Daddy's Little Angel (2 page)

I waited for Mom to say something else, but it didn’t look like I’d get more out of her. Then, before I had given them permission, my lips were moving and my vocal chords were producing sound.

“Is Dad really dead?”

The question just came out. I had thought about asking it so many times, but I always held back. This time it kind of just asked itself. I’m not even really sure where my suspicions came from. Mom just always seemed worried when she talked about him—as if there were a threat of him hearing her.

“Yes, he’s dead,” she said after pausing for about seven decades. The lights flickered, which struck me as oddly coincidental, and she grasped the kitchen counter and shut her eyes. “Well . . . he’s kind of dead.”

“You cannot be
kind of
dead. You either are or you’re not.”

“That’s not always true,” she said, now rummaging through the utensil drawer.

“You’re not making any sense,” I shot back. “Just tell me. Is my father alive?”

Instead of answering me, she pulled out no less than a dozen of the crystals she had stashed in random places in our kitchen and quickly placed them in a circle on the floor around me.

“What are you doing?” I asked, stepping outside of her stone prison.

“Protecting you,” she said, following me.

“Just tell me what’s going on with my dad.”

She stuffed a crystal in each of my pockets. “You’re better off without him. Your father’s the—”

“I know, I know,” I cut her off. “My father’s the devil.” I’d heard it before, more times than I could count. “Right. And he magically ascended up from the netherworld after thirteen years just to give me Mara’s Daughters tickets.”

“It appears that way,” she said staring at me, her face looking superserious. “Although knowing him, he’s just trying to worm his way into your life.”

“So he’s alive?”

“No.” She tugged at the belt on her robe.

“Mom,” I said, mustering up every ounce of self-restraint. “Can you try to converse like we both speak English? What is going on?”

“Nothing. Your father is dead. I wrote the note. I thought it would be nice for you to have something from him, then I changed my mind.”

I clutched the crystal in my left pocket so hard, my hand went numb. “Then what does ‘kind of dead’ mean?”

“That’s a good question,” she said. “What is death really? Just because one’s body leaves this planet doesn’t mean their soul is go—”

I cut her off. “Mom. Please, enough with the woo-woo talk. Just tell me what you meant.”

She let out a deep breath. “Just that he’s not dead in your memory.”

Now it was my turn to stare. I’d never met the guy. How could I possibly have any memories of him?

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was a mistake.”

Uhh.
Understatement of the year.

“So the tickets are from you?”

“Yes.”

“So that means I can go to the concert,” I sort of declared more than asked.

My mother paused. “Yes. We can go to the concert.”

Hallelujah! Finally. Wait a minute. Did she say
we
? “You mean me and Gabi, right?”

“No. I mean you and me. You’re too young to go without an adult.”

I couldn’t go to the concert with
my mother
. No one was going with a parent, not even Max Richardson, and he was a bigger outcast than me, if that was even possible. He was always kind of a nerd, but after getting paired up with Courtney Lourde last year in science class, it got much, much worse. They were dissecting a cow’s eye. Max made the first slice and ended up shooting eye-juice all over Courtney’s brand-new sweater. One mistake with the scalpel was all it took. His fate as loser extraordinaire was sealed forever. “I don’t need a chaperone. They’re having it at the high school. It’s right down the street.” Events run by the town were usually held there. It was the biggest space in Goode.

“I don’t care if it’s next door. You’re not going to something like that by yourself.”

“I won’t be by myself. I’ll be with Gabi. If you care about me at all, you’ll let me go without you,” I pleaded, giving her my saddest eyes. “Come on. Just this once for my birthday. I’d kill for this.”

“Angel Kindness Garrett, do not ever let me hear you say that again.”

I told you she was a little nutty. Who names their kid
Kindness
?

“Say
what
again?”

“That you’re prepared to kill.”

I couldn’t take this anymore and banged my head on the counter. Not the smartest move—it hurt. “It’s an expression. I’m not going to
kill
anyone. I just want to go to the concert.”

“And you can. With me.”

“But Mom—”

“Angel, I don’t want to hear it. It’s your choice. You either go to the concert with me, or you don’t go. End of discussion.”

