April Fools (2 page)

Belinda gave a vague nod and watched her go, Hildy's miniskirted figure sashaying through the crowded cafeteria and drawing the usual stares. "If it was some problem with cheerleading, you'd be panic-stricken," Belinda grumbled, then stopped herself, ashamed. She and Hildy were best friends, after all. Hildy had never been one to dwell over problems; Hildy hated httle annoyances upsetting her busy social life. Belinda had always been the worrier. While Hildy was going out on all the dates, BeUnda sat home, worrying about studying, about making money for college, about how she was going to help Hildy pass her next big test. But that was okay, wasn't it? Best friends accepted each other unconditionally, didn't they?

Sighing, Belinda gathered up her books and tossed her empty juice can into the trash by the door. Every time she tried to eat lately, she felt queasy. Better to go on to gym and grab something afterward that she could munch between classes. She checked her watch and began hurrying across campus when suddenly the intercom crackled to life, bellowing its message through the entire school.

"Belinda Swanson -- please report to the office immediately -- Belinda Swanson -- to the office --"

It was as if someone had punched her. Freezing in midstride, Belinda grabbed her stomach and fought off a wave of nausea. They know! They know we killed that person in that car! Her mind raced in a million directions, but as she took a deep breath, a frail thread of calm fought for control. How could they know? Just go to the office and see what they want. Act normal. They couldn't possibly know . . .

She felt like a wooden doll going back across the yard and into the administration building. She wondered if Hildy and Frank had heard the intercom and what they were thinking. Stopping at the main desk, she leaned forward, her mouth so cottony that she couldn't even talk. The secretary gave her a smile and motioned her toward the principal's door.

"Go on in, Belinda -- Mr. Grumes is expecting you."

And she couldn't quite recall getting into his office, but then Mr. Grumes was nodding at her from his oversized desk and waving her into a chair while he hastily finished a conversation on the phone.

Someone else was in the room, too -- a tall, severe-looking woman in the chair beside Belinda's. She was dressed in black -- suit, shoes, even her hat -- the veil of the hat had been lifted slightly, to reveal cold eyes. She looked about fortyish, Belinda thought, but there were bruises on her cheeks, which showed through layers and layers of makeup.

Her ringed fingers tapped nervously on the arms of her chair, and as the color began to drain from Belinda's face, the woman gave her a long, hard stare.

"Belinda --" Mr. Grumes leaned over and shook her hand -- "nice to see you. I wasn't sure if you'd dressed for gym yet or not -- glad I caught you in time."

Belinda forced a smile, hoping it didn't look fake. "I was just on my way."

Well, I won't keep you in suspense, though I'm sure you
d never be afraid you're in any kind of trouble." Mr. Grumes gave her a knowing look, and Belinda squirmed against the sticky leather seat. "Belinda, this is Mrs. Thome . . . and Mrs. Thome, this is the young lady you were asking about."

Belinda nodded and felt the woman's eyes boring into her, as if searching for her very soul.

"Mrs. Thome is interested in hiring a tutor," Mr. Grumes went on in his businesslike way. "So when she called the school about you, I suggested she meet you for herself."

He paused, and Belinda felt herself sinking back against the cushions, a long, slow breath draining all the fear from her heart. She closed her eyes and opened them again, meeting the woman's stare.

"It's my stepson. My husband's child." Mrs. Thome's voice was low and agitated. "He's been . . . ill. . . and it's . . . impossible for him to attend school at the present time. His mother doesn't want him falhng behind in his studies, so I'm trying to find a ... a tutor for the boy --"

"Belinda's our best student," Mr. Grumes broke in. "Mature . . . dependable . . . she's very good with people --"

"My husband's business takes up most of my time," Mrs. Thorne cut him off. "I work long hours and have to do a great deal of traveling, especially now. It was the boy's mother who wanted to send him here -- it wasn't my idea." She paused, looking irritated with the whole situation. "My husband's in the hospital at present; he mustn't be disturbed or upset. I thought if you could come in several times a week . . . work with the boy on school assignments ... his mother wants him kept in touch with the outside world --" She stopped herself abruptly. Belinda had the distinct feeling she was holding something back. "Of course I understand you must be very busy ... I'd be willing to pay you generously for your time."

