Читать книгу Calli - Jessica Lee Anderson - Страница 11

PRE-INTERVENTION

Saturday, April 19

THE PHONE IN MY ROOM RINGS. It’s seven and I’m pretty sure Delia isn’t calling about the Intervention at this hour.

I should answer the phone regardless of who is calling. Mom needs her sleep.

“Hello,” I whisper into the phone before it rings a third time.

“I knew you’d answer this early in the morning. Calli, look, I’m really sorry . . .” a deep voice says.

“You broke my heart, Dub.”

“I didn’t mean to—the kiss was an accident.”

“Are you serious? An accident?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Calli!”

“Don’t lie to me. Just leave me alone!” I hang up. He can’t kiss my foster sister and play it off like it was some silly little accident! In case he tries calling back, I disconnect our phone. I actually want to talk to him, but he just made it impossible with his stupid “accident” lie.

I think about tiptoeing back into bed, but I doubt I’ll be able to fall asleep after tossing and turning all night. I kept wondering when Cherish would notice that her necklace was missing. I even rehearsed what I plan to do when she does. I’ll return the necklace with a warning—You can’t mess with me without paying for it. Not anymore.

Before bedtime last night, I started to get nervous even though Cherish wasn’t acting suspicious or anything. She was watching some reality TV show with Mom and Liz. I tried to do my homework but couldn’t concentrate so I joined them in the living room. Cherish was stretched out sideways in the recliner with her feet dangling over the side. Mom would’ve had a fit if I’d sat like that on our furniture. She didn’t say a thing to Cherish though.

The reality show was awful—one of the girls cheated on her boyfriend after getting drunk. “I bet he’ll take her back,” Cherish said. Mom and Liz disagreed, which I silently appreciated. Once a cheater, always a cheater—a good reason to continue avoiding Dub. Cherish was right though. The guy did take the girl back.

I dig underneath the bed to make sure the necklace is still there. It’s in the same exact spot, camouflaged in the metallic wrapper. I study the photo in the locket. The woman looks too old to be Cherish’s mother. I bet it’s her maw-maw.

When Cherish first moved in, she threw several fits where she’d toss things and rant about getting stuck with other families and two lesbians when all she wanted was for someone she called Maw-Maw to adopt her.

After one particularly awful tantrum, I overheard Mom crying and telling Liz that maybe Cherish was more than they could handle. “You can’t give up on her, not when she needs us the most,” Liz had said. They got Michelle involved, and she explained that Maw-Maw was one of the few family members Cherish had who was still alive and not incarcerated. But she wasn’t blood related, and past circumstances with her son, Cherish’s stepdad, complicated things.

It broke my heart—here her family had given her a name like Cherish and none of them was around to cherish her.

After this conversation and a few extra appointments, Cherish seemed to surrender the dream of living with her stepgrandmother. The fits calmed down, though I kept wondering when the next one might erupt.

I hope we don’t have any problems when the new foster child moves into our house. Michelle said he’s staying with a great-aunt who’s able to watch him only for a short period of time while his mom gets help. When I asked Cherish if she was nervous about the new kid too, she said, “What’s the big deal? You’re way too sheltered, Calli.” I wish she weren’t right.

I make sure the necklace stays hidden for now by sliding it back into place and twisting the candy wrapper.

I change out of my pj’s into jeans and a buttondown shirt for the Intervention before eating a healthy breakfast—a chocolate bar. I’ll have to ration my supply since I have only a couple left.

Studying French should be next on my agenda, especially after failing my last test. Instead of studying for it, I’d stayed up after midnight making Dub a card for our anniversary. “I’ve fallen for you,” I wrote. Using colored pencils, I spent hours coloring the night sky pitch-black and making the stars seem as if they glowed, especially the shooting star.

Dub set the card on his dresser so he could see it when he fell asleep and when he woke up. I wonder if it’s still there.

Madame Mahoney has given me the option of visiting a site of French importance to earn extra credit. I should tell Mom about the dumb deal soon so I can get it over with. She’s offered to help me study, but the times she’s tried helping me in the past, all we did was argue.

I forget to tell Mom about the extra credit assignment when she checks on me an hour or so later. Mom smiles when she sees me with my French textbook open. Then she holds out a ten dollar bill for lunch. “You and Delia be safe at the mall, baby girl.” My mom has a busy day planned. She doesn’t even harp on food court nutrition facts.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Liz sticks her head in my room a few moments later to say good-bye, though Cherish fortunately doesn’t. My plan is to ignore her. To act like what she did to my locker isn’t a big deal.

When the house is empty, Sassy comes and joins me. Since Cherish moved in, it seems like I’ve been demoted to the bottom of our pack.

Sassy flies off my bed in guard dog mode when the doorbell rings. It’s half past nine. Is Dub stalking me? The muscles in my neck tense as I pry the blinds open. Sassy barks so loudly my ears ring.

My muscles relax when I see a minivan parked in the driveway.

I hold Sassy’s collar tightly before answering the door. “Shh, girl.” Delia is waiting on the front porch with her arms crossed.

She must see that I’m surprised because she says, “I tried calling like four hundred times to let you know my mom has to drop us off at the mall early. Since you never answered, we just came over.”

“Sorry, I disconnected the line after . . .” My voice trails off because I don’t want to talk about it. I wish I had a cell phone, but Mom said I can’t get one until I’m able to pay for it myself. “Just give me a minute.” I grab my purse, and before locking the door, I tell Sassy to be a good girl. She just keeps on barking.

Sassy’s hysteria seems to distract Delia as we make our way to the minivan. She doesn’t bother asking why I’d disconnected the phone. Her mom bobs her head and taps a rhythm on the steering wheel. “I can’t wait until we can drive,” Delia says.

“Is the mall even open yet?”

“By the time we get there, it will be.” Before Delia slides the minivan door open, she quietly tells me that we should check out guys later.

I sigh. I’m not up for checking out guys. Dub and I haven’t even broken up. Delia doesn’t seem to have a clue about what I’m going through. Delia and I’ve been friends for most of my life, but sometimes I wonder if she gets me or not.

Mrs. Jones continues tapping on the steering wheel to the beat of some nineties tune as we sit down and click our seatbelts into place. “Thanks for being flexible, Calli.”

“No problem, Mrs. Jones.” She insists I call her Katherine, but it doesn’t feel right. I’ve been reserved around her mom ever since Delia told me how she’s asked all kinds of questions about my moms over the years. What are they like? What do they do? Have they said anything funny to you? Looked at you strangely? Made you feel weird at all? Brandi and Liz are lesbians—not criminals. Even the state of Louisiana recognizes this. I’m grateful Delia never had a problem with my moms.

Mrs. Jones lowers the volume on the radio and starts blabbing about the floral design she has to finish and deliver early this afternoon. “It’s going to be amazing. Imagine bright red roses and peacock feathers.”

Imagining this arrangement hurts. Dub gave me a single red rose last month after we’d had a conversation about what our names meant. Just because. “You’re my lovely flower, Calli,” he said, which was incredibly cheesy but absolutely adorable.

I dried the rose, set it on my desk, and ended up smashing it when I was looking for my missing iPod. I had to sweep the crusty petals into the trash.

I tune Mrs. Jones out and eye the oil refineries off in the distance with their pipes and smoky towers.

Mr. Hatley spent a whole science unit teaching us about refineries and the effects of toxic air pollution. It’s possible for refineries to ignite and explode, and I feel like it’s possible for me too.