I ran to the back door. With one foot outside, I turned back toward her. “You’re evil. I wish my dad
was
alive. Even the devil would be better than you.”

My bicycle reached new speeds as I raced toward school. I felt like riding off to Meaning or Jerkstone or Killingsworth—or some other town my mother boycotts. She thinks an area’s name affects its aura. That’s why we live in Goode. She says it has a peaceful vibe. She obviously never went to school here.

I screeched my powder-puff pink bike to a halt one block from Goode Middle School at the old abandoned McBrin house. As usual, Gabi was already there, sitting in the grass reading some tween romance book with a superpretty girl on the cover, who would eventually end up with all her problems solved and a hot boyfriend. I used to read that stuff, too, but not anymore. Until I see proof that things like that happen in real life, I’m done with those books forever.

“Hey,” Gabi mumbled, barely glancing up from her book.

Gabi didn’t like to stop reading in the middle of a chapter. She said it was like putting a DVD on pause during a juicy scene. She’d start chatting away when she was ready, at which point it’d be hard to get her to stop; talking was her oxygen. In the meantime, I flung my color-coordinated pink safety gear behind the bushes. Can you say
overprotective mom
? There was no way I was going to school dressed in head-to-toe Barbie Dream House.

Gabi stood up as I dumped my bike alongside the other stuff.

“Where’s your backpack?” she asked.

“Home. I was in a rush.”

She started to laugh.

“What?” I demanded, crossing my arms over my nonexistent chest.

“I just think it’s funny that you didn’t have time to grab your bag, but remembered to put on every single knee pad sold at Sports Authority.”

She had a point. “You are not going to believe my morning!”

“Tell me about it,” Gabi interrupted. Then she straightened up her posture and put on her most serious face. “Gabi, dear, I’m a little concerned about your grades and lack of physical exertion. A B-plus average is okay, but remember you can do better than that. Now it’s lovely that you like to sing and act, but you know what would be better? Straight As, leading the swim team to victory, and bringing home an Olympic medal in jazzercise. She’s so . . .” Gabi stopped channeling her mother and smacked her head. “Oh my God. I’m totally lame. I almost forgot your birthday.”

Gabi jumped up off the ground and gave me a huge hug, practically suffocating me. I’m five feet tall, and she has a good five inches on me.

“Wait, it’s here somewhere. I know I have it,” she said when she finally let go and ran to her backpack. She pulled out a white paper bag and handed it to me. “It’s a little crushed, but it still tastes just as good.”

I looked inside. It was a smushed cupcake with heaps of gooey, bright red icing. It’s the thought that counts.

“Don’t be disappointed. I got you more stuff, but that’s for later. And we have some choices of what to do tonight. We can go see
Someone’s Watching
, even though I probably won’t sleep for a week, or we—”

“Or we could go to the Mara’s Daughters concert if my mother would stop being so annoying.”

That stopped Gabi. “What?!” she shrieked.

I gave her the 4-1-1 on what went down with the tickets.

“No wayyyyyy,” Gabi shouted, her hands gripping her light brown hair.

I could always count on her for the best reactions.

“I know,” I said, matching her tone. “She’s done a lot of whacko things in the past, but this, this—”

“Is crazy cruel,” Gabi finished for me. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

I nodded and took one last look at my hidden items which were well-covered by the bushes, and then Gabi followed me as I headed toward school.

“Why would your mom put the tickets in the cereal with a note signed by your dad?”

“I don’t know,” I said, staring down at my black checkered Vans. Focusing on one thing helped me think.

“Maybe,” Gabi said with a chuckle, “your mom’s tea leaves told her to do it.”

“Could be. Or maybe it was the ghost of Cleopatra.” I wished I was joking.

“I know what it is,” Gabi declared. “She conducted a séance and accidentally summoned your father on the Ouija board. His spirit took over her body and made her buy the tickets.”

“Or maybe,” I paused for a moment to consider, “my father really is alive.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Gabi said, shaking her head. “Your mom wouldn’t let your dad in the house to hide the tickets. Besides, she wouldn’t lie about him being dead.”

