Rumors (6 page)

Shane
sat on my couch, chatting comfortably with Mom, while Leah and
Taylor peeked at him from the hallway. I glared at the two of them,
and they smothered giggles. Shane and Mom turned my way.

“
Hi, honey! Your friend stopped by…” She raised her eyebrows
at me and failed to contain a teasing smile.

Ugh. Her, too.
I knew she would love
nothing more than to believe I was hanging out with friends and
even dating again. I met Shane’s penetrating gaze. Despite the
annoyance at myself for kissing him, I couldn’t help the
instantaneous butterflies in my stomach. Some of my confusion flew
out the window as a magnet of attraction drew me towards him. I
couldn’t help but like the way he was checking me out, even with
Mom present. There was an arrogance about him that both repelled
and lured me. Tightening my tousled ponytail, I asked, “Shane, what
are you doing here?”

He stood
up and closed the gap between us. Mom also rose to her feet,
watching us carefully as if she were trying to clue in on the
status of our relationship.

Good luck with that.

“
You never responded to my text,” Shane said. “So I figured
that meant you wouldn’t mind if I stopped by.”

“
That was your conclusion, huh?” I folded my arms but I
released a half-smile, realizing I didn’t entirely mind him being
there. It was easier to write him off when he wasn’t standing in my
presence—especially with his cologne baiting me.

“
I thought we could team up and sell raffle tickets together
this afternoon,” Shane suggested.

Raffle
tickets… I’d forgotten we needed to go door to door in support of
our basketball fundraiser. “Uh, sure, if that’s how you want to
spend your Saturday,” I said.

Shane
puffed out his chest, deepening his voice for effect. “Well, you
know, with our powers combined…”

“
Our powers being?”

Shane smirked. “Well, obviously, I have all the charm. We
just need to hope
women
open the door.” Noticing my jaw drop in disgust,
he added, “And you have all the wit!” When I still appeared less
than impressed by his chauvinistic sales pitch, he continued, “My
looks will lure them in, and you can hook them with an intelligent,
convincing speech about our basketball teams need for cash. The
girls’ team was all the rage last year at Sectionals, so your part
shouldn’t be hard.”

I scoffed at him. “When you put it that way, I have the
know-how
and
the
reputation. Sounds like you need me more than I need you. That’s
why you really came by, isn’t it?”

Shane took a step closer. He lowered his voice, his fingers
lightly touching my hand. “What do
you
think?” He paused to briefly
trace his finger along the back of my hand. “You don’t really think
I forgot about last night so easily, did you?”

I
swallowed, my nerves dancing inside me. I cast my eyes in search of
Mom, but she, thankfully, had already stepped out of the
room—probably to chase away my spying sisters, who were also
nowhere to be seen.

I had a
decision to make, and only moments to do it. Everything about my
response would determine where Shane and I were headed. The
question remained—to acquiesce or shut him down? The natural
chemistry between us grew every time I saw him. There was no doubt
about that. Perhaps I’d discover more depth to his personality,
like Tara said. Or maybe I could just go through the motions long
enough to thwart everyone’s ongoing assessment of me.

My
lashes slowly drew upwards to meet Shane’s striking features. I
curled my fingers around his, binding our hands
together.

“
Of course not. And I’d love to go with you.”

I
thought that by dating Shane and becoming an “item,” I would feel
less judged—that all the kids and teachers who had been evaluating
me from a distance or whispering about me from the sidelines would
cease to exist, or at least diminish in number.

Over the next couple of weeks, I found the opposite to be
true. With Shane and I walking hand in hand down the hallways, not
far from Tara and Austin, kids continued to watch me. The
difference was, instead of talking about my summer accident and
spreading rumors about the details, they seemed to be admiring me
for making a comeback. If my story were a sports headline, it might
read,
“
Against
All Odds, Allie Collins Returns!”

Younger
students, especially in Leah and Taylor’s sophomore class, seemed
to follow me with admiration—or maybe it was envy. Whether it was
having Shane’s arm linked around my waist or enjoying the stardom
at our first basketball game, Tara was right—senior year was
picking up in pace and becoming exactly what we imagined it could
be. It was a refreshing change… at first. I felt like I could hide
within my new group of friends—a merger of mine and Tara’s friends,
and Shane and Austin’s—many of whom were athletes. I was back where
I belonged, and nobody questioned me.

Still, a
part of me knew this was all a veneer. I kept telling myself that
if I could pretend to be over Maddie’s death, then eventually, the
thoughts would permeate my emotions. It would feel real. I just
needed to act the part long enough.

But on
days when my façade wavered, I escaped to the library, knowing it
was a safe place to hide. Anyone who ventured into the library
would be there for a purpose, whether it be research or finding a
good novel. Either way, eyes would be directed at books and not at
me. I sank into a chair, resting my head in my hands.

“
Everything all right, Ms. Collins?” a gravelly voice asked
from behind my chair.

I
whipped my head up and looked over my shoulder. Mr. Nordell greeted
me with a close-mouthed smile. As the high school biology teacher,
I wasn’t surprised to find his hands occupied with thick textbooks.
His face looked worn and tired with wrinkles that aged him, but
there was a kindness to his small, brown eyes that peered down at
me from his rectangular glasses.

