The Tension of Opposites (15 page)

“No freaking way,” Elle said, nudging the open pizza box away from Coop's outstretched hands.

Coop flopped onto the couch so hard my soda can wobbled. “You two are never going to finish a large pepperoni and sausage by yourselves.”

“Never know.” I shrugged and popped half of a greasy square into my mouth. “This is Girls' Night. Anything goes.”

Coop leaned forward and grabbed a handful of squares before Elle could stop him, so she smacked him on the arm. “Ouch! That was not necessary,” Coop said. “And to think I was just about to offer to buy you an extra pizza if you want more once this is gone.”

Elle looked at me. I shrugged. “We do have all those brownies up there,” I said.

“Chocolate icing?” Coop ducked against the side of the couch and raised his arm in defense.

“You ate them?” Elle smacked him again.

“Just one. Then I smelled the Marion's pizza drifting up the steps and decided to hit the basement for some of Centerville's finest instead.”

“You're the most obnoxious brother in the history of the world.” Elle grabbed the remote from under Coop's thigh.

“How was your movie?” he asked, kicking the
Cruel Intentions
DVD box with the toe of his gym shoe.

“Totally heart-wrenching,” Elle said. “I can't believe he died.”

“Tragic,” Coop said sarcastically.

“For real.” Elle nodded as she flipped through the channels trying to find something worth watching.

I took a bite of my pizza, and as I pulled it away from my mouth, half of the cheesy topping slid forward, slapping against my chin. It was that exact moment when Elle shot up from her seat between Coop and me, her plate and several small squares of pizza flying into the air.

“What the hell are they doing?” Elle's voice was icy cold. The pizza squares landed with a plop, facedown on the tan carpet.

Coop sat forward, his eyes darting from the TV to Elle. “You know them?”

“Shh!” Elle reached back and Coop grabbed her hand, pulling her to the couch, but she resisted.

I looked to the TV, where, on one half of the screen, a blonde woman sat at a news desk, her mouth tight and her eyes crinkled, nodding. The other half of the screen framed two teenagers, a guy and a girl who were both so pale it seemed like they hadn't seen the sun in years. They sat on a brown couch with a picture of a country scene hanging on the wall behind them. It was obvious that they weren't on the news set but were somewhere off location.

“Tell us about the first time you saw her,” the reporter prompted.

“We saw her around a buncha times.” The girl propped her hands on her lap, clutching them tightly together.

“But we met her one day when I almost ran into her with my skateboard,” the guy said.

“She almost jumped out of her skin.” The girl's large eyes avoided the camera trained on her face, which seemed unnaturally round due to her fluffy brown hair. “I felt awful he scared her so much.”

“She was always kind of skittish, though,” the guy asserted.

“What else can you tell us about her?” the reporter asked, leaning forward with the hope of some juicy details.

“She was different.” The girl scrunched her lips together.

“Yeah. Like, really different.” The guy snorted and ran a hand through his short hair. “Always serious. It was really hard to make her laugh.”

“Wonder why, asshole,” I said.

“He looks dirty.” Coop made a face like he'd just smelled something rotten.

“Hmm.” Elle clasped her hands together as she stood in front of the television. “You summed up Kevin Staples with the most appropriate word in the English language,” she said over her shoulder. “Maybe you actually are perceptive, like you were talking about a while ago.”

“You want to hear more of my thoughts about the Chipster?” Coop asked.

Elle hit the volume on the remote, and Kevin's raspy voice filled the room.

“There was this one time we were all hanging out, you know, not doing much, and we saw this … whaddya call it?” Kevin looked at the girl sitting next to him.

“A press conference,” she said.

“Yeah. One of those. The mom and dad of this kidnapped girl were being interviewed, saying all kinds of sappy stuff about their daughter. They even flashed some pictures of her.”

“And the crazy thing is,” the girl interrupted, “we said how much Elle looked like that kidnapped girl. Asked if there was anything she needed to tell us. We were being sarcastic, right? But she had a chance to tell us everything. We could have helped her.”

