The Lance Temptation (6 page)

****

The next morning, enough rain came down to drown the city. I gave a huge sigh, pressed my nose against the cold glass, and peered out at the black sky. It was barely seven o'clock, but judging by the darkness, it could've been nine at night. The sparse leaves on the trees bent soppily against the wind while the puddles widened.

I felt like one of the droopy branches stuck out there in the rain.

I pulled on my uniform and went to brush my teeth. Sarah was in the bathroom.

“Hurry up!” I banged on the door.

“I'm going to the bathroom if you don't mind.”

I slumped against the wall to wait. Maybe I should be sick today. I could have the same “cold” Farah had the other day. Then I wouldn't have to go to school and I wouldn't have to see Marc, or Farah, or Jeannie, or anyone.

Or Lance.

I took a deep breath. What was the matter with me? I'd broken it off with Marc for Lance — which Lance had asked me to do. Well, sort of. I was looking at this all wrong. I needed to focus on Lance with his hot swagger and his kisses and his strong arms.

Why should I dwell on Marc when Lance was waiting? I needed to put my attention where it belonged. My insides started to flutter and I stood a bit straighter.

“Tell me when you're out,” I hollered at Sarah through the door.

I went back to my room and picked up the bag crammed full of Farah's make-up rejects. If I was going to see Lance, I was going to look good.

****

Wouldn't you know Jeannie Sander would be standing on the front steps when I got to school? I put my head down and pretended not to see her — like that would work.

“Hey, Emili,” she said. I swear there was a tremor in her voice.

“Oh, hi Jeannie.”

She walked over, forcing me to stop. “I want to ask you something.”

Her eyes kept glancing off to the right, and her cheeks were unnaturally red. Why was she nervous?

My eyes narrowed. “Yeah…?”

She coughed, clearing her throat. Then she grabbed my sleeve and pulled me out of the line of traffic. She leaned toward me like we were in some kind of a spy movie.

“It's about Marc.”

****

Farah wasn't at school. Again. I tried to remember everything she'd said the night before, which wasn't much of anything. But she did say she'd see me the next day. So, where was she? Was she dumb enough to be with Pete again?

I couldn't imagine her skipping two days in a row. No one could be so lucky twice. Mr. Ramos wasn't stupid. He ran a “tight ship,” as he liked to say. For all her nerve, Farah wouldn't risk it.

Maybe she was sick. I turned my phone off, stuck it in my uniform pocket and decided it could wait until after second period when I'd have enough time to hide in the bathroom and call.

Later, when I dialed, her phone went straight to voice mail — like yesterday. I texted her and stood staring stupidly at my screen hoping the bell wouldn't ring. A minute passed, but no text. I'd practically begged her not to keep me hanging like this again. Something must be wrong.

I silenced my phone, stuck it in my pocket, and ran to third period. I knew it was chancy having my phone on me during the day, but I'd done it before and never gotten caught. Besides, this was an emergency. There was a queer feeling in my stomach. Mom always went on and on about a woman's intuition. She claimed she knew things before they actually happened — which I found highly amusing since she didn't appear to know much about me. Yet right then, intuition or not, I didn't feel good about Farah.

During third period, I felt a growing sense of urgency. I saw Lance before lunch. He was leaning against the wall next to the water fountain as if he hadn't ever had a concern about anything in his life, and I couldn't help but notice his body. I didn't want to. I mean it seemed wrong. Nice girls don't look at guys' butts, right? Yet there he was, and there I was, my eyes fastened on him. Then I remembered my mission.

“Lance,” I called, approaching him.

He was talking with Jennifer Gibbons, who seemed to live at the water fountain — at least when Lance was there. I wondered if I should be worried. She gracefully held her feathered blonde hair from her face while she bent down to sip at the fountain. I felt a sting of jealousy.

After a small hesitation, Lance greeted me with raised eyebrows.

I shot Jennifer what I hoped was a withering look and faced Lance. “It's about Farah. Is she with your brother?”

“How would I know? I haven't even talked to Pete today.” He turned back to the fountain, but Jennifer was gone. He stooped to get a drink. I waited.

He stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Anything else?”

I blinked, confused. I'd gotten it all wrong, I thought we were… well, together. And here he was acting like he hardly knew me. I put on extra make-up for this? I wanted to scrape all the eye shadow and rouge off my face. Who was I kidding?

“N-no,” I stammered. “I'm concerned is all.”

“Like yesterday, huh? I guess I don't blame you. We're going to be late, so I gotta go. See ya later.” He shrugged and walked away.

