“I don’t even like cheerleading. And Britney’s my friend—”
“Your friend? You call that bitch your friend? You need to do something about her, Celia. You need to show her that she doesn’t deserve that position.”
Celia whimpered something unintelligible.
“And then you go around thinking a boy will make this all better,” the woman snapped. Blood-red fingernails tapped against her arm. “You’ve known him for five years and he’s hardly looked at you. He threatened to shave your eyebrows off! He’s an obstacle, Celia! One you need to remove.”
“No, he’s not!”
“I’m your mother—I know these things!”
Her mother?
Celia was crying now. She turned away from her mother to wipe her eyes, smudging her ugly mascara tears. Something slipped out of her hand and clattered to the floor, making her jump. Her cell phone.
When she bent down to get it, she saw me. Her eyes opened wide.
I ran from the gym as fast as I could.
Do you ever think about lobsters?
Very doubtful
I think about lobsters all the time. You knew that already; I’ve told you the stories.
Yes
Do you think the lobsters in the tank try to help the other lobsters? Is that why they pile up like that? Or is it just for company, because they know they’re all doomed?
Better not tell you now
Either way, it must be nice to have someone.
Chapter Twenty
I told Tucker about Celia and her mother the next day, when we both had to work the late shift at Finnegan’s.
“And her mom just showed up at school?” Tucker said. “I didn’t think they got along.”
I’d been considering the idea that the encounter had been some kind of hallucination, but there was confirmation— even Tucker knew about Celia’s mom.
“Well they sure didn’t sound happy to see each other. I think her mom must have been watching,” I said. “She was there right after we walked out. But when Celia saw me, I swore she was going to fly across the gym and strangle me to death.”
Tucker shook his head. “Add it to Celia’s list of Weird Conversations.”
“What does that mean?”
“Did you know McCoy talks to Celia all the time?” he asked. “He calls her to his office all the time. I used to be the front desk attendant sophomore year, and a week into September, Celia started showing up every other day. Into McCoy’s office, stayed for half an hour, waltzed back out again. And she’s been doing that ever since. Think that was included in her mom’s ‘plans’?”
“McCoy? No, I don’t think McCoy is included in anyone’s plans.”
“Speaking of McCoy.” Tucker leaned against the counter and clipped his mechanical pencil to the frames of his glasses. “Talking about the scoreboard legend a while back got me curious. I’m going to the library on Saturday to research—wanna come? I’ll pick you up.”
I thrust out my hand. “Deal.”
Though I felt better after telling Tucker what I’d seen, I spent the next days wondering if Celia was going to jump out and stab me. She didn’t, but she did shoot me warning looks that said I’d get shanked if I went near her.
I was still jittery on Friday. I sat on a bench outside school and waited for the parking lot to quiet down—there were still way too many cars around and I didn’t want to take Erwin into that sort of hostile environment. The lights cast wide yellow pools on the asphalt. Most kids had stayed inside for some sort of basketball after-party in the gym, and anyone out here was in their car and gone within minutes.
Except for one person.
I spotted her when she crept out from behind a row of cars. Celia. She had a can of paint in one hand, and she shook it as she peered over her shoulder.
Abandoning my backpack on the bench, I darted down the next row of cars. I kneeled between two cars and watched her lean over the hood of a white convertible and paint the windshield.
I pointed my camera. A minute later, Captain Bitch in neon pink covered the convertible’s windshield.
Oh, great. Celia listened to her mom. Cheerleader retribution.
The camera slipped from my fingers and clattered on the asphalt. Celia whipped around. Saw me kneeling there.
I scooped up the camera and sprinted in the other direction. Celia screamed something and the paint can hit the hood of a car as I passed by. It burst open, spraying fluorescent pink everywhere. I veered left, ducking down so Celia wouldn’t see my head. I glanced through a car window. She raced down the row after me.
I crawled along, doubled back, and passed her before rolling underneath a van.
“RIDGEMONT!” I could see her sneakers. She walked back the other way. I held my breath as she passed the van.
Please, please let me be hallucinating this. Because if I wasn’t, that meant Celia Hendricks really was losing it. Maybe her mom was pushing her there, or maybe she’d always been like this, but I was pretty sure if she found me right now she was going to rip my hair out.
My salvation came a few seconds later.
“Milesie!” Celia squealed.
“What are you doing, Hendricks?” Miles’s feet—shiny shoes and all—came into view. He always walked like that, heel-toe-push, like he’d knock over anyone who got in his way.
“Oh, nothing. Just hanging out. You?”
Now they were both planted right in front of the van.
“Nothing,” he replied. His voice was low and sharp. “Just wondering why you’re running around the parking lot, screaming your head off.”
Celia hesitated. “No reason. I have to get going. But I’ll see you tomorrow!”
She hurried off, and a moment later an engine started up.
Miles was still there. I held my breath—if he’d move, I could go get Erwin and leave. I wanted him to find me under this van about as much as I wanted Celia to. He couldn’t see me like this.
But then he walked to the van’s front bumper, kneeled down, and peered underneath. “Having fun?” he asked.
I let out a gust of breath and set my forehead against the asphalt. What an asshole.
“Running from crazy people is always fun,” I replied.
Miles helped me out from under the van. As I brushed myself off, he asked, “So what was she chasing you for?”
“That depends,” I said, bringing up the picture of Celia spray-painting Britney’s car on my camera. I showed it to him. Please be there. Please be there. “What do you see?”