“No.” Elle stepped forward, shaking her head at the screen. “You couldn't have.”

“But she didn't say anything.” Kevin rubbed two fingers over a large zit at the base of his nose. “Just shook her head and laughed.”

“Why do you think that is?” the reporter asked with a serious tone.

“She musta not wanted to go home,” Kevin said, putting his hands on his knees. “She had this thing for my mother's—”

“Kevin.” The girl reached up and put her hand over his. When he looked at her, she shook her head.

“You were saying, Kevin?” The reporter was staring so hard it looked like her eyes might blast out of her head.

“My mom has this anxiety thing, so she takes some pills to help her sleep. And Elle, she … well, let's just say some of those pills went missing every time Elle was at my house.”

With his twitchy nose and thin lips, Kevin reminded me of a rat. In that moment, I felt like I could dive through the screen and grab hold of the greasy kid's neck. Squeeze. And shake and shake and shake.

Elle took a few steps back and buried her face in her hands. “Thanks a lot, Kev.”

Coop looked from the screen to Elle and back again. “Why's he saying that?”

“Because it's true,” Elle said, propped against the arm of the couch.

“I don't under—”

“Shh!”

“Are you telling me she's a drug addict?” The reporter's eyes were actually twinkling with excitement. It was either that or the lighting crew had figured out some way for the overheads to enhance her thrill at uncovering an unsavory detail about Elle.

“I don't know why else she'da taken 'em.” Kevin shrugged.

“That's not what I think,” the girl said softly.

“Thank you, Julie,” Elle whispered, her body slumping.

“Why, then, do you think she would need those pills?” The reporter's voice took on an interrogative tone. Her eyes no longer twinkled but looked like small onyx stones.

Julie shook her head. “I don't know, ma'am. But I never once saw her act like she was messed up.”

The screen did this kaleidoscope thing, and Kevin and Julie were sucked into TV land, leaving a single, live shot of the reporter. She was now wearing a few additional layers of makeup and had several more inches of poof teased into her hair.

“There you have it, folks,” she said with a fluid smile. “The first interview with two friends Noelle Pendelton made while she was in captivity. We've had panel discussions with various psychologists on Stockholm syndrome and other psychological side effects of surviving such a traumatic event. But these two kids have given us a vital snapshot, detailing this young girl's actions during her two years away from her family.”

Elle punched the remote, and the television screen went black. “Bitch.”

“Elle.” I reached out to her, but she stood up and circled the coffee table.

I did the only thing I could think of to help in the moment. I knelt on the floor, peeling five squares of pizza from the carpet and blotting the stains with a paper napkin.

“Screw them!” Elle pointed at the screen, tears pouring down her face. “People think they could have helped me. What a joke. Charlie would have gone after every last one of them. And he could have, because if it hadn't happened exactly like I planned, he would have gotten away. He'd be free right now, and everyone I ever cared about would be at risk.”

“You're right, Elle,” I said, pressing the napkin into the carpet, thinking of the journal entry I'd read a few weeks earlier.

“And Kevin had to bring up those pills! Now people are going to think I'm some junkie when I was just trying to get some relief. A few freaking hours to myself.”

“No one will blame you for trying to escape mentally when you were stuck there physically.” Coop looked at me and widened his eyes in a what-the-hell-are-we-supposed-to-say look.

I got up, tossing the greasy napkin onto the table.

“See?” Elle clapped her hand against her thigh. “You're my brother, and you even think I took them!”

I squinted, totally confused. “So you didn't take them?”

“Just tell us, Elle,” Coop said, leaning back into the couch and putting his hands behind his head.

“I took them, sure.” Elle put a hand to her mouth and shook her head. “I mean, I stole them. But I never swallowed any.”

“Then why'd you steal them?” I asked, trying to make sense of the crazy direction the conversation had taken.

