Six Months Later Part 20

"Maybe she's being blackmailed? Maybe she wants more money? Who knows what drives people to crime?"

"Typically, what drives people is pretty transparent. I mean, I've met the lady. She doesn't really have an evil vibe."

He's got a point, but I've got more than a point. I have freaking evidence. Sort of.

"Adam, she was talking to someone about Julien. Someone named Daniel. As in possibly Daniel Tanner, one of the sponsors of our little study group."

"Or as in Daniel Smith down at the post office or Daniel Starinsky who runs the gas station by the school. Do you know how many Daniels are in Ridgeview? For all we know, Julien has another doctor named Daniel and she was talking to him."

I push a piece of pancake slowly through a river of syrup. "You think I'm grasping at straws."

Adam reaches across the table, fingers covering my hand. "You want to know what happened to you, and I get that."

"But?"

"But you're too ready to point the finger. Maybe at people who didn't do anything wrong."

"She sounded nervous, Adam. Why would she be nervous about me talking about Julien if she hadn't done anything wrong?"

"Maybe she was upset. Julien was in our group, Chlo. Maybe she got attached to her, and she's worried about how upset she thinks you are about it."

His points feel like they're picking mine apart. And not doing a bad job of it either. "Fine," I say with a sigh. "I'll let it go."

Adam smiles, but there's something a little wary in his eyes when he shakes his head. "No, I don't think you will. I'm pretty sure you don't let much of anything go."

"Careful. Being this smart can't be good for your bad boy rep," I say.

He steals one of the sausage links beside my pancakes, and the conversation s.h.i.+fts. He points out the beams in the ceilings, and I talk about an article I read on the mood impacts of decor like this, with vintage photographs and household items displayed as artwork. It's the first time I've felt normal since I woke up in the cla.s.sroom.

The drive home is long and quiet. He keeps the radio low, and I use the seat belt in the middle so I can curl up under his arm. I find a jagged scar, just above his wrist, tracing it with my fingers while I watch the road unfold before us.

For a while I think of what I should call this. Is he my boyfriend? It feels like such a small, childish word for the way I feel. And some part of me knows I should be afraid of this, this feeling of absolute rightness I have being pressed up against him.

But then he kisses the top of my head, and I smile. After that I don't think much at all.

I'm half-asleep when I speak again, a sudden thought stirring me from my drowsiness. "I haven't remembered anything."

"What's that?" he asks, his voice rumbling through his chest next to my cheek.

"All the times we kissed today, I didn't remember anything. I usually remember things when you touch me."

"Only me?"

"Only you," I say. "But today I didn't. I didn't remember anything."

"Maybe the wrong part of your mind was engaged tonight," he says, tickling my side until I laugh out loud and smack his arm.

But he's got a point. With his lips against mine, my mind definitely doesn't function at its highest level.

He walks me to my door but hesitates when I lean in for another kiss.

"Did you turn into a pumpkin?" I tease.

"Cute," he says. "I just haven't met your parents yet. Seems a little rude to make out with you on the doorstep."

He's smiling, but that same tight look is back on his features. He looks around the road and then back at me before pressing a quick kiss to my lips.

"Sweet dreams, Chloe."

I nod through a yawn then snag his hand as he's turning away. "You're still going to help me get to the bottom of this, right?"

"How can I resist an offer like that?"

I kiss him again, lingering a little before I draw back. "You can't. I won't let you. I'll see you soon?"

"Not soon enough."

I'm not sure my feet even hit the ground as I walk inside. I'm floating on a bubble of hormonal giddiness. I swear, I should have chirping birds trailing behind me.

I glide into the kitchen, smile so wide my cheeks hurt. It dies on my lips when I flip on the overhead light, illuminating my mother leaned against the sink.

"I think we need to have a little talk."

Chapter Eighteen.

There are no little talks with my mother, and this one is no exception. It's like sitting through a eulogy or a recitation of the local phone book. Except I'd prefer either of those things over this.

She doesn't yell either. Just drones on and on about the endless depths of her disappointment and my failure to live up to my potential.

"Are you even listening to me?" she asks.

Not really.

"Yes."

She shakes her head, signaling the move into act three. The Guilt Effect. "Chloe, when you tell me you're out with friends to study, I believe you. That trust is broken now."

"I said I'm sorry," I say, pressing my still-tender lips together. "I'm not sure what else you want me to tell you."

"Well, I'd ask you where you've been, but I'm not even sure I want to know."

I look up then, and there's no mistaking the way she's looking at me. I haven't checked a mirror to be sure, but I know there's no chance my hair and lip gloss are anywhere close to being intact.

"It's not as bad as you're obviously thinking," I tell her, hoping it will appease her.

It doesn't.

"You know, did you ever stop tonight to think about how Blake would feel if he knew you were out with another boy?"

"Mom, please." This is so not a conversation I want to have with her.