“
Oh. Hi, Mr. Nordell.” I had to crane my neck to look up at
his lanky form, my eyes stopping briefly at his ridiculous brown
and orange plaid bowtie. What awful colors together.

“
You didn’t answer my question,” he said. “How are you doing,
young lady?”

I let
out a quiet laugh. Talk about a loaded question! My eyes
glistened.

Crap.
I wiped the tears away before
they could spill down on their own. I really didn’t need another
teacher contacting the school counselor with concern for my
well-being. “I’m fine, Mr. Nordell. Really.” I managed to turn the
corners of my mouth upwards, hoping it passed for a
smile.

“
I haven’t seen you around much,” he commented, surprising me
by maintaining the conversation. I had expected he would take his
research material and return to his office. “You know,” he
continued, “I always thought you’d end up in my AP Bio class this
year.”

I did,
too, truth be told. I always found biology fascinating, and I did
well in Mr. Nordell’s class when I was a sophomore. I still kind of
regretted not taking the advanced course, but after Maddie died, I
ended up dropping the class, not sure I would be able to handle the
intensity. That was back when I was making decisions to drop a lot
of things from my life.

The bell
rang, giving me an excuse not to engage, but Mr. Nordell
persisted.

“
I have something I’ve been meaning to show you,” he said,
taking a couple of steps towards the library doors. “Stop by my
classroom during lunch tomorrow. I’ll tell you about it
then.”

Confused, I rose to my feet. “Oh… sure, ok.” Mr. Nordell
nodded at me in satisfaction.

“
Ok, Ms. Collins, I’ll see you then.”

***

The next
day, I walked past the cafeteria, finishing an apple as I walked
the halls. Reaching the biology room, I knocked on the door. Mr.
Nordell’s calm, low voice welcomed me inside. I tossed the core in
the trash and approached his desk.

“
Hi,” I said with uncertainty. “So, what did you want to show
me?”

Mr.
Nordell closed one of the thick books I’d seen him holding
yesterday. “Go ahead and have a seat,” he invited, pulling up a
chair beside him. I didn’t like the idea of sitting down. That
meant this was more than just a quick chat. Tentatively, I did as
he asked. I hadn’t spoken much with Mr. Nordell since he was my
teacher. He was just the typical boring science teacher—nice
enough—but I couldn’t imagine what he wanted to show me.

Mr.
Nordell pulled a beat-up wallet from the pocket of his mustard
khakis. His weathered hands flipped it open, and he pulled out a
laminated photo. I could tell the photo was older because of how
the corners were peeling and bubbling apart.

I
accepted the photo in my hands of a woman in her late thirties. She
was pretty enough, even with her light brown hair curled with bangs
over her forehead. What touched me was the sweet smile on her face.
“Is this your wife?” I asked, though I wondered why he was keeping
such an outdated photo of her in his wallet. Then it dawned on me
why he must be showing me this picture, even as he
answered.

“
Yep,” Mr. Nordell said. “That’s the last picture I took of
her, the day before we found out she had ovarian cancer. She didn’t
like too many picture of herself after that.”

I handed
the picture back to him, watching him gingerly take it in his
hands. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“
Twenty years ago,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a
sigh. “Death—it changes you.” He made eye contact as though waiting
for my response.

“
Yeah, I know.” My words were curt, though I spoke softly so I
didn’t come off disrespectful. Even though I didn’t like being
tricked into the topic, I wasn’t about to walk out when he was
speaking of his dead wife.

“
I know a little something about change,” he said, his gaze
strong. He didn’t push me to speak, though I could feel the window
of opportunity cracking open. Even though the situation was a
little uncomfortable, there was an aura of kindness and
understanding about him.

“
I’m sure you do,” I answered. “It must have been difficult to
watch your wife pass away.” I didn’t know what else to say besides
the generic responses—although, personally, sometimes I wished
people would stick to the simple generic truths instead of diving
into “sage advice.”

Mr.
Nordell interlocked his fingers and placed them on the desk. “If
you ever want to hear about it in detail, stop by after school some
time.”

***

“
Where
were you?” Tara asked as she
pulled open her front door. She stood there in sports shorts and a
tank top, with her fluorescent-pink sports bra peeking out from
underneath her black top. In contrast, wearing jeans and a black
sweater from school today, I slid past her scowl and sat down on
her couch. She followed me in earnest, plopping down next to me in
a huff. “Why did you skip out on practice today? Coach was
livid!”

I had no
doubt Coach Robbins was indeed red faced and furious. You pretty
much had to be lying in bed puking (and doing so while on the phone
with him), for Coach to forgive a missed practice. Forgive was
probably too generous a word though. It was more like “forced to
acknowledge illness,” and then you paid for it later with physical
torment.

“
I know, I know,” I said, having already ignored the first
phone call from him. I was not looking forward to that
call.

“
Do you know how much it sucked to be yelled at in your place?
I guess he thinks I was in on it or something—which I’m totally
not, since I’ve hardly even seen you this week during school.
Where’ve you been?”

Knowing
she wouldn’t understand, I hesitated with my explanation. It was
Monday when Mr. Nordell first spoke to me in the library and
invited me to his classroom. Tuesday was when he had mentioned his
wife’s passing. I didn’t know why, but there was something about
him that made me want to listen to what he had to say. Maybe it was
the way he invited without pushing, or the genuine way in which he
spoke from the heart, but I wanted to hear more about his
wife.