Calli Read online

  Table of Contents

  Also by Jessica Lee Anderson

  Title Page

  Epigraph

  HOW IT STARTED

  MELTDOWN: PART I - Thursday, April 17

  MELTDOWN: PART II - Thursday, April 17

  THE DAY AFTER THE MELTDOWN - Friday, April 18

  THE DAY AFTER THE MELTDOWN, CONTINUED - Friday, April 18

  PRE-INTERVENTION - Saturday, April 19

  INTERVENTION - Saturday, April 19

  ANOTHER MARK ON THE TALLY SHEET - Sunday, April 20

  FORGET THE BIKINI - Monday, April 21

  EARTH DAY - Tuesday, April 22

  A MUSEUM VISIT - Saturday, April 26

  CHICKEN - Saturday, April 26

  WORST DAY EVER: PART I - Monday, April 28

  WORST DAY EVER: PART II - Monday, April 28

  OKAY BUT NOT - Tuesday, April 29

  CONFESSION - Wednesday, April 30

  ANOTHER CONFESSION - Wednesday, April 30

  EMERGENCY ROOM: PART I - Thursday, May 1

  EMERGENCY ROOM: PART II - Thursday, May 1

  EMERGENCY ROOM: PART III - Thursday, May 1

  BALLOON - Friday, May 2

  WISHING - Friday, May 2

  DEALING - Saturday, May 3

  THE BEST STORM EVER - Sunday, May 4

  GOOD TIMES AND SECOND CHANCES - Monday, May 5

  ADAPTING - Thursday, May 8

  WONDERFUL FAMILY - Friday, May 9

  CONTRABAND DAYS - Saturday, May 10

  INTERVENTION II - Sunday, May 11

  INTERVENTION II, CONTINUED - Sunday, May 11

  SURPRISES - Sunday, May 11

  ALL RIGHT - Monday, May 12

  MAKING A DIFFERENCE - Friday, May 16

  NEWS - Wednesday, May 21

  PREPARING FOR GOOD-BYE - Wednesday, May 21

  Copyright Page

  Also by Jessica Lee Anderson

  Border Crossing

  Trudy

  Circumstances don’t make a person, they reveal him or her.

  —Richard Carlson

  HOW IT STARTED

  A GIRL RUSHES TO THE TALLEST GUY in tenth grade and reaches up to drape her thin, muscular arms around his neck. The girl’s shirt rises up while her baggy khakis slide down over her narrow hips, revealing the strings of her red underwear.

  The guy keeps his hands tucked in his pockets as the girl tilts her head slightly. She leans in to kiss him.

  She kisses him.

  Cherish kisses Dub.

  My foster sister, Cherish, kisses my boyfriend, Dub.

  Oh. My. God. He’s not stopping her.

  My blood feels like crude oil bubbling in a refinery furnace.

  Inside me, the crude oil separates into toxic fuel. I want to yell at them to stop, to push each other away, but my words are trapped. My eyes and ears hurt from the pressure of holding back the tears. The hallway is full of students watching me, waiting for my reaction.

  Like Cherish told me before, I’m a chicken turd. She thinks I won’t do anything. But she’s wrong.

  MELTDOWN: PART I

  Thursday, April 17

  I’M TOO MUCH OF A MESS to do anything now, so I run. Down the hall. Out of Building A. Past the exhaust of the school buses and past #72, which I should be boarding.

  My pace slows once I’m far enough away from school and the line of buses. The long way home is the only option. Too many people have already witnessed the humiliation of Calli Adora Gilbeaux.

  I’ll have to face their whispers at school tomorrow.

  Did you see Dub’s mouth all over Cherish? Are they together now?

  Yeah, Calli was there to witness it.

  She ran away like a big, fat baby.

  Worse than facing the gossip, I have to go home soon. Where Cherish lives in the room next to mine. At least my mom and her partner, Liz, don’t make us room together.

  The sun’s pounding down on me and the top of my head is burning hot. I’d give anything for a breeze or a cloud. The sky is a stretch of never-ending blue and there are so many trees that it looks like a wall of green closing in on me.

