Losing Faith (22 page)

I can’t believe my ears. Tessa seems so casual about it all. “Wow.” I follow her toward the other end of the apartment, but part of me wants to head straight for the main door and get the heck out of here. “Um, shouldn’t he be in counseling or something?”

“Tried that. Only made it worse. He’s easier to live with this way, we decided.”

“Who decided?”

“Me and Mom. Before she left.”

And I think
I
have problems. “So this is still from your sister? Still from Corey?”

Tessa opens the door to what I assume is her bedroom, but not the bedroom I would’ve expected from her. Not in a million years. A row of teddy bears lines the shelves of one whole wall. The pink on the walls is the exact shade of the turtleneck she wore to school that one day. Her bed has a lace-covered canopy. A canopy!

“Are you sure it’s just your dad who thinks you’re six?” It slips out.

She shakes her head, not an ounce of offense on her face. “Uh-huh. It’s Dad. I used to try to update my room, but he changed it back when I was at school. Or made it even more sickly sweet.” Tessa snickers like this is old news that she dealt with a long time ago. “I put a lock on once. He hired a locksmith. I took the teddy bears down to the courtyard and lit a fire when I was twelve. He went out and bought a whole new set the next day. Money we don’t have.”

While Tessa tells me all this, I can’t keep my eyes off her black clothing and jewelry and eyeliner, such a stark contrast to the room around her. Is this her only way to try to bring her dad back to reality? “What about your clothes? Doesn’t
he try to change them to little frilly dresses?” I think of the dresses in the pictures near the door.

She opens her closet, and the row of pink and purple frills makes me gasp. She shoves a step stool among the hanging pastel jumble. As weird as all this is, something keeps me from running out of here and finding a new set of friends.

She climbs the step stool and her head disappears for a few seconds. A light emanates from the top of the closet and she steps down. “Have a look.” Her hand points up to where she came from.

Holding on to the top of the rickety step stool, I move slowly up its three steps. Before my head is through the opening in the top of the closet, I see piles of folded-up black clothes. The one pink sweater. Stacks of notebooks. Makeup.

The stool shakes a little and I let out a small yelp.

“Oh, come on,” Tessa says, and groans.

At first I think she’s reprimanding me for the noise, but then I remember how little she seems to worry about noise in her apartment. When I cautiously back down the steps, I can tell by her one raised eyebrow directed at the step stool that she’s chiding me for my fear.

Of course she doesn’t know what it’s like to be afraid. Of anything, it seems.

“It’s everything I own,” she says, motioning back toward the attic. “This”—she spreads her hands out in front of her—“is all Dad’s. I’m worried about next year after high school, if I want to move out or whatever. But I guess we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”

She says it lightly, but her forehead crinkles and I can tell she’s thought a lot about it.

“So obviously your dad has no idea you borrow his car.” I drop my voice a bit to say this, even though Tessa hasn’t dropped hers the whole time we’ve been here. Her dad doesn’t want to find anything out. I’m starting to get it.

“Dad has no idea I leave the apartment,” she scoffs. “I used to go out the fire escape, but now I just take the front door. I don’t know what he tells himself. That I’m going over to a friend’s. You know, for a playdate. Who knows.” She pulls a pack of gum out of a dresser drawer and hands me a piece. “Doesn’t matter. Dad doesn’t drive much anyway. Just to get groceries. He’ll never miss it.”

I drop down onto her bed, under her canopy, in stunned silence. Could my family turn out like this?

Plan W: Make a lunch date.

“Did you get back into Reena’s room?” I ask Alis when he walks me home the following week.

“No.” His face tightens. “But I saw her leave with the folder on Sunday, and she didn’t come back with it.”

“Oh.” I’m disappointed, but I know it’s not Alis’s fault. Reena would definitely have noticed if we’d taken the thing.

It’s cool and wet, but thankfully not raining. I wrap my arms across myself. “Is she acting any different? Like she suspects you of anything?”

“I don’t think so.” He nibbles his lip, but I have the sense he’s not worried about himself. He’s worried about what exactly his sister might be into.

“Can you meet me for lunch tomorrow?”

“I guess,” he says. “Why?”

