Exposed (18 page)

She made him cry, too. Poor guy.

Devin can be … a little mean to guys sometimes.

The air in the technology lab doesn’t stir at all despite the hum of computer fans, and the big concrete space is dark except for the glow of fifteen monitors—one of which I’m staring at as I hack around the school safety filters to send Paul an e-mail.

God, I hate telling him about things like getting grounded and Mom confiscating the laptop. I sound like such a baby, and he’s a grown man. Once I get through the filters and make it to my e-mail account, I can’t even figure out what to say at all.

Hey.

Mom busted me and took the computer. I’m grounded, so I can’t talk.

And what else am I supposed to say?

Sorry, but I probably can’t talk ever again. Sorry, but I’m still an infant and my parents completely control every aspect of my existence.

I erase the first start and frown at the blank e-mail.

Hey.

Parental interference. Lost the computer. It may be a while before I can chat. Don’t give up on me.

No. Stop. Erase. That sucks, too.

My stomach starts to hurt.

I can’t believe I’ll be going home tonight and I won’t be able to talk to Paul. The frosty glares all morning from Mom and the I’m-disappointed-and-worried speech from Dad was bad enough, but tonight it’ll be so, so bad. Sad and boring. So totally nothing, like my life after Adam-P and before Paul.

I’ll do homework. I’ll watch Lauren try on leotards. I’ll probably work on my competition routine until I fall over—and then I’ll just be there, in Mommy-prison.

How am I supposed to go from having everything to just …
nothing
again?

Sick feelings scrape my insides until I feel hollow, and I want to put my face on the keyboard and just stay there until somebody throws me out.

“Chan, for God’s sake, get it done.” Devin’s foot-tapping gets a whole lot faster and a whole lot louder.

I chew on my lip.

Dear Paul, Grounded.

No computer.

An idea flickers in the back of my mind.

For a few seconds, I try to push it away.

I can’t do what I’m thinking. No way. No how.

But if I do …

If I don’t, I might not be able to talk to Paul for like, forever. I might lose him. I might never get to see Paul’s dimple again, or his smile, or his muscles, or those stupid
big-eyed smileys he sends whenever I show him something he likes.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as I try to decide if I really have the guts to tell him my idea.

“Today, Chan!” Devin’s voice makes me jump half out of my skin.

“Okay!” I glance at the back of her head.

Eyes back to the computer.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

Paul,

Computer confiscated. No way to get out of the house to get anything else.

I stop again.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as I try to decide if I really have the guts to tell him my idea.

And even if I tell him, will he do it?

“Do you know the name of his school?” Devin’s voice makes me jump half out of my skin.

“What?” I glance at the back of her head again.

“This boy. Paul. Do you know the name of his school, his town, his football team? Anything that we can check out and verify?”

Not
now.
I can’t have this conversation. No.

I keep my eyes on the computer screen. “Yeah. Got it. I checked him out, top to bottom.”

Delete. Delete. Delete.

Paul,

Computer confiscated. Remember the video of me and the weights?

I stop again.

Can I do this?

It isn’t really that big a deal, is it? Paul’s right. I’ve got clothes on in that video. And if it makes money, Mom can’t keep me shut down. I can get stuff she doesn’t even know about.

“You promise?” Devin startles me again.

“Promise
what
?”

She shakes her head and looks hurt. “That you checked out this guy. That he’s safe.”

“Yeah, I promise.” My fingers curl against the keys. “Now give it a rest if you want us to get out of here. I can’t think if you keep interrupting me.”

Devin mumbles to herself, but goes back to watching the door.

My hands shake as I type,
Sell the video if you can. Put the money in my account and I’ll get a Berry or a phone with video as soon as possible. And I’ll need that I.D.

After another few seconds of me breathing hard and Devin-the-guard staying stone silent except for accelerated foot-tapping, I type in my address, with:
I’ll look for something from you starting Friday. If I don’t see anything, I’ll be back here next Tuesday, same time to e-mail you. I’ll get on sooner if I can—might be able to check my box a few times, but I’ll definitely have POS.