  I wish I had the nerve to stick out my thumb and hitch a ride away from Lake Charles, Louisiana. As far away as the driver would be willing to take me. But when a truck zooms by on Opelousas Lane, my hands stay by my sides. I’m such a chicken turd that I even tuck them into my pockets.

  Heading home isn’t an option. Besides, I don’t want to be responsible for my mother being sicker than she already is. I overheard Mom tell Liz that her lupus has started acting up because of the stress of Cherish and me fighting all the time.

  I keep slogging on. Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes. Forty minutes. The water in the ditch reminds me of how thirsty I am.

  The last bell of the day at Calcasieu High School seems like it rang hours ago. Sweat drips down my stomach and soaks into the waist of my pants. My whole body aches, but I drag on for another fifteen minutes.

  I can’t get their kiss out of my mind. And then the next thought. Dub kissed me this morning.

  His lips tasted sweet—like maple syrup. The taste reminded me of the pancakes Mom cooked that morning for breakfast. Everyone in the house had gotten up early. My mother said she wanted us to have a sweet start since Cherish had an important algebra test. She’d been helping Cherish study all week.

  Liz makes peppermint tea every day for Mom, and this morning she made some for me and Cherish too. I prefer orange juice, but the tea was soothing, minty but not too minty, hot but not too hot. We politely passed the pancakes, butter, and syrup to each other like we were a normal, happy family. Cherish even helped me do the dishes without making her usual snarky comments.

  When I considered becoming a foster sister awhile back, this is what I imagined.

  My boyfriend’s maple-syrupy kiss topped my perfect morning. As I grabbed books from my locker, Dub quietly walked up to me. His breath felt hot against my neck as he leaned in to whisper, “Missed you.” I turned around, tripping on his large, worn, green and white All Stars. He caught me, and before I could say anything, he pressed his soft, syrup-flavored lips against mine. I closed my eyes and kissed back, touching my tongue against his. Warmth and excitement zipped through my body.

  But now I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I hang onto the guardrail near the ditch full of cattails and I throw up.

  I stay bent over until the nausea passes. I have to swat away a couple of enormous, buzzing flies.

  Another truck passes. This driver honks. Lovely. I keep my face low to the ground, and I can’t hold back the tears any longer.

  I wanted to be a foster sister, but this isn’t what I had in mind.

  MELTDOWN: PART II

  Thursday, April 17

  LIZ IS PROBABLY SCOURING the neighborhood streets searching for me. The skin on Mom’s neck has surely broken out in a rash by now. She most likely has a fever too. For my mom’s sake, I pick up the pace even though my legs shake and my toes feel numb in my All Stars. Red and white, to complement Dub’s.

  I hate worrying my parents. Especially since stress makes Mom’s weak immune system flare up.

  Mom and me. We were a team before she met Liz. Then it was Mom and me and Liz.

  My father left when I was a baby and moved back to France. He barely knows I exist. To me, the “F” word isn’t just the four-letter word found in most R-rated movies; it’s the six-letter word—French. Mom made me sign up for freshman French this year to be more in touch with my heritage, though I’d given up on that idea long, long ago.

  The word “French” and almost all French things disgust me, except for a few things like croissants and beignets.

  French’em all—my father, Dub, and especially Cherish.

  Sweat continues to ooze from m
y pores and pools in the thick rolls of my skin. I’m probably burning thousands of calories. I imagine being able to fit into an adorable little bikini on our summer vacation, only two months away. Four days in New Orleans will be amazing, but it won’t be just Mom, me, and Liz. Cherish will be there, plus a new foster sibling if everything works out.

  Dub’s volunteered to watch our dog, Sassy, while we’re away. My stomach flip-flops. What was Dub thinking when he kissed Cherish? Have they been talking? Seeing each other? Doing more than just kissing at school?

  Across the street from my house, the Wilsons’ roof is still covered with a blue tarp because of the hurricane damage from over a year ago. Mom says the Wilsons don’t have insurance. I think everyone should have some kind of insurance to fix what’s broken, even if it’s your family and life.