Belinda thought quickly -- all the scrimping and saving she'd had to do ever since Mom and Dad's divorce . . . the painstaking struggle just to make ends meet. She really needed money for college in the fall. And Mom worked so hard all the time . . . and ifs not like I don't have any experience -- all those baby-sitting jobs, the hours of volunteer work at the hospital -- with a little juggling I could fit this one in.

"And if you'd hke to meet my stepson before deciding," Mrs. Thorne looked away, "that can easily be arranged."

Mr. Grumes nodded emphatically. "His own school's compiled some lesson plans for him -- I've

U

looked them over myself, and you shouldn't have any trouble --"

"Mr. Grumes tells me youVe done tutoring for lots of other children --"

"Yes, just about every age group." Behnda gave a modest smile.

"She seems to have a magic touch," the principal said smoothly, "for always squeaking the really terrible students by." He gave her a sly wink and Belinda reddened, thinking of Hildy.

"I hear he's very bright," Mrs. Thome went on, not looking particularly impressed, "although at this particular time . . . well . . . he's been rather depressed. He's also difficult. His mother's at a loss with what to do with him -- she has a job herself and can't stay home -- she thought a change of scene might be beneficial."

"You think about it," Mr. Grumes added, reaching for the buzzing telephone. "You think about it and let us know --"

"If I could just have your answer by the end of the week," Mrs. Thome said crisply. "So I can make other arrangements for the boy if you decide you can't do it --"

"Of course she'll do it, won't you, Behnda? You'll be great!" Behnda opened her mouth to protest, but Mr. Grumes rushed on. "I have every confidence in you. If anyone can make a difference with the kid, you can." He grinned at her, then spoke into the receiver, their discussion obviously at an end.

"Maybe I should meet him first," Belinda stood up, speaking softly to Mrs. Thorne, who was gathering her purse and jacket. "If he's really having that bad of a time, maybe we should all be sure he wants me there --"

"He doesn't know what he wants -- or what he needs," Mrs. Thorne replied tartly, then hesitated, thinking. "Cobbs is in town this afternoon, and I have that meeting -- Oh, very well, I suppose I'll just have to be late. Give me your address."

Slightly dismayed, Belinda took the pen and paper ojQfered her and wrote down the information, handing it back with an apologetic smile.

"I just wouldn't want him upset, you know, having me there. It always seems to bring out the worst in kids when they get stuck with a baby-sitter they can't stand."

The woman, walking a few steps ahead of her, turned in surprise. "Were you under the impression that he's a small child?"

This time it was Belinda's turn to look surprised. "Well, when you said it was your stepson . . . the way you were talking about him ... I just thought --"

Her smile was tight. "You and my stepson are probably near the same age."

"Oh . . . well . . ."

"Adam Thome," she said. "He just turned eighteen. In spite of the accident."

The woman's tone of voice chilled BeUnda, and she stared at Mrs. Thorne, as if from a long way off.

"Adam . . . was in an accident?" she asked weakly.

"You're a very polite girl, but you must have noticed my injuries. It's a miracle I lived through it at all. It's a miracle any of us did." They came out into the daylight and Mrs. Thome adjusted her black veil with trembling fingers. "My husband isn't going to make it, Belinda." Her voice sank to a bitter whisper. "And now I'm stuck with Adam. All because of that car accident two weeks ago."

When Belinda got to her locker, Hildy was abeady there waiting for her.

"Belinda! God, what happened? I heard the intercom and --"

"WeVe got to talk," Belinda said. She grabbed her books and steered Hildy outside, weaving through the swarms of students heading for home. As they ducked beneath an outside stairwell, Belinda glanced around to make sure they hadn^t been noticed, while Hildy huddled there looking frightened.

"Belinda, tell me. Is it about. . . you know ..."

"Mr. Grumes wants me to tutor some boy. Hildy, the guy's a senior, and he can't go to school."

Hildy stared at her. "So? Is he contagious or something?"

"No! He was in a car wreck two weeks ago,** Belinda stepped back, waiting for her friend's reaction -- panic, guilt, something -- but Hildy still looked blank. Behnda grabbed her shoulder and

shook her. "Did you hear me? Did you hear what I said --"

"Hey, what's going on?" Frank suddenly appeared out of nowhere and slipped between them, his handsome features locked in a frown. "Is this a fight? No hair pulhng or blouse ripping without the referee." He grinned wickedly and looked down at Belinda. "So what was that little trip to Grumes's office all about?"

