“That’s al it wil take.”
I hope.
His gaze drifts to the ceiling, like he’l find the right answer written on the dingy acoustic tiles. I’ve never seen Brody so thoughtful and serious before. This gives me even more hope that my plan wil work. Doe’s already worked some positive changes in Brody. It’s only a matter of time until he works some in her.
“Okay.” Brody nods, not looking at me. “I’l try.” He turns and heads into his class. I take off for American Government, hoping that everything I just told Brody is true.
“Maladroit.”
“Um…” I search my brain for the definition, knowing we’ve studied this one at least twice. Final y, just as I’m about to give up, it comes to me. “Clumsy.”
That should be an easy one for me since I am maladroit.
At least on land.
One of Shannen’s study techniques is to visualize an image that exemplifies the vocab word. I picture myself wearing a T-shirt that says MALADROIT—I hope it doesn’t matter if it’s spel ed wrong—and then tripping over my own flip-flops into a giant bowl of today’s side dish, saffron rice.
“Excel ent,” Shannen says. She flips through the stack of flash cards in her hands, chooses one, and reads,
“Pretentious.”
While I search for this definition, Shannen spoons a bite of yel ow rice into her mouth and Quince flips through a motorcycle magazine. With the SATs coming up this weekend, I’m trying to cram in as much last-minute studying as possible.
Shannen has already taken—and, of course, aced—the test.
Quince, on the other hand, has no intention of taking it. He already has a job lined up with a construction company, thanks to his current job at the lumberyard. With his brain and skil s, I think he’l be foreman within a year.
If only my future were that easy.
“Lily,” Shannen prods, waving the definition flash card before my eyes. “Pretentious?”
Without thinking, I blurt, “Pompous. Arrogant.”
“Awesome!” Shannen cheers.
This mental image pops into my mind without any effort.
The terrible trio. I can’t imagine anyone more pompous or arrogant than Astria, Piper, and Venus. Of course, several other vocabulary words apply equal y. Vindictive. Malicious.
Haughty.
In my mind, the words transform into giant foam letters and start bonking the terrible trio on their heads. I suppress a giggle.
When Shannen starts digging through the stack again, I beg, “Please. No more. My brain can’t take it.” She shrugs, as if it’s my funeral if I don’t cram in ten more vocab words at lunch, but doesn’t argue the point. Honestly, I think my brain is completely ful . I couldn’t handle another piece of information, and I just hope the ones I already have don’t start fal ing out before Saturday.
Coming to my aid—as al good boyfriends should—
Quince asks, “Doe cal ed in sick today?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I think it was for the best. Gave me a chance to talk to Brody first.”
“Why?” Shannen asks. “What happened?”
I hesitate, not sure if Shannen should know what Doe did.
I’m not sure anyone should know what she did. I wish I didn’t.
Now I total y understand why Daddy kept her exile—and the reason for it—a secret. She’s a dumb kid with a big grudge, but some people wouldn’t be able to see that she was acting out from a place of pain. I didn’t, at first. Others might hold it against her forever. If I can help her overcome her issues, then it’s better if they don’t know about her big mistake.
So, even though I hate lying to my best human friend—to anyone, real y—I say, “She and Brody had a fight. I’m trying to help them patch it up.”
“Why?” she asks. “I thought you wanted to keep them apart.”
See, lies always lead to more lies and more complications.
“I’ve had a change of heart,” I admit. “Realized they might actual y be good for each other.”
Shannen shrugs. “If you say so.”
I exchange a glance with Quince. He nods. I think we both know this is the only option—keeping Shannen in the dark, trying to encourage Doe’s feelings for Brody. It’s the only possible way for everything to end up right in the end.
Shannen pul s another set of flash cards from her backpack. Sliding one across the table to me, she says,
“Solve for x.”
I groan. Math is… not my strong suit. Then again, when it comes to the SATs, I don’t think I have a strong suit. I dutiful y pul out a pencil and prepare to spend the rest of lunch trying to beat the equation into submission. Then I sense a presence at my side.
“Lily?”
I turn to smile, relieved to be saved from math by Miss Molina. Then I see the concerned look on her face. The disappointment.
Son of a swordfish! The interview. In al the craziness when I got back from Seaview, I completely blanked on the interview with Miss Molina’s friend at Seaview Community.
“Oh, no!” I gasp. “I’m so sorry. I completely forgot. I’m so, so sorry. There was this whole…” I struggle to find the words to describe what happened without real y describing what happened. Where are my vocab words when I need them? “Crisis!” I final y blurt. “My cousin got sick and it was real y bad. I—” The look in her eyes, like I’ve failed her big-time, is kil ing me. “I should have cal ed or something. I’m just… I’m real y sorry.”