I gnawed at the nail of my pointer finger. “She would if she thought she was protecting me.”

Gabi kicked a pebble with her clunky suede wedge heel. “Well, she does always say he’s the—”

I quickly cut her off. “My mom’s nuts,” I whispered. I was never exactly sure what Mom meant when she referred to my father as “the devil.” I was fine with the possibility that he was a deadbeat dad. But if “devil” was code for criminal, or worse, I wasn’t sure I could handle it.

“We’re going to be late,” I said, and raced up the steps to school. I didn’t want to have that conversation anymore.

Gabi ran in after me, but we didn’t get very far. We were stopped at the entrance by Courtney Lourde giving Gabi a major once-over.

“Not again,” Gabi mumbled, and tugged at a piece of her hair.

Courtney had been trying to make Gabi’s life miserable ever since last year when Gabi beat her out for the part of Nancy in
Oliver!
They’re both way into drama, and Courtney
really
wanted the part. She even told Gabi they could hang out, sit together at lunch and everything—if she quit. Only Gabi didn’t do it. She told me being a part of Courtney’s clique wasn’t worth it.

I hate to admit it, but if it were me, I probably would have dropped out of the musical. Not only is Courtney the most popular girl at Goode Middle School, but she hangs out with Cole. Being her friend would have been an automatic in.

“There’s no way you’re getting cast this year,” Courtney said in her sing-song tone.

The school was putting on a production of
You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown
. Both Gabi and Courtney got callbacks for the part of Lucy.

“Don’t count on it,” Gabi answered, wrapping her hair so tightly around her finger, it turned purple. “I beat you before.”

I had to give Gabi credit. She was brave. Standing up to Courtney was like messing with a werewolf. You only did it if you had superstrength, speed, and a whole posse by your side—otherwise, there was a good chance, you’d lose a limb.

Courtney rolled her eyes. “
Mrs. Torin
is directing this year.
She’s
not tone-deaf.” With that, Courtney flipped her white-blond hair over her shoulder, spun around on her heels, and walked away to join her two best friends, Jaydin Salloway and Lana Perkins.

“Forget about her,” I whispered. “She doesn’t know anything.”

We headed to homeroom but only made it a few steps before Max was all over us. I swear that guy has an internal GPS. If he had to find me in Times Square, on New Year’s Eve, at the stroke of midnight, he’d manage. Maybe it was his height. He had to have been the tallest eighth-grader in the history of tall eighth-graders. Gabi’s mother told her he had a glandular problem.

Max gave me a goofy grin, then said, “Happy birthday, Angel,” to the part in my hair.

“Thanks,” I said. It was sweet of him to remember, but it would have been sweeter if it had been Cole. Why did the only guy who knew I existed have to be Max Richardson? He was so . . . so . . . I don’t know . . . picture Big Bird. Kind, helpful, enormous. Then picture Big Bird majorly crushing on you. Awkward. “I should get going. It’s almost time for homeroom.”

“Here.” He handed me the CD he was holding, quickly glanced at my face, then right back over my head. “Since you’re not going to the Mara’s Daughters concert, I put all their songs on that. You can put them on your iPod.”

He spoke so quietly, I had to strain to listen. “Wow. You didn’t have—”

The bell cut me off.

Max took off down the hall. “See ya,” he called out, looking back over his shoulder at me and waving.

Gabi started laughing. “Looks like somebody has a boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” I said. Gabi knew I had a tiny soft spot for Max ever since the fifth grade. On Valentine’s Day he bought all of the M&M’s out of the vending machine and put aside the red ones for me. They were all melted and sticking together from his hands. The grossness of the gift kind of outweighed the niceness of the thought behind it. But that was Max. The last thing I needed was for anyone to think I was into him. Then Cole would never ask me out.

Just then, Mr. Stanton, the principal, stepped out of his office. “Miss Garrett, Miss Gottlieb, do I need to give you two detention for being in the hall after the bell went off?”

“No, sir,” Gabi said, her eyes getting huge. And then, channeling her mother, “We’re on our way to homeroom right now. I would never do anything to mess up my transcript. It’s spotless.”