“For Charlie. I'd crush them up and put them in his dinner or his beer. Once a week. I swear, on Thursday nights he'd sleep so sound, I probably could've had him arrested.”

So why didn't you?
I thought.
Why? Why? Why didn't you try?

“You should call in to that show,” Coop said. “To explain yourself.”

Elle shook her head. “It wouldn't help. People are going to think whatever they want. Nothing I say is going to change that.”

I shrugged. “It might.”

“Huh-uh. I'm not going to subject myself to some totally fake reporter who'll ask a bunch of private questions.”

“But if people heard the real reason you stole those pills—”

“Coop, I could go to the trouble of explaining about the pills, but it would trip all these other subjects. Why didn't I use those times to escape? Or call the police? Did I actually like being with him?”

“She's got a point,” I said.

“The thing is, I could go public and answer every last question, hoping people will finally understand. But that'll
never
happen. Not like I want it to. So I just have to sit back and wait until it's over. Until the media has something else to cling to and exploit.”

“You're sure?” Coop asked. “You have so much support from people. You could find a different reporter. One who'd—”

Elle shook her head. Chewed on her thumbnail. “I can't open myself up, Coop. They'd ask me the one question I can't answer.”

Coop looked at me. I shook my head. But he asked anyway.

“Well,” he said, “why
didn't
you try to get away any sooner?”

Elle just stared at him, tears dripping from her chin. For a second, I thought she might answer him. But what could she say? If she told him the truth, that keeping
him
safe was a link in the chain that had bound her to Charlie for two years, the guilt would break him.

“You don't really want to know that, Pooper,” she said. “Trust me.”

“I'm feeling a little overwhelmed here,” I said, tapping my fingernails on my desk.

“It'll be fine.” Darcy reached over and covered my hand with hers. “Stop before you drive me insane.”

“Did they do this last year? Because I don't remember—”

“Is there a problem, Tessa?” Mr. Hollon stood by his desk, his arms crossed over his chest.

Max laughed. “You know very well what the problem is, Mr. H.”

“I know it'll be a challenge for you.” Mr. Hollon walked to my desk, his hands falling on the folder holding my most recent pictures. “From challenge comes growth.”

I snorted. “Or death.”

“Don't be so melodramatic.” Darcy made a little
pfft
sound.

“Tessa, you'll be fine, and you know it,” Max said.

“You people, with all your confidence,” I said. “You don't get it.”

“It's just an art show,” Mr. Hollon said. “You don't have to stand next to your work and wait for a flogging if someone dislikes one of your pictures. You simply have to figure out which shots to include and how best to showcase them.”

“What if I decide not to enter?” I looked up at my teacher and saw that his left eyebrow was raised. Never a good sign.

“That is not an option, Tessa. It's for a grade.” With that, he turned his back on me and walked away.

“I'll just take a zero,” I said under my breath as I slid the envelope full of photographs off my desk, letting it drop to the floor.

“Not. An. Option.” Mr. Hollon threw his words over his shoulder without looking back.

I tried not to freak out. But it was all getting to be too much. I didn't need some stupid art show to worry about on top of everything else. And the sound of Darcy's fingernails clicking away at her phone while she popped little bubbles of gum against her teeth was about to send me over the edge.

I reached over and was about to tear her phone from her hands, but she twisted in her seat so I couldn't reach her.

“You don't want to do that,” she said.

“Yes.” I nodded. “I do.”

“Hang on.” She looked more closely at the screen, reading the words that her boyfriend had just sent.

“Like I want to hear some stupid love—”

“C hallway,” Darcy said, whipping her hair over her shoulder as she turned to look at me with wide eyes. “Hurry up! It's Elle.”

I stood and stumbled over the manila envelope holding all of my pictures. Max reached out and steadied me with both hands.

“Is she—”

“She's with Jessie. T wrote their names, C hallway, and one other word.”

“What?” I asked, grabbing my camera from my purse so Mr. Hollon wouldn't ask where I was headed.

