Cameo (12 page)

“Go see,” Cindy said.

“No, what if they're coming in here? Turn the light off.”

It took me a few seconds to muster up the courage to see who was at the door. I just didn't want to open it and have someone staring at me on the other side. I cracked the door. Phew. There was no one standing there. I stole a quick glance through a crack in the door without being noticed.

“Jason,” I whispered. He was back into this whole mess.

“Is he alone?” Cindy asked.

“Yeah, he's going into the coach's office.” Was it actually possible that the coach was in on this?

“Don't freak out. He is so in the bag,” Cindy said.

“Last time I used the words ‘in the bag,' I got a B minus on my bio exam,” I said.

The question was who
wasn't
in on this? Now might have been a good time to disclose that I had no idea who the coach was or what team he coached for. The only words on the door read
COACH
. He didn't even have to be a real coach. How deep of a secret was this society? The coach's office could've been the real meeting place, and maybe there was no coach at all.

“I'm going over there,” I said.

Cindy grabbed my arm firmly, like a parent harnessing a stubborn, spoiled child. “You do like him, don't you?” she asked.

I was silent.

“You're getting out of hand. I'm counting on six people for our limo. Unless you want to kick in for two seats, I wouldn't go over there,” Cindy said.

Every once in a while, she surprised me. This wasn't about the prom limo. I knew that she knew that I really dug him. Too bad! I couldn't let my feelings for a boy run my life.

“We should go. I mean there is only so long I can stay in this eight-by-four closet,” I said.

“I know, I get claustrophobic in my ten-by-ten walk-in closet at home,” Cindy said.

I opened the door. It couldn't have been any noisier. The loud, creaking sound alluded to the need of some WD40 on the hinges. If there was a cat to be let out of the bag, it was definitely on its way out. The door marked C
OACH
was closed.

“All clear,” I whispered to Cindy. I stepped into the middle of the gym. “Ouch. Could you not step on the back of my shoe?” I said.

“Actually, those are my shoes anyway,” Cindy said.

Right then, I noticed that there was something underneath the leg press. “Do you see that?” I mean, this could've been some mirrored illusion.

“That white hat? Absolutely.” Cindy snatched that hat up with contempt. Her eyes scoured every inch of that hat, inside and out. She turned up one long blonde hair and one short brown hair.

Suddenly, Jason opened the door. He was standing at the doorway with the door cracked, and his attention was focused on someone sitting behind the desk. I couldn't really see them. Cindy and I made like two Corvettes and left in him our dust. FYI: That's going to be the first car that I buy myself. A Corvette.

We were almost at my house. Riding in Cindy's car was fabulous! It was a beauty, a shiny black Thunderbird convertible with super-soft cream leather seats. She almost always had the top down. I loved it when the breeze blew through my hair. For a few moments, I felt optimistic, like life was for the taking.

“Your mom was so glad your father decided to get his car fixed,” I said.

“That was no coincidence. If you want things to happen, you have to make them happen. Much like how I merely reminded my mother that our life seemed to be shrinking right before our eyes. My dad downscaled the new kitchen remodel! Then he attempted to slash the backyard landscaping budget in half, eliminating the fire pit and grill. I mean, it was really up to her to save us from ridicule. I only insinuated that my uncle may have been right. We were becoming a discount family. On her side of the family, we're the only ones who drive American cars.”

Cindy's Thunderbird coupe, which cost more than most of the teachers' cars at our school, was apparently the equivalent of bumming around. She did have a knack for getting her way, though.

“Nice work. Resurfacing insecurities in the heart of your mother can be an effective way to get things done,” I said.

“Don't judge me. You would turn on anyone in a heartbeat if they represented popularity or narcissism. In my book, that makes you as shallow—just with bigger words,” Cindy said.

“That is so not true. I never turn on people.”

“What about Alyssa and Cassie?”

“What about them?”

