Читать книгу Dare You To - Кэти Макгэрри, Katie McGarry - Страница 18

“THEY MIGHT REMEMBER ME.” Mondays suck and so does the first day of school in Hicksville, USA. I lean against the windows in the guidance counselor’s office and look around. Décor circa the 1970s: faux wood paneling, desk and chairs bought from the Wal-Mart bargain basket. The scent of mildew hangs in the air. This is backwoods schools at their finest.

“That’s the point, Elisabeth.” Scott flips through a thick schedule booklet. “Your old elementary school is one of three schools that feed into here. You’ll know some people and rekindle old friendships. What about Home Ec? You and I baked cookies a couple of times, remember?”

“Beth. I go by Beth.” It’s like the man is learning impaired. “And the last time I baked anything, it was brownies and I put …”

“We’ll put Home Ec in the No section. But I prefer the name Elisabeth. What was your best friend’s name? I used to drive you to her house.”

And we played with dolls. Over and over again. Her mom let us use her real cups for tea parties. They had a real house with real beds and I loved staying for dinner. Their food was hot. It becomes hard to swallow. “Lacy.”

“That’s right. Lacy Harper.”

The door to the office opens and the guidance counselor pops in his head. “Just a few more minutes, Mr. Risk. I’m on the line with Eastwick High.”

Scott drops that cheesy grin. “Take your time. Is there a Lacy Harper at this school?”

Somebody shoot me. Now. Right now.

“Yes, there is.”

The fun doesn’t stop coming. Scott glances at me. “Isn’t that great?”

I overly fake my response. “Awesome.”

He either chooses to ignore my sarcasm or believes my excitement. “Mr. Dwyer, could you place Beth in one of Lacy’s classes?”

Mr. Dwyer practically falls to the floor in admiration. “We’ll certainly try.” He withdraws from his own office and shuts the door.

“Were you smacked upside the head with a bat?” I can’t believe Scott expects me to attend this school.

“Only when I was five and on days that end in y,” he mumbles, still flipping through the catalog. His response pricks my chest. I’ve done my best to block out that portion of my childhood. Grandpa, his dad, used to beat the crap out of him and my dad. Scott kept him from doing the same to me. “What about Spanish?”

I actually smile. “My friend Rico taught me some Spanish. If a guy’s too touchy I can say …”

“Strike Spanish.”

Damn. That could have been fun. “Seriously, Scott. Do you really want me going to school here? Have you thought this through? Your pet with a wedding ring …”

“Allison. Her name is Allison. Let’s say it together. All-i-son. See, not so hard.”

“Whatever. She loves how everybody worships you. How long is that going to last when they remember that you’re low-life trash from the trailer park a couple miles out of Groveton?”

He stops flipping through the catalog. Even though his eyes fix on the paper, I can tell he’s no longer reading. “I’m not that kid anymore. People only care about who I am now.”

“How long do you think it will take before people remember me or Mom?” I meant to say it nasty, like a threat, but it came out soft and I hate myself for it.

Scott looks at me and I loathe the sympathy in his eyes. “They’ll remember you the way I do—a beautiful girl who loved life.”

Pissed that he keeps discussing that poor pathetic girl, I break eye contact. “She died.”

“No, she didn’t.” He pauses. “As for your mom, she moved into town her sophomore year and dropped out when she was still fifteen. People won’t remember her.”

Nausea strikes and my hand drops to my abdomen. Scott wasn’t there when the police came to the trailer and he wasn’t there to dry my tears. This is a small town and everyone knows everyone else. Even though they promised to keep that night a secret, I’m sure someone told.

“What happens to both of us when someone remembers Dad?” I ask. “No one’s going to worship you then. This is a bad mistake, Scott. Send me home.”

“Mr. Risk.” The guidance counselor from Hicksville pokes his head into the office. Worry lines clutter his overly large forehead and his fingers white-knuckle a fax. I told him I majored in detention while at Eastwick. “Can I have a moment?”

I tilt my head, knowing the words to say to make Mr. Dwyer uncomfortable. “What was that class you wanted to put me in? Hmm.” I tap my finger to my chin. “Honors English?”

“Sit down, Elisabeth.” Scott’s getting really good at demanding things in a low voice. “Okay, Mr. Dwyer, let’s discuss Beth’s schedule.”