“I think we should put our heads together and figure some of this out.” I don’t tell him that “we” involves Tessa. It will take all three of us to figure out what our next move should be with Reena, and Tessa seems the most objective about it all. “Wendy’s? Eleven-thirtyish?”

He nods. “I’ll tell my sister I’m going for a walk. We can’t be too long.”

First thing the next morning, I ask Tessa, “What are you doing for lunch today?”

“Dunno. Wanna go to Wendy’s?”

Perfect. I nod. “There’s just one—”

“Hey, did you hear that Amy and Dustin broke up?”

I stare at her. I had no idea she even knew who they were. Why is she telling me this? And how would she have this information? I want to feel satisfaction at the news; I should feel that way, but all I feel is numb.

Before I can snap out of my daze to ask Tessa any details, Mr. Poindexter walks by our lockers and pulls her aside. Tessa looks happier, brighter, when she talks about art. They’re still chatting when the first bell rings for class.

I decide I’ll have lots of time to ask her about Amy and Dustin later. And I’ll tell her about Alis on the way.

When the lunch bell rings, I head straight for my locker. No Tessa, but a note flaps off the front of my door.

I’ll be late. Meet you there. T.

So, fine, Alis will have to be a surprise. I scoot out the front doors and across the street by myself.

Alis sits on the far side of the restaurant stirring a Frosty.

“Hey, stranger,” I say, even though I saw him yesterday.

“Hi.” He smiles, but his lip twitches like he’s nervous.

“Trouble getting away from you sister?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. It’s just … I’ve never had to sneak around this much.”

“Yeah, I know. It comes so naturally for Tessa. She—” I
stop, realizing I should probably give him a heads-up. “She’s meeting us here too.”

He looks at me blankly for a second, like he doesn’t understand.

“I really think we need her help.” I touch his arm, and for a second I feel a rush of electricity. He must feel it too, because he stops scowling.

“I found something,” he says, and pulls a piece of folded notepaper from his pocket.

I recognize it as the one I’d seen him pull out of the photography book in Reena’s room. “What is it?”

He unfolds the paper and places it flat on the table. “I told you about my mom’s suicide note, right?”

By the time he finishes his sentence, I’ve scanned enough of the note to realize that’s what this is. I hold my breath in alarm.

“I found it the other day, and just wanted to read it again.” He stops and blinks down at it a few times. “But the thing is, Reena’s been homeschooling me for a few years now. I know what her writing looks like.”

I feel a sudden rock in the pit of my stomach.

“She did a pretty good job of forging it, but there were a couple of slipups on the
y
’s.”

“Wait, you’re saying you think Reena forged your mom’s
suicide note?” I’m stunned, but I realize how much worse this must be for Alis. I place my hand over his.

He stares out the window. “I know why she did it. She loved our mom. She wanted her to look like a hero and I don’t think Ree could process the idea of an accident, why God would take her.”

“Still,” I start, but there’s nothing else to say.

“What’s he doing here?” Tessa blurts from behind me.

I jump in surprise and pull my hand away while Alis snatches the notepaper and stuffs it back into his pocket.

I motion for her to sit down. But sliding halfway off his chair, Alis looks like he’s about to bolt. He probably thinks I’ll tell Tessa all about the forged note.

“Listen, the reason I wanted to talk to you both is to figure out what to do next.” My words come out so quickly that they sound jumbled. “Look, I know you two aren’t exactly best friends,” I go on. “But you’re both so much smarter than me with this stuff. Can you please just give me half an hour? I won’t force you to sit together again, I promise.”

Tessa leans back in her chair and crosses her arms.

“I don’t know,” Alis says, worry in his eyes. “It’s my sister we’re talking about.”

“Your sister’s a whacked-out crazoid,” Tessa says, half under her breath, but we both hear her.

“No!” I grab Alis’s arm before he can get up. “She’s not crazy, we just need—”

“Maybe she is,” he says, without emotion.

We sit there silently for a minute, and even Tessa doesn’t say anything.

I start quietly. “Okay, when I talked to Celeste at Starbucks, she swore Faith never would have killed herself.” Alis frowns when I say this, so I stare at him and wait.

“Starbucks,” he says slowly. “Reena has a friend at Starbucks who used to bring her these fancy coffee drinks.”

“Yes, Celeste! That’s Celeste.” I grab Alis’s hand.