“The second you stopped getting the gossip text, all of a sudden you weren't friends. You were boycotting the popular people when you made it seem like it was them who didn't want to be friends with you. They really liked you.”

“They're Jane's friends, not mine. The two of them combined couldn't fill out one college application. They had to have ‘assistance' for that. What do we have in common?”

“So you're smart! You're an intellectual snob.”

“I am not a snob.” I couldn't believe she had just called me that! It hurt most because Cindy knew me best. I let out a heavy sigh. I had to just shake that off.

Cindy and I drove the rest of the way to my house in silence. The tree-lined streets were quiet. She pulled up to my house. I was a little scared. I clutched the door handle tightly.

“Are you coming?” I didn't want to go in alone.

My street just didn't look the same. All I could see were places where someone could hide—an overgrown bush in someone's yard, a tree with a thick trunk over in front of the neighbor's house. I could've had an anxiety attack right then and there.

“No, I'm not coming. I don't feel appreciated.”

Are you kidding me? “Trust me. I couldn't have walked here from your house. I definitely appreciate the ride.”

“I'll wait out here. I have to make some calls.”

“Fine.”

I opened the door. It felt kind of weird. Like I should have taken a look around outside before I walked inside. There was no one around on the block. Cindy sat in her car, quietly edging toward carpal tunnel syndrome with her super-speed texting. The alarm went off. After racing against the nanosecond clock to plug in the code, I strolled upstairs to pick up some more of my own clothes and
shoes. God, I needed to wear my own flats! The balls of my feet were burning! I didn't take those shoes off all day for fear that I wouldn't be able to get them back on my pulsating feet. One day in Cindy's shoes and I'd told off my ex, snagged a new man, played secret agent, and been stalked. Too much excitement for this intellectual snob.

The doorbell rang. My heart skipped a beat. Was this trouble? I mean, Cindy would call me if something strange went down outside, right? If she noticed! I was ultra-paranoid at this point. Maybe it was just a friendly neighbor. I tried to clear my mind as I strolled down the steps. The doorbell rang again. I looked out the window. Cindy was standing at the door with Jason. Before I could open the door all the way, Cindy pushed the door open. She looked at her watch.

“I'm expecting a phone call.” She raised her eyebrows and looked at me funny as if I was supposed to know what that meant. Maybe she was waiting for Peter to call.

“He is not seeing Lucy,” she continued.

“That was discreet.” I couldn't believe she had asked him.

“He says he doesn't know her, and I believe him.”

I turned Cindy around and pushed her in the direction of her car. “Do you want to come in?” I asked Jason. “Completely embarrassed” would've summed up how I felt. Before I could close the door behind him, Cindy had wedged her foot in it.

“Cindy?” I said. She motioned her finger for me to come closer.

“Before you two set it off, just know I have to leave in like fifteen minutes. We have to stop by the coffee house in the mall to meet Roger.”

“We?”

“One who needs a ride accompanies one who has a car.”

“Are you coming in or …?” She moved her foot. “So what are you doing here?” I asked.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi. Would you like something to drink?”

“I thought you were going to question me first.”

I could've melted at the sound of his voice, but first things first. “I heard that you and Lucy were seen together in the basement after school when you said that …” I had to stop. I had caught myself playing the insecure jealous girlfriend role. I guess I should've been that girl when I was dating Craig. There I was, one relationship too late.

Could I tell him that I thought someone was stalking me without sounding self-centered? I mean, why would someone be after me?

“It's just been strange lately,” I said.

“Like the lipstick on the wall?”

“Yeah. Lucy might have something to do with it,” I said.

“And?” he said.

“Do you know her?” I asked.

“Are you asking me or accusing me? Because you sound like you're accusing,” he said.