Okay.

That’s that.

I need to press SEND, but I feel so totally ridiculous.

Why would a twenty-three-year-old gorgeous guy keep fooling with me after I turn out to have such a pain in the ass life? I mean, he can have girls who don’t have to fool with parents.

“Chan. Now.” Devin’s talking through her teeth.

That gets me moving enough to sign the post;
With love, Red
.

“Send the e-mail already!” Devin says, more urgent than ever, moving toward the door.

Terrified that Dr. Doofus didn’t actually leave early, or that the lab assistant’s on her way back into the main room early, I hit ENTER and the post disappears from my mailbox.

Another few seconds of erasing tracks and cookies, and I’m finished. I even manage to catch up with Devin before she closes the lab door.

We fly to the gym and dress in a hurry, but the band’s already marching when we hit the field at a dead run.

The Bear glares in our general direction for a few seconds, but finally motions for us to take our places. We’ll hear about it later, no doubt, but at least for the moment, she looks too relaxed to muster a first-class fit.

Thank God for whatever put her in a good mood.

Everything’s okay.

Everything’s good.

Until after dance practice, when the Bear calls me into her office. Without Devin.

As Devin leaves the gym with her father, she gives me a desperate wish-I-could-help look, but I just shrug and mouth,
Don’t worry
.

Devin’s return look says,
Yeah, right
, before the gym door closes.

Then I’m back in the little concrete office with the dusty trophies on the high shelves, and the Bear’s behind her desk. She has on crimson warm-ups today, and her lipstick and nail polish match the color perfectly.

When I sit down in the chair on the other side of her desk, she looks at me steadily, and I wait for her to cut loose about Devin and me being late for marching practice. I’m not even that nervous about it. I’ve thought of about five good lies.

Unless somebody saw us in the tech lab.

God, what if they’ve put up security cameras? They could have them right in the computers. I wouldn’t even know!

But unless the cameras were focused right on the screen, I could say I was checking the price on new batons, or getting some workout and diet info—anything my mom might object to. Anything that somebody might believe.

Lying’s getting easier by the minute. Still, by the time the Bear looks ready to speak, my head feels close to exploding.

“Your father vill be a few minutes late picking you up,” she says.

I gaze at her, surprised, especially when she doesn’t say anything else right away.

Usually, if parents are late, we just wait for them outside in the gym parking lot. A little extra time to go through our routines—no biggie.

The Bear folds her hands in front of her and leans forward, studying me with more intensity. The lines on her face get so tight I wonder if her skin will crack. “Your mother, she is caught up in her campaign wrap-up. She called and asked me to keep an eye on you until he arrives.”

Oh, great
. My cheeks start burning.
I’m not five! God, sometimes, I really do hate my mother.

I want to close my eyes, but the Bear has me in her sights. “You’re in trouble. It’s serious, yes?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” I shrug. “It’s nothing. Just grounded. You know, normal stuff.”

“Ah. Good, good.” The Bear sits back in her chair, and the tight lines on her face relax. “Your mother’s voice—I vorried it might be real trouble. That you might not twirl at Regionals.”

“What?” My eyes go wide. It’s my turn to lean forward. “Oh, no way. I’ll be there. That’s like the most important thing in my life other than—well, never mind. It’s the most important thing.”

The Bear keeps her relaxed position, but her face tenses again. “This trouble, it’s over a boy?”

That surprises me so much I just say, “Yes, ma’am.”

Her eyes draw down to tiny slits. “Not that football blockhead. Tell me no, not
him
.”

I look straight into the Bear’s slitted eyes. “Trust me, I’m never going there again. Not for any reason.”

The Bear’s smile comes so fast I almost sit back in terror. But she nods and keeps smiling, then gestures at a spot on the wall over my left shoulder, in the general direction of the practice field. “You’re looking so good, he gives you quite the eye earlier, Mr. Blockhead Football. I’m thinking he regrets himself.”