I stood there, feeling like he'd slapped my face. I put my hand to my cheek and it burned beneath my touch.
I am a fool.
I swallowed and glanced side to side hoping no one had seen. What was going on here? And where was Farah? She'd know why Lance was acting like a jerk. She knew everything. She'd laugh and shake her long red hair and explain it all away.

It'd turn into a marvelous joke.

Right then, I missed her so badly I could taste it.

The day began to pass in a fog, and I couldn't concentrate on anything. Even my teachers eagle-eyed me with fretful interest all over their faces. When Mrs. Binder leaned over my desk and peered at me, I nearly burst into tears. I turned away and pretended there was something in my purse I urgently needed.

I struggled to get through the afternoon without breaking down. There was no one I could talk to, so I kept up a running monologue inside my brain.

Keep going, Emili. Don't think. Don't speak. The day will be over soon.

After my last class, I was pulling my coat out of my locker when Marc came over. He didn't say a word, but his eyes held mine. I couldn't hold his gaze. I leaned into my locker, doing my best to pretend he wasn't there while I bundled up. My heavy wool coat pressed down on me like a hundred-pound weight.

When I checked again, Marc was still there, studying me with creases between his brows.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi back.”

He shifted his weight. He reached forward and I thought for a moment he was going to grab my hand, but instead he pulled back and shoved his hand into his pocket. “Well, I guess I'll see you around.”

I nodded. “See you.”

And he was gone.

“
I hate this
,”
I thought. I willed myself to take slow, even breaths. I leaned against my locker until my heart calmed. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay. I checked my phone to see if Farah had texted me. Nothing. I picked up my backpack and walked out of the building. Right outside the door stood Lance.

“Hey, Cecily,” he said.

I nearly tripped over myself. “What?”

“I said, hey.”

“Hey,” I answered, wanting to be anywhere else in the universe. The burning humiliation from earlier hadn't worn off, and I certainly didn't crave a repeat performance.

“Sorry about Farah. I know you're worried, but I don't think she's with Pete.” Lance's voice was subdued, concerned.

I was so surprised I nearly dropped my backpack, but my surprise quickly changed into confusion. What was he? Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?

He stepped closer, and murmured, “Ah, Cis, you're not still mad, are you?”

I studied his face. “I don't get you. What happened this morning?”

“Sorry, I was distracted. Wasn't so bad, was it?” He stepped even closer.

“Yeah, it was.”

He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me close. I wiggled against his hold for a moment, but his grip was firm and I gave up. His lips brushed my cheek. “I guess you're right. I'm not used to having a steady. Sorry. You forgive me, right?”

A steady? Was I his steady?

His arm was wrapped almost completely around me. He relaxed his hold and raised his eyebrows. I leaned in for a second then remembered where we were and shimmied out of his grasp.

“You're going to get me in trouble. Everyone can see us.”

“Cis? Am I forgiven or not?”

I wanted to stay mad, but he was standing so close, and I could feel his muscles pressing against my side and smell his cologne, and it was simply too good. I settled for mildly miffed, and then shook my head, surrendering.

“Yeah, you're rotten, but forgiven.” I pursed my lips. I couldn't take my eyes from his face. For a second, I thought I was going to reach up and caress him.

I
'm
pathetic.

“Why don't you think she's with Pete?” I asked, changing the subject to safer ground.

“I called him.”

“You did? Thanks.”

“Yeah, and he's fuming.” Lance broke out into a huge grin.

“He's mad? Why?”

“I poked my nose in,” Lance said. “He can be as furious as he wants. As if I care.”

“Farah wasn't there?”

“Not right then. Got the feeling maybe she was earlier.”

“Oh, man.”

“See what you can find out. Then let me know.” I heard the intensity behind his words.

“I will,” I said. “Got to go.”

“I'm serious, Cis.” The smile was still there, but it looked false, forced. His eyes penetrated mine.

“About what?”

“About Farah. Let me know what you find out.” He rubbed his hands up and down the shoulder straps of his backpack. “I mean, I know you're worried and all. So am I.”

I nodded. “I will.”

I hurried home. When I got closer to my house, I saw Mom's car and a small gray SUV in the driveway. What was Mom doing home? I was usually the first to arrive. I beat Sarah most days even though she was let out fifteen minutes earlier than me. Alarms started sounding off in my brain. All the dread from the day ramped up a notch.

Mother flung open the front door and cried, “There she is!”

My eyes widened.

“Hurry up! Get in here,” she said. Her tone was as agitated as her movements. I almost expected her to run out and snatch me.

I couldn't hurry. Whatever news she had, I didn't want to hear it. My feet dragged on the pavement. Something was wrong, horribly wrong. If I didn't go in, I wouldn't have to know. Mom stepped out of the house and grabbed hold of my coat. She pulled me into the living room.

