Ink Is Thicker Than Water (11 page)

“Mine, too.” I put my shoes back on and stand in front of his mirror for a moment to adjust my shirt, even though Mom isn’t dumb and doesn’t think I go on chaste 1950s dates or whatever.

Of course, Oliver and I kiss for a while when we get back to his car, and then when we get back to mine, and it’s definitely later than planned when I finally arrive home. Mom is in the living room, reading some novel probably about a hardheaded, down-and-out woman who somehow beat the odds.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” I say.

“You’re not too late.” She marks her place. “Have fun?”

“I did.”

Mom stands up, gives me a hug, and kisses my cheek. “I should get to bed. What are you doing tomorrow? After brunch I thought Finn and Russell could hang out, and you and Sara and I could do a little shopping. What do you say?”

“Sounds great.” I curl up in the spot she just vacated on the sofa. Even though I’m exhausted—and even though I’d lied to Oliver a little—the night was too sweet to say good-bye to yet.

Chapter Ten

Something is definitely up the next morning, because Mom’s concerned voice is making all sorts of noise in the hallway and my alarm clock reads only 6:12. We’re morning people, sure, but we’re not crazy.

I get out of bed and open my door just enough to suddenly be eye-to-eye with Mom. We both yell out in surprise before she waves me back into my room. She walks in as I’m crawling back to bed. “Baby, do you know if Sara went out with Dexter last night?”

“I’m not some sudden Dexter expert because of Oliver,” I say. “But, yes. She went over to his house to watch him and his friends play video games. Why?”

Mom sighs loudly. “She didn’t come home last night, and she’s not at your dad’s.”

“Why don’t you just call her cell?” It’s way too early to deal with Sara’s sudden descent into wild child or whatever this is. Later, I’ll marvel over that. (And maybe get up the nerve to ask for details.)

“Of course I tried that. It went straight to voice mail.”

“Did you call Dexter?”

“I guess I have to, huh?”

I think I’ve won out and will get to go back to sleep, but Mom dials him right then and there. Who knows why she has Dexter’s number saved on her phone? Is that a mom thing? Will Oliver’s get programmed in next?

“Hi, Dexter, I’m sorry to wake you. It’s Melanie Stone, Sara’s—Right, of course you know that. I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble, but Sara didn’t come home last night and—Oh? Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Mom clicks off her phone and walks out of the room. By now, I am A) wide awake and B) whatever the extreme version of curious is. So I follow. “Is she there?”

“No, you’re right that they had plans, but she canceled at the last minute so—”

“Maybe she’s at Camille’s,” I say without even really thinking about it. But, you know, maybe she is.

“Hmmmm,” is all Mom says before walking into her and Russell’s bedroom. I take a shower, get dressed, and settle in the living room with a bowl of cereal.

“Why are you eating?” Mom walks into the room, also showered and dressed now, like me in jeans and one of Russell’s shirts (I swiped a bowling shirt and Mom has on the skull and crossbones sweater again). “Sundays are brunch days.”

“Just like in the Bible. But with Sara—”

“Sara spent the night at Camille’s and will be back later. There’s no reason that has to throw off our whole day.”

Once Russell and Finn are up, we drive into the city and sit outside at Mokabe’s, where the brunch is both meat- and vegan-friendly. I feel sort of loopy and giggly when I think about the fact that only several hours ago, I’d stood just a few feet away and kissed Oliver. It’s a funny sensation, thoughts like this running through me like they know the pathways already even though it is all brand new.

I like finding out I’m capable of something new.

Back at the house, I settle in with my computer to check my email, but Mom leans into my room almost immediately. “Baby, still want to go shopping?”

I don’t, not as much as yesterday, now that it’s just us with no Sara. But I could probably use a few more things if I’m going to be dating—or whatever—Oliver. Plus, Mom already has one daughter who didn’t come home; I’m not going to disappoint her further.

We make the trek across town to the Galleria, where I normally don’t go because I think it’s snooty (that’s right, and my tattooed mom doesn’t). I guess today she isn’t too concerned about local businesses because right away she drops a huge amount at GapKids for Finn. After that Mom pushes me into Macy’s and toward nicer stuff than I generally wear. Not fancier, really, just better quality or something.

“You never let me splurge on you for clothes, Kell-belle,” Mom says.

I pick out a couple of knit shirts, then a little green jacket, but shrug and put them back. “You shouldn’t splurge on me. I’m really fine.”

“You know how proud I am of you, baby. You’ve earned a little spoiling.”

I haven’t, but I still pick the shirts and jacket back up and try on whatever else Mom selects for me. This new Kellie looks back at me from the fitting room mirror in the new jeans and the jacket over a new shirt, and she definitely doesn’t look like some underachieving weird girl who is good for very little. If I told you she has a newspaper column and a college boy who wants to kiss her and a new friend who is all about saving the world, you’d totally believe me.

“Thanks for doing this,” I tell Mom while we wait in line to pay. “I guess I needed some new stuff.”

“We all do sometimes, right?” She ruffles my hair, and I’m glad she doesn’t say anything goofy about me growing up or whatever I’m doing these days. Embarrassing! “When does the paper come out? I can’t wait to read your first article.”

“Please don’t get too excited about it—it’s sort of dorky,” I say. “And my first article won’t come out until the week after this. But I’ll bring a copy home for you then, I promise.”