“Oh, isn’t that cute,” Tessa says. I pull my hand away.

“Yeah,” Alis says, ignoring Tessa. “But she hasn’t had coffee in a while now.”

Looking over at Tessa, I can tell her mind is piecing something together. I explain to Alis how Celeste was Faith’s best friend and recount the attempts I’ve taken at speaking to her since Faith’s death.

“Somebody needs to talk with that girl,” Tessa says, finally.

After all that thinking, this is what she comes up with?
“Yeah, but I already tried. She won’t say anything.”

“I can’t go near her,” Alis says. “She’s seen me plenty of times at the house. If it gets back to my sister—”

“No, dumbasses. I mean me. I’ll talk to her.” Tessa shakes
her head. “Boy, it’s a good thing there’s someone around here with their brain turned on.”

I ignore the slight. “But seriously, Tessa, don’t you think she’ll recognize you from school?” My eyes scan her for emphasis. “Even if she doesn’t, no offense, but Celeste wouldn’t talk to someone like you.”

“Like what?” Tessa smirks. “Calm down. I mean I’ll go in undercover. She’ll never know me. Trust me on this one.”

I start to catch on when she tells me, “I probably need to borrow some clothes.”

“What makes you think she’ll talk to you if she wouldn’t talk to me?” I say.

“Because. I know what to ask.”

chapter
TWENTY-FIVE

b
y Wednesday, Tessa still hasn’t given me any clues about her plans, other than that she needs Alis’s MP3 player. Apparently mine’s not good enough, because it doesn’t record.

I skirt behind the school at lunchtime, through a football practice on the backfield, and find Alis leaning up against the fence.

“Hey,” I shove my hands in my hoodie pockets.

“Hi.” He smiles. “You didn’t bring your friend.”

I look toward the school, then back at Alis. “You have to give Tessa a chance. She means well. Sometimes she just doesn’t know … etiquette.”

Alis snickers, the closest thing to laughing I’ve heard from him. “That’s an understatement.” He reaches into the pocket of his red checkered jacket. “Anyway, here’s the recorder she wants.”

I take it, but my hand rests on his for a few seconds and I don’t want to pull it away. He’s so warm, and I suddenly realize how nice it is to trust someone. He doesn’t pull away either.

“I’ll give her a chance. For you,” he says. He moves a little closer and squeezes my hand around the device.

I smile, wanting to tell him that Tessa doesn’t matter, that I don’t care what she thinks of him, or anyone else at the moment. But before I open my mouth, a football flies just over Alis’s head and bounces beside him with a thud.

With the stomping of feet in our direction, we quickly drop hands and step apart.

“I better go anyway,” Alis says, just before two guys barrel between us.

“Okay.” I back away, disappointed. “See you soon.”

I’m sticking my books in my locker after school, when I see my ex–best friend walking toward me, her broad smile stretching her face tight. Her hair is not straightened or curled, but just falls across her shoulders in frizzy waves. In a split second, I know the rumor Tessa told me was true. Why else would
Amy be wearing that fake, embarrassment-covering grin?

“What are you doing here?” I ask, point-blank.

“Um, I’ve missed you,” she replies in such a saccharine tone it makes me want to spit.

“Huh. Well, I can’t say I’ve missed you.” I turn back to my locker. “I’ve got other friends.”

Just then, from across the hall, my peripheral vision catches a flash of black.

Tessa cuts right in front of Amy and slaps her hand on her locker beside me. Amy stops in place, about three feet away, and stares in horror.

“So I got some stuff to do,” Tessa says, completely ignoring Amy, “but I’ll pick you up at your place around four.”

Amy backs away, her eyes wide.

“She’s a better friend than you ever were,” I call over my shoulder.

I’m lying in front of the TV, nearly asleep, when Tessa’s special
thud
sounds at the door.

But confusion strikes when I open the door to a girl with soft, silky hair. It takes me a minute. Maybe I’m still sleeping.

I pinch myself and definitely feel it.

“Move it,” the girl says in Tessa’s voice. “We’ve got work to do.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Maybe from the hair, or it could be from the lack of charcoal makeup. Her skin is, well, skin color. I really would not have recognized her on the street.

“Wow. How did you do this?”