray skies and gray earth and gray, naked trees shivering in the breezes.

After two weeks, Kayla’s conquered the act of looking at Jack without bursting into tears. Wren was there with a box of tissue on her way to mastery, though, and for that she smiles at him more and even sits with him and I at lunch. Something’s brewing between them, and it makes me smile knowingly, because even if they are two hopeless nerd idiots, they are my hopeless nerd idiots, and I only want the best for anything of mine.

Avery’s comeback was a lot more anticlimactic then we all thought it’d be. She just showed up one day for school, dressed in her same clothes and with the same savage smile on. The girls flocking around Kayla instantly swarmed back to her, Kayla not included. A surge of pride ran through me when Kayla turned her back on Avery’s motion for her to come over. Kayla laced her arm in mine and we strutted away like the bad bitches we are.

Jack hasn’t looked at me, much. Which isn’t weird, since I know I’m a maggot on his shoe and all, but it’s a little odd he doesn’t like being in the same room as me, either. World History is the worst – he’ll make excuses to go to the nurses, and most days he’ll just straight up play hooky and never show for class. But I see him walking around campus and going to other classes. It’s only the class we share he never shows up for. I’d confront him about it, but I’m still torn about what really happened that night. His explanation made sense, but it didn’t ring true. It didn’t feel right.

And I’m bored. God, so bored. Now that we aren’t warring, my days are filled with nothing but homework and staring at teacher foreheads, wondering where they got their worst zits when they were my age.

I sit in Evans’ office, serving the last of my detention. One more day and I’m free of grading his easy-peasy papers and watching his balding head shine in the light of his self-inflicted glory.

“So, Isis.” He clears his throat. “The deadline for Yale’s application is next week.”

“I’m not going to an Ivy, Evans. We’ve discussed this previously. To death.”

“There’s no point to life if you don’t go to a good college,” he insists.

“Have you watched the Food Network recently? Eating is a fantastic reason for living.”

“If I may be completely honest with you, Isis, college is mostly for drinking and crying,” he says. I smother a laugh, and he becomes all business again. “But where you decide to go to drink and cry sometimes gets you far. Like, for instance, Harvard. You can get a mediocre grade in a mediocre-earning field and get a degree but it will be a Harvard degree, you see? It’ll speak volumes more than an Ohio State degree about your level of commitment.”

“And snobbery,” I mutter.

“Regardless,” he talks over me. “It’s too late. I’ve already applied you for Harvard, Yale, and Stanford.”

“What?” I bristle. “How –”

“Your father was very accommodating. He only wants the best for you, and provided all your personal information.”

“But, my required essay –”

“I pulled a few spectacularly fu

“My SAT scores –”

He holds up a paper. “Your father informed me you took the ACT before you left Florida, at his behest. You never got the scores because you moved, but your aunt sent them along. Take a look.”

Four massive, black numbers glare back at me; 32, 35, 33, and 9

“Exemplary scores across the board! Marvelous. You must have been in a much better state of mind for that test.”

“I can’t –” I’m speechless. “Where do you get off deciding where I should go to college?”

“Your father also told me you’re a particularly dutiful daughter, and that your mother is going through a rough patch in life. Trust me when I say I understand –”

“Do you?” I snarl. “I doubt that, baldy.”

He smiles patiently. “I had a father who was ill. Cancer. I stayed behind for three years while my friends went off to college to take care of him. He kept telling me to leave, but I couldn’t bring myself to. When he died the guilt that I couldn’t save him crushed me. But the way he told me he was proud of me – me, the boy who worked gas station night shifts – that he was proud of me, that made me feel even guiltier.”

I go quiet, my rage simmering instead of bubbling. I had no idea Evans had a life like that.

“So what, you tell me your whole sobby life story and I feel sorry for you and decide to go Stanford, is that it?” I ask quietly.

“No. I just wanted to tell you that I understand. I know what it’s like, to be kept against your will, even if your heart wants to stay. You’ve written the idea of going out of state completely. You’re willing to settle for a school that wouldn’t challenge you, just to take care of someone you love.”

I clench my fist around the armchair. Evans smiles.