There, sitting on the edge of the couch, was Farah's mother. She'd been crying, and I'd never seen her look such a mess. Streaks of black mascara traveled down each cheek. Her untucked blouse hung out over her skirt. She must have thrown on the first pair of shoes she'd found because they didn't match her clothes — unheard of for her. Even her short auburn hair stuck out in funny places. I did a double-take to be sure it was Mrs. Menins.

I couldn't move. My throat seemed to be closing. I rubbed at it.

Was Farah dead?

“Where is she?” Farah's mother asked. Her voice was raw and scratchy. “Tell me where she is.”

My breath whooshed out. She wasn't dead. Thank goodness. “I don't know, Mrs. Menins. She wasn't at school.”

“You have to know. You're her best friend. Where is she?”

I shook my head helplessly. “I really don't know. Wasn't she home with you?”

“Do I look like she was with me?” Mrs. Menins snapped. Then she shivered and swallowed. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't be yelling at you. I don't know what to think.” She gave my mother a desperate look. “Should I call the police?”

The police
?
Oh, no
.

Mom sat down and put her hand on Mrs. Menins's shoulder. The worry on Mom's face scared me. “Does she have any other friends where she might be? Any relatives?”

Mrs. Menins shook her head. “No, no. I don't know.” She started to cry. I stood there not knowing what to do.

Maybe Farah was back at Pete's. And if she wasn't with him, maybe she'd called him and he knew where she was.

“I'll phone some people,” I said, my feet finally moving. I rushed into my room. I didn't know how to get in touch with Pete, and I didn't have Lance's number either. Oh, this was impossible! They'd both be on the social media sites. Maybe I could contact Pete there. I logged on using my phone, frantically fingering through their pages. I posted on Lance's site, then on Farah's. I couldn't find Pete's site anywhere.

Who could I call for help?

Without thinking, I pushed a number and heard it ring.

“Emili?” Marc questioned.

“Marc, Farah's missing. Her mom's here, and she's crying, and I don't know what to do.”

There was silence on the other end, and then a huge sigh. “Emili. Why did you call me?”

“I don't know. I'm worried. I don't know how to help.” The tears started down my face.

More silence. I heard him exhale. I started to feel the pressure inside my chest ease. He'd know what to do. It was Marc — sensible, level-headed Marc.

“Emili, I don't know why you called me,” he said.

“But Marc, I need help…” And then it sunk in. He didn't want to talk to me. He didn't want to help me. The tone in his voice wasn't just level-headed, it was cold and reserved. I'd never heard him sound so distant. I shrank back against my headboard.

“Sorry,” I said. The silent tears continued down my cheeks. “I don't know why I called. I had no business calling you. But this is an emergency and I thought… It doesn't matter anymore. If you hear from Farah, let me know.”

“Emili, you know I won't hear from Farah.”

It was true. She didn't like him, not even a little.

“You're right. Sorry I called.” I hung up.

I shuddered, feeling numbing fingers crawl over me. I wondered if Jeannie would've heard from her. No, never. She and Farah couldn't stand each other.

Farah befriended the guys, not the girls. If I wanted information, I'd have to ask them. I didn't know where to start. I sat there and stared at my phone.

I couldn't think of one person who'd know where she was. All the guys liked Farah, which is why I'd become her friend in the first place. But I knew none of them would know where she was. I could call a hundred guys, but it wouldn't help.

Mom pushed my door open. “Any luck?”

“Not yet.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth. “I'll tell her,” she said through her fingers.

I watched her leave and my insides folded up. I clutched my phone hard enough to snap it in two.

I heard the front door shut and hurried out to the living room. Mom was standing next to the front door, her expression dazed.

“Did she leave?”

“She's wants to be home in case Farah shows up. Did you try all your friends?”

“I don't know who to call. I'm her best friend. She doesn't have a lot of other friends.”

“Well, someone has to know where she is. Think, Emili, think.”

“I can call other girls, but they're not going to know. They don't get along, and Farah will be mad if I call them.”

“I don't care if she gets mad. We need to find her. Call.”

I sat on the couch and called the girls whose numbers I had, which, sad to say, weren't many. I had the presence of mind to phrase my questions carefully so no one would know Farah was missing. Farah was going to be mad. I could hear her now, giving it to me for airing her business.

When I was finished, I frowned at my mom and shook my head. “No luck. No one knows a thing.”

“All right, let's not panic. Mrs. Menins will find her. I'm sure Farah's fine, she may already be home.” Mom rubbed her hand to her cheek and stared up at the ceiling, letting her breath seep out. She trembled and wrapped her arms around herself. “I guess there are a lot of things I don't know about Farah. A lot of things nobody knows.”