“Catfight.”

I used my hands and arms, even my knees, pushing hard a few times to split through people in the crowd. The circle surrounding Elle and Jessie was three rings deep by the time I made it to C hallway. They were gathered in front of the entrance to the boys' bathroom, practically pulsing with excitement over the conflict brewing.

“I'm sure you heard that I've been gone for a couple of years.”

That was Elle's voice. Someone behind me said, “Ouch,” and I didn't know if it had to do with my elbow in her stomach or Elle's words.

“Like I'm supposed to care?” No doubt, that was Jessie. All around me, people sucked air into their lungs in this dramatic show of disbelief. “You want my pity?”

I shoved my way into the center of the ring just in time to see Elle prop one hand on her hip. “Seems more like
I
have something
you
want.”

Jessie rolled her eyes and looked to her left. Through the gap between Elle and Jessie, I found the reason she had diverted her attention from Elle. Supportive as always, Kirsten and Tabby stood a few feet away, their lips peeled back in these wicked grins. “I can have anything I want.”

Elle chuckled. “Really? From my perspective, it looks like the one thing you want to call yours is just out of reach.”

“You must be a little slow, since you had to take a few years off school and everything. Plus all those drugs you took … So let me help you out.” It was really hard for me not to step up and punch Jessie in the face. I sucked in a deep breath and looked away. From the other side of the circle, Tabby leaned forward. I swear, I expected to see drool streaming from her lips.

Jessie propped both hands on her hips and stuck her neck out as she spoke: “Chip Knowles is, and always will be, mine.”

Elle pushed some hair off her face, her glare never leaving Jessie. “That's really sweet and all. But I'm pretty sure he's tired of being your most important accessory.”

Jessie smiled thinly and shook her head. “You should have been smart enough to figure out the way things work around here before you stole someone's boyfriend.”

“How many of you”—Elle acknowledged the group of people surrounding her—“think
I
would steal a person?” After a few seconds, Elle found me in the crowd. She rolled her eyes and pulled her shoulders back before facing Jessie again. I was proud, watching her stand strong, facing one of the most relentless adversaries in the building. “It must kill you that he doesn't want you anymore. If it's easier for you to think that I stole him, fine.”

Jessie snorted. Tabby and Kirsten reared back like they had just been slapped.

“Enjoy yourself while you can.” Jessie leaned forward. “Because your ride is almost over.”

I studied Kirsten's and Tabby's faces, the glimmer in each of their eyes giving away how much they were relishing every second of this showdown.

“You're terrified, aren't you?” Elle took a step forward and looked right at Jessie.

Jessie just stared at Elle, her eyes narrowing so that all I could see were thick lashes.

“You're not so sure he'll make his way back to you,” Elle said.

Tabby clasped Kirsten's hand and tucked it under her arm.

“That's ridiculous.” Jessie tilted her head.

Kirsten nudged Tabby's side with her elbow.

“Puh-lease,” Elle said. “I may not have been back that long, but everybody, and I mean
everybody
, knows you're freaking out.”

Jessie shrugged. “All I can tell you is you're wasting your time with him.”

Elle chuckled. “Funny. That's exactly what Chip said about all the years he was with you.”

Gasps flew through the air, varying in length and intensity. Jessie looked to the ground.

“And by the way,” Elle added, “I didn't have to steal anything. Chip was very willing.”

When Jessie looked up, I saw tears in her eyes. Her lips trembled, and her cheeks grew mottled with patches of deep red.

“I'll bet you made it worth his while,” Jessie said, her words all quivery with anger. “You learned a lot about making a man happy while you were
away
, didn't you?”

Elle pulled back her arm and fisted her hand. I lunged at her, grabbing her elbow with about a millisecond to spare.

“I see you learned a lot about class, too.” Jessie shook her head.

“Enough, people, let's move along,” I heard from outside the perimeter of the circle. “Get back to lunch, or class, or wherever you belong.”