"Don't please me," she says. "I thought I raised you better than this. That boy cares about you. And he could provide you with a h.e.l.l of a lot better future than Adam Reed."

I stand up then, chair legs sc.r.a.ping on the hardwood floor. "You were spying on me?"

"I was worried about you. When Blake called tonight, I had no idea where you were."

"Wait a minute, Blake called here?"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"He called here tonight?"

"Yes, tonight. He said he was out with most of the SAT group and wanted to see if you were interested in joining them. Which was really interesting news to me, since you were supposedly already with them."

Fear moves through me as cold as the air I just walked out of. "What did you say to him?"

Her eyes go dark with anger. "Don't worry, Chloe. At that point I didn't know, so I didn't spill your little secret. But I can't tell you how deeply it disappoints me that all you're worried about is hiding your liaison with that boy."

"No, Mom, I'm not thinking about my liaison. And I'm not thinking about Adam either, who, by the way, has an academic record that makes me look like a trained chimp. Right now I'm thinking about Blake, who's been practically stalking me since I broke up with him."

Mom crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. "Don't you think that's a bit dramatic?"

"I think you see whatever the h.e.l.l you want to see. With me. With Blake. Even with Adam, who you don't know anything about at all."

"I know he's got a criminal record, and I'm not talking about a string of parking tickets. Did he tell you about that, Chloe? Did he tell you about the time he got arrested? Because I was on s.h.i.+ft at the hospital that night. I st.i.tched up his arm while the officers read him his rights."

Mr. Chow moves in the front of the cla.s.s, holding a stack of papers. I glance around. The faces around me are getting familiar. Julien grins at me, and I return it, glad I've hit it off with someone so quickly. Almost as glad as I am that I get to spend every Tuesday and Thursday evening in the same room with Blake Tanner.

"This is a timed math test," Mr. Chow says, pa.s.sing out the papers. "The objective is to move as quickly as you can to keep your mind sharp and prepared for change."

"What's the catch?" Blake asks, motioning at the desks that have been set up in pairs.

"Trading," Mr. Chow says, smiling. "Every sixty seconds you will trade papers with your partner. This will keep you from looking ahead, a common mental pattern that can leave you anxious for future questions. Anxiety is like kryptonite to peak performance."

"Sounds easy enough," Julien says, and we smile at each other pointedly. She knows darned well math is a strong suit for me.

Mr. Chow shakes his head at this, chuckling. "I don't think so, girls. I'll be a.s.signing the partners. Blake, you're with Raul. Julien, with Tanja. Chloe, you'll be with Adam."

I force myself not to grimace. I've avoided him since the fire alarm incident, and really, I think that's preferable. We sit down across from each other, papers facedown and timers set.

I look at my cuticles and check for split ends while Mr. Chow fiddles with a malfunctioning timer at another table.

"Pull any fire alarms lately?" Adam asks.

I roll my eyes. "You just couldn't let it go, could you?"

Adam grins up at me. "I really didn't think you'd have the guts to go through with it."

"I'm full of surprises, I guess."

"Good," he says. "I like surprises."

The sound of my phone pulls me from my dream. Not my cell phone, but my house phone, a corded pink concoction that I almost forgot I still had. I grope blindly for the handle, lifting it clumsily to my ear.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"So d-do you need a ride t-to a school or what?"

I bolt upright, clutching the blankets to my chest and grinning like a loon. "Yes! I mean, yeah. If it's not too much trouble."

"I'll b-be there in twenty," Maggie says. "By the way, your cell phone's off."

"Okay. See you soon."

It's better than Christmas. I practically dance out of my bed and to my bathroom. Then I rush back, finding my phone in the jeans I shucked off last night before falling into bed. I find a five-dollar bill in one of the pockets. Change from the Twinkies I bought.

I trace the red squares Adam doodled in the corner of the receipt to demonstrate some basics of structural stability or something. I think of my mother's comments last night and then of the scar I felt on his arm.

So what? He's not a bad person. Whatever my mom thinks she knows is obviously wrong.

I pick out clothes and head into the bathroom, glancing at the time on the clock.

Time. Timers. What a minute.

I stop, one foot into the hallway, and remember the dream I woke up from. Except it wasn't a dream. It was a memory. Holy c.r.a.p, it's finally starting to come back.

I'm showered, dressed, and ready ten minutes before Maggie said she'd arrive. And it's worse than a first date because I'm pacing in front of the door and chewing my lip. I'm half-convinced she's never going to show. That she'll stand me up and leave us right back where we were a couple of weeks ago.

The ragged putter of the pickup's engine is heaven to my ears. I adjust my backpack and pick up both of the to-go coffee mugs I prepped. It's almost like every other morning I can remember before all of this happened.

I head for the truck and hand her the coffee.

"You still drink it with cream?"

"You're drinking it again?" she asks, obviously surprised.