I have no idea what to say to the idea of Adam-P noticing how I look or maybe regretting the choices he’s made, or that piece of mangled grammar from the Bear, so I don’t say anything at all.

She leans forward again and fixes me with another one of her intense stares. Suddenly, I can see her younger, still beautiful, at some smoky bar with a drink in her hand, telling her best friend all the problems in the world, and maybe even laughing over some of them. Even when I blink, that image won’t go away.

“Vhat that boy did to you last year, that Adam, he should be shot.” She shakes her head, purses her crimson-painted lips, then adds, “His terrible lies and the other children being so—” She waves one hand with a frown. “Anyvay, I admire how you handled yourself.”

All I can do is sit quietly and stare at the Bear.

I’ve fallen into some alternate universe. Who is this woman, and what has she done with my real coach?

“You’ve come a long vay from all that. Another thing I admire. And vhen you take Regionals—and you vill—yet another proud time, for you and for me.” She smiles some more. Her right hand twitches, like she wants to reach out and pat my head. “Redemption.”

Instead of some Russian good-wishing, she says, “Vould you like to step through your competition routine until your father comes?”

I almost jump out of my chair. “Yes, please.”

Anything but this—whatever this is.

Before the Bear can change her mind, I hurry out of her office, grab my bag, unzip it, and take out my batons. She walks slowly to her usual competition-training position and leans back against the first folded bleacher in the gym, right around where the judges’ table would be.

I get into ready pose and start humming the music to myself, but before my first move, the Bear interrupts me with, “Once, I had a hard time, too, Chan Shealy. Around your age.”

My arms lower slowly. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to answer, or what I should do next, but the Bear gestures for me to get my sticks up again.

I do.

She says, “Don’t forget I know about hard times, yes?”

Yes. No.

“Um, okay.” I hold both batons steady and give her what I hope is a smile instead of nervous, twitching lips.

Then she starts me fast, clapping and shouting, “One, two, three, four!”

• • •

A-gain
! is still ringing in my ears as I drag my exhausted self down the hall toward the parking lot, where I hope Dad’s waiting. My bag and batons must weigh three hundred pounds, and my feet don’t want to work at all.

Which is why I don’t launch the world’s best karate kick when Adam-P steps out of the shadows and stops me near the door with a quiet, “Chan, wait. You got a second?”

I quit walking so fast I almost stumble.

Then I’m just standing there like a mute idiot, looking up into his handsome face.

That I hate.

I hate his face. And him. Yes, I do. I’m remembering that.

He’s all dressed in his football gear, and smeared up with grass and dirt like he doesn’t do any better in practice than he does during games. Automatically, I check all around me for Ellis, but there’s no sign of the witch-monster.

Sarcasm, please don’t desert me now. Let me sneer something masterful and cutting and brilliant like Carny. Even one of Devin’s too-long words. Something?

“What do you want?” I manage to ask, but my voice comes out a mumble.

Adam-P studies his dirty cleats. “I—I’ve been wanting to say, well, thought I should say—”

He stops. Chews on his lip. Looks … like he did the whole time we were dating.

Which is adorable.

I hate him. I hate him.

He’s so close to me I could reach out and put my hands on his green-and-brown-streaked jersey. I could touch him because he’s real and not on a computer and right here. My stomach twists all up and cramps, but at the same time, it feels all fluttery.

Yeah, I could touch the jerk. I could punch him in the face.

Only, I’m not feeling that mad.

My legs seem a little stronger. A little less tired. Maybe I could pull off that karate kick after all?

But my heart’s not in it.

Exactly where my heart is, I can’t say right this second.

All I can do is keep looking at Adam-P, who says, “I’m, uh, sorry, Chan. For everything last year. When the rumors got out and everybody started asking me if I, you know, had
it
and stuff—I flipped out. I shouldn’t have—well, like I said. Sorry. I was way wrong.”

My muscles loosen like somebody sucked all the juice out of my cells.

When Adam raises his head, he meets my gaze, and he
does
look sorry.

And adorable again.

I hate him. I do. I really, really do.