Downcast (10 page)

Somewhere in the middle of everything, my brain vaguely registered the fact that I needed to go to the library to do some research for a short paper due next week.

Lost in my thoughts, I walked into the library and sat down at the computers.

I barely noticed the chair next to me being pulled out, and it was only when Katie Jones sat down next to me that I came crashing back to reality.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, smiling.

"Um..." I was lost for words. She was so oddly, mesmerizingly beautiful. There was no way she belonged in a dumpy town like Darbyfield.

"I'm sure you have questions," Katie Jones said carefully.

"Uh, yeah," I stammered.

"You're a very clever young woman," Katie Jones continued, eyeing me thoughtfully. "Moreso than you let others know. You ask a lot of questions, but you usually end up coming by the answers yourself."

"H-how do you know—?"

"You're a senior now," Katie said, a knowing smile spreading on her blood red lips. "You turn eighteen on Saturday, right?"

"Yes, but—?"

"Mr. Chow might have said something," she replied with a wink of her blue eyes. "That means that you are old enough to start asking the right questions."

"What do you—?"

"Keep asking questions, and you'll eventually get to asking the right questions."

"Who do I—?"

"Yourself, of course. No one else can give you the answers."

"How do I—?"

"You will absolutely know when you have the right answer."

"But what if I—?"

"I have every faith in you, Stephanie Starr. You won't fail."

She gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, got up, and walked away, leaving me completely dumbfounded.

Morris found me before the bell rang and turned me over to Helen, who got me to English and spent the class shooting dirty looks at Zack and Haley. While Zack seemed to bask in the attention, shooting smirking grins at Helen whenever her frowns got particularly fierce, Haley seemed not to notice anything at all. Or anyone. Including me.

After class, she dragged me into the restroom. Once she had made sure all the stalls were empty, she turned to me and put her hands on her hips, giving me the same glare she had used on the Smith brothers.

"Alright," Helen said crisply. "Just what the hell is going on?"

I shrank back against the cold porcelain of the sink and shrugged my shoulders.

"I don't know?" I offered weakly.

Helen quirked her eyebrow at me.

"No, seriously, Helen. I don't know. I have no clue about...well, um, what part of what is going on did you mean?"

"You mean there's more than one thing you're not telling me about?"

"Well, one of them just kind of happened. Just now. Well, before class."

Helen pressed her hand to her forehead and took a long, deep breath. With her wild, golden, corkscrew curls and big blue eyes, she looked like an old-fashioned porcelain doll with anger management issues.

"Start from the beginning," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "And don't leave anything out, even if you want to."

It was my turn to take a long, deep breath, but I couldn't deny the relief of finally sharing everything with someone. I told her everything. Well, almost everything. I left out the locker-disintegration bit because I was still not entirely sure what had happened myself.

When I was done, Helen was uncharacteristically quiet.

"So?" I prompted.

"I'm...I'm thinking," Helen replied.

"Think faster. I have two minutes to get out to the lobby before Mom pulls up."

Helen looked at me and frowned, then shook her head.

"Come on," she said. "I'll think while we walk."

"What a day," I muttered.

"More like what a week," Helen commented drily.

"You can say that again."

"I could, but I won't."

We both laughed, grateful for at least one funny thing that day.

***

Mom was late picking me up. That never happened. Ever.

She was silent and pensive the whole ride home, biting her bottom lip and going five miles over the speed limit.

At home, she forgot my after-school snack, which was fine because I wasn't really hungry anyway. I went upstairs to change into sweats. After changing, I stood still and listened for her voice to call me downstairs.

Nothing.

I went down to the kitchen to get my backpack. Mom was rummaging through the top cabinets where we kept the stuff we never used. She didn't look at me or say anything. The silence was weird.

"Mom?" I asked. "What are you looking for?"

"The silver bowl," she muttered in reply, her head stuck deep in the tiny cabinet.