Jessie turned and stepped toward Tabby and Kirsten, who still hadn't moved and still had those depraved smiles plastered to their faces. It was like plastic surgery gone wrong.

“You must feel really dejected if you have to stoop that low,” Elle said as Jessie walked through the dispersing crowd.

Jessie just waggled her fingers over her shoulder. And then she was gone.

“Move along, everyone.” The voice was clearer now, and I thought it might be the assistant principal.

Elle's eyes scrunched tight, and she took a deep, shaky breath, trying not to cry. A look of fear crossed over her face before she pulled herself together enough to remember she had the upper hand. Chip, for the moment at least, was hers.

“I gotta go,” she said. “I'm way late for math.”

“Just try to forget about this,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah.” Elle twisted her hair into a long rope and flung it over her shoulder as she started to walk away. “She's not going to win.”

As the last stragglers fanned out, I turned and saw Max propped against a locker. He opened his arms, and I walked toward him. Stepping into his warm body, pressing myself against his comfort, I took in a deep breath of his soapy scent and wished it had the power to cleanse me of everything.

“Elle,” I said, trying not to shout. I could see her up ahead, rushing through rows of cars glinting in the sun's rays. The blue-black of her hair, which had begun to fade into a drab brown, swished across her back as she looked from side to side.

“Elle!” People all around me slung backpacks into their cars, slammed doors, and revved engines, hoping to rush through the end-of-the-day traffic. “Wait up!”

She heard me. I knew she did. I pushed myself to move faster and finally caught up with her. All I got was her profile as she searched across the sea of cars surrounding us.

“I don't know why you're ignoring me,” I said, “but it's not going to work.”

That was when she stopped. Turned. Tilted her head. “I'm busy. What do you want?”

“To see if you're okay.” The words hung in the cold air between us. I could see the anger rise to the surface of Elle's face. She hated to be considered weak. She was
always
okay.

“Can't we just forget about it?” Elle adjusted the strap of her backpack, letting the load drop lower on her back.

“I don't think so,” I said. “You looked pretty freaked out when Jessie said all that stuff about Chip being hers.”

“It showed?” Elle's shoulders slumped.

“Just because I know you so well.” I scraped the toe of my shoe on the pavement of the parking lot. “You fell for him, didn't you?”

“I tried not to.” Elle's eyes scrunched closed, and lines formed on her forehead. “Like, really tried.”

My eyes stuttered from Elle's face to her feet and then back again.

Elle laughed, her head tipping back. “Looks like I'm screwed.”

“You never know,” I said. “Maybe they won't—”

“Little Miss Perky, always finding the bright side. Do you have some master plan to guarantee I won't lose him?” Elle raised her eyebrows. “Because Jessie has officially amped up her game.”

“Maybe it'll blow up in her face.”

“Nothing blows up in the faces of girls as pretty as Jessie Richards.” Elle sighed.

I wanted to say something more, something brilliant that would make all of this go away. But I had nothing. So I just bit my bottom lip.

Elle looked past me, turned in a static circle, her hand shielding her eyes.

“You looking for Chip?” I asked.

“His car's gone.” Elle pointed at an empty space in one of the front rows of the lot.

“Maybe he just drove over to the stadium.” I nodded toward the football field.

Elle stood on her tiptoes and looked toward the tall brick building. A few guys moved around the back entrance to the locker rooms.

“C'mon,” I said. “It's really cold. I'll drive you over there.”

A few minutes later, I crept the Jeep around the corner near the locker rooms, watching Elle study the pink faces of everyone we passed, counting five bundled bodies before we made our way into the back parking lot.

“His car isn't here.” Elle tapped her foot on the floorboard. “So he just
left
?”

Her eyes were focused on gray sky, so I didn't answer. I turned the Jeep around and headed through the main parking lot, reaching for my iPod before I turned onto Main Street.

“Here,” I said, holding the iPod out. “You pick. Turn it up as loud as you want.”