  Finally I inch one foot in front of the other up the driveway of our plain brown, rectangular house. Mom’s gray Hocus Focus, as she calls her nonmagical car, is parked under the aluminum cover of our front patio, but Liz’s unnamed station wagon is not. The corner section of our patio cover looks like a ripped sheet of paper because of the hurricane’s high winds. Liz could have fixed the damage, but after the storm she said, “Let’s keep it like this to remind us of how lucky we are.” I certainly don’t feel lucky.

  My hand holds the tarnished doorknob for several seconds before I slowly open the door and sneak inside.

  The house is quiet and dark except for a night-light in our den. Sassy approaches, barking a low, unwelcoming bark. “Brrrrruff.”

  “Hi, girl.” I quiet her by slipping my fingers into her coat and sailing them across her back. Sassy’s skin twitches as I follow the arch of her spine.

  Mom should be lecturing me about being late, but instead her door is closed and a toy monkey with stretchy arms dangles from the handle. I gave it to her the first time she was hospitalized a couple of years ago. Mom now hangs it when she naps so we know when she’s sleeping.

  My mother’s lecture would be better than this silence. Sassy yawns and then jumps onto the couch, folding her feet over like a teacher monitoring a class. I almost wish she’d start lecturing me too.

  Cherish’s door is closed and the space underneath is dark. Is she out with Dub? Is he telling her all the things he told me on our first date: his favorite color (blue), his favorite food (fried shrimp with ketchup), and how he’s an only child like me?

  Cherish is probably making fun of me and my moms right now. Maybe she and Dub are doing more than talking. If I don’t stop thinking about this I’ll get sick again.

  The hinges whine as I open the bathroom door, and the scent from a berry candle is so strong a sneeze catches me by surprise. I turn on the faucet and let the water trickle to avoid disturbing Mom more than I already have. The water feels cool as I splash it over my face.

  After freshening up and blotting my skin on a coarse towel, I head straight for my stash of 3 Musketeers in my room. Liz secretly buys them for me. After Mom was diagnosed with lupus, she got rid of most sweets in the house. Anytime I begged for chocolate bars, she’d say, “An unhealthy child is likely to be an unhealthy adult. How about an apple instead?”

  After weeks of this, Liz broke down and started sneaking me candy bars—3 Musketeers, my favorite. Mom hasn’t caught on. Cherish told me Liz buys her makeup sometimes, the heavy-duty eyeliners and bright lipsticks Mom doesn’t like us wearing.

  Just as I sink my teeth into the foamy, soft chocolate, the front door opens with a loud clunk. I swallow the sweet bite and then shove the candy bar back underneath my bed.

  “Calli? You home?” Liz calls out in a low voice. Sassy barks wildly.

  There is no point whispering after Sassy’s noisy welcome. “Yes, ma’am!” As much as I want to stay in my room and devour the chocolate, I meet Liz by the front door. My jaw clenches as soon as I see Cherish standing next to her. Cherish has applied a fresh layer of magenta lip gloss. Sick. Dub’s mouth touched those lips. She smirks at me as if she can read my mind.

  Liz may have been driving around looking for me, but she doesn’t seem frantic. When she’s stressed, she has a tendency to tug at her gray, short hair until it spikes, but right now her hair is perfectly slicked back. “Oh, good. Your mom was resting, so I left work early to pick Cherish up from school. She called because she missed the bus looking for you. Care to explain?”

  “I . . . I, uh . . .” What the French fries? Cherish was looking for me?

  After tossing her backpack to the ground, Cherish clears her throat. Her heavily lined brown eyes squint, as if daring me to say something about what happened this afternoon. Liz doesn’t have a clue about the mind games Cherish plays with me.

  “Someone said they saw you running from school. Did you fail a test again or something?” Cherish asks, sounding completely sincere.

  “What’s this?” Mom asks from the hallway.

  Why does she have to wake up now? Mom wraps her bathrobe over her T-shirt and jeans. My mother and I lock eyes. She has dark rings underneath them. Can she tell that I’ve puked and bawled? I don’t want to stress her out any more than she already is. “Uh, you know, it was a warm day and you, uh, keep talking about being healthy, so I figured I’d walk home.”

  “Good idea,” Cherish says way too enthusiastically.

  I glare at her, and before I have a chance to say something back, Mom says, “Next time you choose an adventure, let the rest of your family know.”