We stay awhile longer at the mall, though we only end up with a few more purchases (a new lip gloss for me—obviously a kissing-related purchase—a sweater for Mom, and some jeans for Russell). At home I attempt starting my column, but really I message Adelaide about the date going well and make a playlist to send Oliver because he’d mentioned last night that he wished he knew more about 1960s music. (He said it in his room with the lights out in a pause from making out, so he may not have actually meant it and just gotten carried away by kissing me, but I figure I can still be nice.) Sara’s not home yet, but I decide not to worry about it.

I remember that I’d planned on using today to finally catch up with Kaitlyn, so I send her a quick text.
hey! good wkend? wanna get coffee now?
She doesn’t respond right away, which isn’t her style, but at least I feel a little less guilty about forgetting her.

Sara leans into my room. “Hi, I’m home. Sorry if I scared everyone this morning. I just ended up falling asleep, and…I know, it was completely irresponsible of me. I feel awful, and I already talked to Mom, and I explained how it was my fault and not Camille’s. Mom understands, and things are fine.”

“Are you just having a whole conversation with yourself?”

She laughs and leans out of the room. “Shut up.”

I turn back to my computer, which is good timing because Oliver’s requested my friendship on Facebook, and that feels nice and official. I lose plenty of time looking at all his photos and checking out the kinds of people he’s friends with, but there aren’t any scary surprises. There aren’t any surprises at all. Oliver is exactly what he seems like.

But once I’ve finished my online Oliver profiling, there are surprises, and I guess you could call them scary. A bunch of photos Kaitlyn’s tagged in start popping up. She’s posing for the camera with Josie and Lora and the other girls they hang out with, and it’s clear these were taken at some club they snuck into, just like Kaitlyn wanted. I didn’t think she’d actually been
serious
about the whole club thing. She’s dressed in something sparkly and wearing more makeup than usual, and honestly, she looks great but even less like the girl I’m best friends with.

I know she talked about us doing this like we could aspire to no greater fun, but I really did think she meant
us
. Sure, I’d left her out of seeing
The Apple
, but it was only because I knew it wasn’t her thing. Seeing her captured in images looking so happy and cool, well, someone might as well have punched me in the face.

I click back to Oliver because I can’t look at Kaitlyn another minute longer.

At school the next morning, I hope Kaitlyn will be at my locker. I hope she’ll have a hilarious story about going out with those girls, and I’ll have a killer punch line, and everything will be normal again.

But she’s not there, so I hang out with Mitchell and Chelsea and discuss our favorite parts of
The Apple
(flying Cadillac wins, hands-down!) before class. It’s way better than hanging out alone (or, ugh, showing up to class way early), but considering I have actual, no-need-to-lie details about my date with Oliver and it’s-kind-of-weird-Sara-canceled-on-Dexter-and-stayed-out-all-night-with-her-biological-mom details to mull over, I hate that Kaitlyn’s nowhere to be found. Everyone here is great, but I don’t know any of them enough to say what’s in my brain. I stick with flying cars.

The latest issue of the
Ticknor Voice
is out at lunchtime, and even though nothing of mine is in it, I still take it to my table instead of food. For the first time ever, I pore over the masthead.
The Ticknor Ticker: Kellie Brooks
. I grab my phone and text Adelaide, who I’ve realized spends her lunches in Jennifer’s room, doing newspaper and yearbook stuff.
what the heck is the ticknor ticker???
Her response is almost immediate:
Sorry, that’s what Jennifer wants to call your column. I did all I could.

“Jennifer’s calling my column the ‘Ticknor Ticker,’” I say to the rest of the table. “Doesn’t that sound like what they call someone’s heart when they have high cholesterol or something?” It hits me, as everyone agrees, that Kaitlyn hasn’t shown up, even to drop off her stuff and get in line. My purse is dropped in the chair next to me, saved for her, as the first one of us to arrive always does.

“Where’s Kaitlyn?” Chelsea asks as she catches me staring at the empty-except-for-my-purse chair.

I shrug, even though I guess I know and just don’t want to. “No clue.”

But we both crane our necks over to check out the section of tables for the Chosen Ones. My gaze catches on something familiar, a bright green shirt I’d bought for myself the other month at Kaitlyn’s urging and then given to her after a few failed attempts at wearing it. It’s just there, in between Lora’s red shirt and Josie’s white shirt.

Lora and Josie are talking, a lot, which means Kaitlyn isn’t, but she is smiling. They’re all smiling. How is this actually happening? Kids—not me, other kids—dream every day about suddenly conquering that table, but it doesn’t just
happen
.

But of course it’s not really the sudden and nearly unprecedented climb to the social top that I can’t handle. It’s that the climber is Kaitlyn. The climber is my best friend who didn’t say anything to me.

Before I can make myself turn away, Kaitlyn catches me looking, and she looks right back. There is a lot I want to get out of that look, like apology or guilt or an explanation or
something
that would make me feel better.

But I get nothing.

Chelsea notices, too, but we don’t say anything, just go back to eating. (I also, of course, get out my phone to text Oliver, since lunch is pretty safe for breaking that rule.
hope u haven’t seen any spiders today!!
He responds almost immediately:
Don’t even joke, Kellie. Spiders are serious business.
And then,
Thanks for the playlist. Listening right now. You’re right about The Hollies song.
) Mitchell asks about Kaitlyn, but instead of just pointing to her and explaining how she’s surpassed us in the Hierarchy of High School, I shrug and change the subject to the autumnal photo that was finally settled on (leaves, which is clichéd but a good shot).