"Which silver bowl?" We had at least six of them, all shapes and sizes. I only saw them once every six months, when she brought them out to be polished. We never ate off them or had guests over to serve with silver.

"The shallow round one."

"I thought it was in the cabinet above the fridge?"

Mom bumped her head as she pulled it out of the cabinet, wincing slightly, then giving me a tired smile. I smiled back, relieved to see her acting normal again.

"You're probably right, Stephanie," she said, getting down off the stepladder and moving it in front of the fridge. "You always have such a good memory."

"Everyone has a special talent," I quipped, and Mom laughed.

The strain in my shoulders slackened, and I was glad to have at least something in my day go back to normal.

Mom found the bowl she was looking for and took it over to the sink. She turned on the faucet then paused.

"Stephanie," she said somberly without turning around. "Go up to your room."

I blinked.

"Go up to your room and stay there until I tell you."

Instantly, the tension in the room was back with a vengeance.

"Is...is everything okay, Mom?" I asked, watching as she adjusted the faucet so the water was just a trickle.

"Please go up to your room. Now."

I didn't wait to be told again. I grabbed my backpack and ran up to my room. My heart was pounding as I flung myself down on my bed. There had been something in Mom's voice I had never heard before. Something worried. Something almost...angry.

I stayed in my room for the rest of the night, waiting for Mom to tell me it was okay to come out.

She never did.

***

The next morning, I woke up to blindingly bright sunshine. I smiled sleepily to myself, enjoying the feel of light and warmth on my face.

With a happy sigh, I got up, grabbed my clothes and headed for the shower. The combination of sunshine and hot water made me wonder if yesterday had even happened. I mean, of course it had, and everything about it was still confusing. But, I was positive that everything had a logical explanation. Helen would probably explain exactly what it was when I got to school.

In the secrecy of my shower, I allowed myself to daydream of an alternate reality where Haley liked me and Jordan was a pathetic loser. All too soon, the hot water and my imagination ran out, and I had to get on with my day.

Just like yesterday, though, there was no breakfast, and a worried Mom gave me a silent ride to school.

As I climbed the stairs to my locker, I pulled off my light summer sweater. (
Did I know that by dressing in layers, I could keep cooler than by exposing my skin to the air?
) I breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling of dry, hot air on my arms.

There was no sign of Zack or Haley, and I tried not to feel disappointed. I really tried. Helen was waiting for me though, fizzing with impatience, by the looks of it.

"I thought about everything last night," she announced, tapping her foot as I put my stuff away and grabbed my books. "I've come to some preliminary conclusions."

"Dang, Sherlock," I joked.

"Not now, Watson," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "The first part is easy."

"Thank God something is."

"Haley likes you."

"Wait, no. No. That's a cop-out explanation, and you know it."

Helen smiled and shrugged. "The evidence is pretty conclusive. He likes you. Someone was bound to like you sometime. Get over it. Or go with it. Whatever."

"Whatever?" I echoed, unable to believe my ears. "A boy like Haley and a geek like me?"

"Yeah, I know," Helen replied, shaking her head. "I know. Look, just consider it. I'm more interested in what Katie Jones said to you yesterday. I talked to Morris last night. He said he never talked to her about you or mentioned your birthday to her. He had even forgotten when you birthday was."

"Some friend he is," I smirked.

"He'd forget his own name if we didn't remind him," Helen said. "So, she must either know your mother or have access to your student file. I mean, there might be other ways she would come across your birthday, but those are kinda the most likely ones. Right?"

"Indubitably, Holmes," I agreed in a terrible British accent.

"Shut up. Now, we all know your mom doesn't really know anybody outside of the store. You guys never have people over. Your mom doesn't date. She doesn't have any friends. And finally, she's way too over-protective of you. There's no way she'd tell just anybody your birthday."

Helen's analysis was right on, but for the first time, my mom's life struck me as really weirdly isolated. How had I never noticed that before? I mean, it had just been the norm for us. I knew it was different from the way other families were, but I had never felt the urge to ask Mom about why we lived that way. Probably because I didn’t want another lecture.