  The word “family” stings. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Without saying anything else, Liz heads to the kitchen to brew some peppermint tea. Mom trails her.

  I storm off to my room, but Cherish whispers loudly, “You never told me that Dub is such a good kisser.”

  “Shut up, you—”

  “Shh—you don’t want your mommies to hear you say a bad word.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Girls?” Mom calls out. Her immune system may be weak, but her hearing isn’t.

  “Nothing,” Cherish and I answer together.

  When I slam the bedroom door, my U.S. history and French textbooks slide off my desk. Where is my iPod?

  I dig around on my desk, smashing a dried red rose. I kick the French book, Français: Bienvenue. I know Cherish stole my iPod. She probably sold it like she hocked my DVDs she stole. She didn’t give me the money she made off of them either. Mom and Liz reimbursed me, but that’s not the point.

  A million curse words run through my mind, all too horrible to say out loud.

  I’m not going to take her crap anymore.

  NO!

  MORE!

  CHICKEN!

  TURD!

  THE DAY AFTER THE MELTDOWN

  Friday, April 18

  IF LUPUS WERE CONTAGIOUS, I would’ve faked sick like I had the inflammatory autoimmune disorder this morning to ditch school. Oh, my joints! My skin! My fever! But I wasn’t going to let Cherish win that battle. She thinks I’m just accepting things and sulking like I normally do.

  “Everything will be fine, just wait and see,” my best friend, Delia, says as we walk down the hall together. But the only thing I see is about five people gathered around my locker.

  Dub is scribbling something on the face of it. “What are you doing?” I yell. First the kiss, and now this? The crowd turns to look at me. A jerk named Gunner points his phone in my direction and takes a photo. Delia flicks him off.

  When I’m closer, Dub moves in front of the locker in an attempt to block the black marks scrawled all over it. “I didn’t want you to see this, especially after what happened yesterday,” he says. I step close to him so I can get a better look at what he’s trying to protect me from.

  Delia gasps.

  I’ve been friends with Dub for so long that part of me wants to bury my head against his clean, familiar smelling body and forget all of this. And then I see a drawing of a large bull with a ring through its nose and the letters “CALLI IS ABULLD Y.”

  Dub had used his pen to cross o
ut the “k” and the “e” at the end of the sentence.

  Gunner laughs and takes another cell pic. We’ve never gotten along. . . . Did he write this? I doubt he’d be documenting my humiliation right in my face if he had, plus there’s a more likely suspect. Cherish stayed late after school yesterday, supposedly looking for me. I’m not sure how she could’ve pulled off defacing my locker with teachers roaming the halls, but the girl’s sneaky and has motive. She always says how weird it is that I have two moms, and how I’m probably a “lez like them.”

  This means war.

  As if two pictures weren’t enough, Gunner snaps another. I can only imagine where these photos will end up. On the Internet for the entire world to see I’m sure.

  It’s like Dub can read my mind because he straightens up and tells Gunner, “Put that freaking thing away.”

  Gunner scowls in return. “Or what?”

  Dub responds by shoving him. Gunner’s phone flies out of his hand, and Dub dives after it. He seizes the phone and presses a few buttons.

  Delia’s mouth is still hanging open, and the rest of the students around us back off like they’re uncertain what Dub might do next. I’m confident the pictures are long gone and Gunner won’t dare take another. I appreciate that Dub’s looking out for me, but half the campus has probably already seen the damage. Not to mention the damage Dub caused me yesterday.

  “Give me my phone back,” Gunner says in a demanding voice. I notice that when he extends his hand, it’s shaking the slightest bit.

  Dub makes a fist around Gunner’s phone and raises his arm like he’s going to toss it down the hallway.

  I pull at his elbow. “Dub, don’t.” His skin feels just as familiar as it smells.

  “What’s going on?” an approaching teacher asks.

  Dub hands Gunner’s phone back like there was never an issue between the two of them and explains the situation. “Someone messed with my girlfriend’s locker.”

  Gunner doesn’t say a thing. A few other people make comments to support what Dub has said, but their voices fade as I replay Dub’s comment with an emphasis on the word “girlfriend.” He still thinks of me as his girlfriend after what happened yesterday?