For a moment neither girl spoke. Then Hildy began to laugh as Belinda gazed on in disbelief.

"Hildy, this is not funny! Don't you under --"

"Oh, but it is funny." Hildy couldn't stop giggling, and Frank leaned back, watching them both in growing amusement. "It's funny 'cause you're so predictable! Oh, poor Belinda -- I'm sorry, but -- "

"So what's this great joke, anyway?" Frank demanded. "What'd I miss?"

"It's not a joke," Belinda said quietly. She stared down at the ground, praying she wouldn't start to cry. She always cried at the wrong times. And then they'd just make fun of her some more, and why can't they see how serious this is.... She felt Hildy's hand on her arm and reluctantly raised her eyes.

"Belinda, look, it's just so funny, I --"

"It's not funny, Hildy. It's horrible. Don't you see what it means?"

"No, I don't. But I thought^ by the way you were acting, that.. . well, you know. I'm just so relieved, you scared me half to death --"

**Well, great, but will one of you please tell me what's going on, so I can share in all this fun?" Frank

crossed his arms over his chest, and Hildy gave Belinda an encouraging pat.

"Go on. Start at the beginning."

Behnda swallowed . . . nodded. "Some woman came to see Mr. Grumes. Her stepson's staying with her, and he needs a tutor." They were staring at her so intently now that she paused, and Frank shifted his gaze briefly to Hildy's.

*Well, okay, so what?"

"Fm not sure what's wrong with him, but he can't go to school. The woman -- Mrs. Thome -- had bruises on her face and said her husband's dying -- all from this car accident they were in two weeks ago." Belinda stopped, pressed her hand to her mouth. For a moment there was just the soft popping of Hildy's gum.

"Belinda--" Frank said carefully, "you don't really think --"

"Two weeks, Frank. Two weeksV^

"Yeah, okay, I know, but wrecks happen every single day and what're the chances of --^"

'Where did it happen?" Hildy butted in. "Did she say where it happened?"

*Well...no."

"Then it could have been anywhere. Frank's right, Belinda, I think you're really stretching it."

"Give it a rest, huh?" Frank patted her on the back. "You're making yourself crazy for no reason. You're seeing ghosts in every comer."

Belinda looked back at them, reading their patronizing expressions. She sighed and turned away. "I'm not going to take the job."

"But why not?" Hildy hurried to catch up with her as she strode across the yard toward the street. "It sounds like an easy way to make money, doesn't it? It'd be a snap for you. What's the guy's name?"

Belinda sidestepped a puddle, heard Frank splash through it, heard Hildy's squeal as mud splattered her stockings. "Adam, I think. Adam Thome."

"Adam ..." Hildy sighed to herself. "Ooh, that sounds so romantic. Look, Belinda, if I were you --"

You*d have a conscience, she wanted to say, but instead she bit her tongue as Hildy kept chattering.

"I'd at least see what this Adam guy looks like. I mean, this could be it, this could be THE ONE, if you know what I mean, and then I wouldn't have to worry about you being so alone all the time --^"

"You don't worry," Belinda said offhandedly. "Since when do you worry?"

"Hildy's right." Frank wagged a finger at her. "All work and no play makes Belinda a very dull--"

"And anyway, what would you tell Mr. Grumes?" Hildy persisted. "If you say you won't do it, he might wonder why and start asking questions and--"

"He'll put the pressure on you" -- Frank popped his knuckles and grinned -- "and you'll crack --"

"Oh, please." Belinda quickened her pace. She was not in the mood for Frank's perverse humor, but his strong hands clamped down on her shoulders, forcing her around.

"Hey, what's with you anyway?" He flashed that irresistible grin. "You used to love my jokes. You used to love me." He loosened his hold on her arms, tilting her face up so he could look into her eyes, and Belinda blushed and looked away. There had been a time she would have given anything for a date with Frank Scaleri, anything just to have him notice her. But it had been Hildy who Frank had noticed, Hildy who Frank had fallen head over heels for, just like all the other guys in school always had. Always Hildy. Belinda had long ago resigned herself to being noticed only because she was Hildy's friend. Now, with an effort, she looked back into Frank's laughing eyes and hoped her voice wouldn't give her away.