“Ha! I keep trying, believe me,” I said. He looked more than annoyed—“perturbed” would be a great adjective to describe the contempt in his eyes. I didn't care. So the novelty of our love/hate thing was wearing off. Good. Now I could see the real him. Maybe he only thought he liked me. You know, those guys who like you until they find out you have something going on upstairs, otherwise known as brain function. Then, all of a sudden, they're interested in some flunky cheerleader, more interested in her eye shadow color than taking an AP test for college credit. Who needed a future when purple was the new it color for the season?

One might wonder why I couldn't just let go and let him like me and care about me in the melodramatic way every normal teenage girl dreamed of. I didn't know why I was like this, I just was. Letting go would be like driving a car with your hands off the steering wheel—you're just asking for it.

“I didn't come here for this. I hate the way you play around. You won!” he said.

“Why don't you just answer the question?”

“I don't even know her. I was walking down the steps, and next thing I know she was standing right next to me. I went to the basement to meet with my training coach. This girl who gave you a report, uh, they tell you that? Did they say I talked to her? That would mean I know her.”

“I saw you. I'm sorry I didn't say it at first. I just want to figure this out. I do trust you.” I stopped for a moment. Was I telling a white lie? Or did I just say the T word? I wanted to trust him. “Want” and “do” should be synonyms. I guess there are a lot of things that should be. I looked at him, and I knew what I had to do.

“At the party yesterday, someone accosted me in the bathroom and insisted that the first bathroom incident was part of this secret society prank. I don't know who's doing it or why this is happening. I got a note in homeroom today about this meeting in the basement. I assumed the person behind these pranks, including the lipstick thing, would be there. But we couldn't find the meeting.”

Jason was quiet for a moment. “If you got that note in homeroom, why didn't you say anything?”

“I don't know. It's supposed to be secret.”

“All right.”

What if he was a member and this was part of their front? “So how did you become popular?” I asked.

“I transferred here sophomore year. I joined the basketball team, and I made friends. Then people from the team introduced me to other people—how people usually make friends,” he said.

“So you're not a member of the secret society?” I asked.

“I don't really know what it is,” he said.

I felt a ten-pound weight lift off my back. I was relieved. It was hard to accuse him. My eyes gazed at his lips expectantly. Now would be a good time to make a move, lover boy.

“Cindy,” he blurted out.

“What?” I asked.

“She's in the window,” he said.

I went and opened the door. I flashed Cindy a fake smile. “Hi. Welcome to Casa Nia. How can I help you?”

“I need a cup of water. I had two cappuccinos at lunch. I'm totally parched,” Cindy said.

I held the door open. “I take it you've gotten your call?” I asked.

“They always call.”

Jason waited for Cindy to leave the room. “Forget these urban legends.”

“I feel like at any moment I could be kidnapped or attacked. It has me all freaked out. I have to do something about it.”

“Did you hear that?” he said.

“A scream?”

I hurried to the kitchen, and Jason followed. Cindy was still screaming. It sounded as if she had been strangled by the neck. It was a life-or-death type of thing. The screams got louder as we got closer.

It was a quick sprint from the front foyer to the kitchen. The refrigerator door was open.

“Oh, my God!” Cindy shrieked.

“Yo, the back door,” Jason said.

The back door was wide open, and the porch light was on.

“Hello?” Jason moved with apprehension as he slowly stepped outside. I went to the door and watched him. I looked left, then right. Not a single leaf stirred. Whoever was here was long gone. They could've been hiding, though. There was no time to think about that.

“Cindy?” I called out.

“Nia!” she screamed.

“I think she's inside.”

It was so hard to tell where the screams were coming from. Jason jumped inside the house. I made sure to lock the door behind him. Whoever had been here had to have left from that door because we always kept it locked.

Jason looked in the bathroom and under the stairs. “Nothing,” he said.

“Check the basement,” I said.

“This door here?”

“Yeah.” I was right behind Jason.

“Nia! Where the hell have you been?” Cindy sounded like she was on the brink of tears. I hesitated to turn on the light. I couldn't believe this was all because of me. Whatever had happened to Cindy somehow had something to do with my loose ends. I felt so wretched.