"So," Helen continued. "This must mean that Katie got access to your file. I don't think she's supposed to have access to it because she's a librarian, though. This makes me kinda worried because why is she so interested in you and your file? Why would she seek you out to talk about your birthday and asking questions?"

The first bell rang, and we started walking towards our classes.

"This is where I ran out of reasonable ideas," Helen admitted. "Now, we're just talking about purely stupid speculation."

"I like speculation," I said with a smile, beyond grateful for Helen's orderly mind and no-nonsense attitude. She grounded me like no one else.

Helen grinned sheepishly and shrugged before saying, "Well, you might not like my ideas. But, here goes. So, the librarian might be part of a kidnapping ring that is looking for 'barely legal' teens or virgins, and —"

"I know," I cut in, rolling my eyes. "My clothes scream virgin."

Helen gave me a speculative look but said nothing.

“Do you real believe in the kidnapping ring?” I asked, a giggle escaping me involuntarily.

"Okay, so, I'm not sure I buy the whole white-slavery-ring thing myself," Helen said. "The other idea I had was that Katie Jones is somehow connected to your family."

I stopped in the middle of the stairs and stared at Helen.

"What?" I exclaimed.

"Well, think about it. She made points about you turning eighteen and having the right to ask questions. It made me think. What do eighteen year olds ask questions about that they weren't allowed to before? The only thing I could come up with is adoption. But, it's easy to tell that you and your mom are related, so that rules out adoption. But what about your father?"

"My father?" I repeated stupidly.

"Yeah," Helen replied slowly, her face full of compassion. "Maybe she was trying to tell you that you should start asking questions about the rest of your family. Why don't you have any aunts or uncles, grandparents, cousins, that sort of thing? What about your father? As of tomorrow, you legally have the right to ask who he is...or was."

The second bell rang. Helen squeezed my arm sympathetically and ran to class.

I stumbled into European History in a complete daze. If Ms. Collins said something about me being late, I didn't hear it. Slumping into my seat, I just sat and stared at my desk.

Haley's fingers brushed my arm at one point, and I turned to stare blankly at him. He frowned, his hand tightening around my arm, giving it a surreptitious squeeze and shake, as if to get me to focus.

I blinked a couple of times and took a deep breath. He smiled at me and quickly let go of my arm. His smile faded as I went back to staring at my desk, unable to smile or think about anything other than the realizations that ricocheted through my mind.

It was like a giant stone wall that had surrounded me all my life was crashing down around me, and daylight was blinding me with the force of all the things I never thought to question.

Why did Mom and I live such isolated lives? Had I really never heard Mom talk about her family? Did I have any other family? Who was my father? I remember asking her about my father a few times over the years, but she was uncompromising in refusing to say anything about him. Why hadn’t I pushed harder for answers, though?

In my mind, I searched through our house, trying to remember ever seeing photos, letters, Christmas cards, anything. Come to think of it, there weren't even any photos of me and Mom in the house. She had never bothered to buy my school photos, and she never showed me baby pictures or any other mementos of me growing up.

As long as I could remember, Mom had simply been the produce manager at the grocery store, and we had lived in our tiny, old, run-down house on the edge of town.

I thought I heard the bell for the end of class ring, but I wasn't paying attention until Haley had come over to the other side of my desk, grabbed my hand, and pulled me to my feet.

Startled back into the present, I looked up at him, confused.

"Time for Poetry," he said with a strained smile.

I nodded absently, and he continued to hold my hand as I grabbed my bag.

"Are you alright?" he asked, gently leading me into the hall.

My eyes darted up to meet his. His expression was kind, and warm… and worried.

"Yeah," I replied. "I'm just a little out of it today. I just...I don't know."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

The second bell for class rang, and I started.

"Shoot! We’re late!” I exclaimed.