families hang in the same social circles, so I’ve seen him con people. He comes off as sympathetic because he puts up with an alcoholic wife. But I’ve heard rumors that he bullies his employees and even his family.”
He’s worse than that, I thought uneasily, remembering his creepy obsession with Leah’s appearance and the sting of his slap.
“I don’t want Amber to go back anymore than you do,” Eli told Dustin in a grim tone. “But if she doesn’t, Mr. Montgomery will probably send the FBI looking for her.”
“Let them look,” Dustin argued. “They’ll never find her.”
“What kind of life would that be? But if she goes back, it’ll give us time to come up with a plan so she can get away for good.”
“I never said I wouldn’t. I–I care, too.” Eli bumped his elbow on the desk and caught the container of pens before it fell over.
“Then work with me to hide her.”
“Excuse me! I’m right here.” I threw up my hands, shoving between them. “I can make my own decisions.”
“I just want to help,” Dustin said.
“Me, too,” Eli added.
“Arguing isn’t solving anything,” I pointed out.
“Okay.” Dustin studied my face. “Tell us what you want.”
“Yeah,” Eli said. “Where do you want to go?”
They both watched me, waiting. But I didn’t know … I had no idea what to do. It was like being trapped in a pitch-dark room with no windows or doors. No way out.
Eli couldn’t hide me in his house — not with Chad living there. And Dustin couldn’t exactly offer to share his couch. Where did that leave me?
Homeless in a borrowed body.
So I said, take me back.
To Leah’s life.
28
I stopped by the kitchen and raided the fridge. Leftover chicken, tangy vegetable salad, and a big slice of blueberry pie. Yummm …
When I returned to my room — surprise! The flat-screen TV, computer, and phone were back. Was Leah forgiven for her past bad behavior, or being rewarded for future favors?
The phone blinked with the number “2,” so I pushed on the “collect messages” button and crossed my fingers, hoping the calls were from Eli or Dustin. No such luck.
“Leah, you there?” came Jessica’s voice. “I tried your cell phone but it’s still not picking up. What happened to you? Why did you go off with Chad’s brother? Chad was so pissed he hardly said a word during dinner. Call me.”
The second message was also from Jessica.
“Leah, it’s late and I’m worried about you. If you don’t call soon I’ll try your parents.”
Oh, crap. Just what I didn’t need tonight!
Then I panicked because I didn’t know Jessica’s number. And twenty-three minutes had already passed since she’d left the message. If I didn’t contact her soon, she might call Leah’s parents and say that I’d left her party. Fortunately, the phone had a call-back feature. With heavy relief, I dialed Jessica’s number.
She answered on one ring, peppering me with questions.
Where were you? Are you in love with Chad’s brother? Why didn’t you come back for dinner? Are we still best friends? Is Chad’s brother a good kisser?
I assured her we were still best friend and denied kissing Eli. To avoid answering the other questions, I asked her about the fundraiser — but I didn’t like her answer.
She really was going to have a canned-food-drive memorial service for “that poor Amber Borden.” How was I supposed to respond to that? I considered telling her the truth — that no one would attend, not even Dustin and Alyce. Alyce would be insulted about the whole canned-food thing, and Dustin shunned school events.
If I wasn’t already presumed dead, I’d die of humiliation.
While I was reeling with all of this, Jessica asked me the most outrageous question ever spoken in all of human existence. A bad situation squared by a
“Will you come to Amber’s memorial?” she asked.
Forget. It.
I invented an excuse about a doctor appointment on Friday. Jessica begged me to postpone it, but I refused.
Then I called Dustin and clued him in.
“You’re joking,” he said.
“I wish I was.”
“I can just imagine Jessica announcing over the loudspeaker, ‘May she rest in peace and please be sure to drop off your canned food.’ That’s sick.”
“Jessica thinks it’s brilliant. And she’s sure the whole school will come to say good-bye to me. I’m sure only a few teachers will show up. You and Alyce are my best friends, and you won’t be there.”
“What makes you think that? I can’t speak for Alyce — especially since she isn’t speaking to anyone lately — but I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Don’t you dare go!”
“How can I resist?” He chuckled. “Should I bring a can of soup, chili, or fruit cocktail?”
“Not funny. I can’t even guess how my parents will react when they find out about the memorial.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” His tone changed instantly. “Yeah, that would be rough on them, especially when they’re planning their own … well anyway, I see your point. Sorry for being an insensitive jerk.”
“You’re not a jerk, and only marginally insensitive.”
“It’s hard to mourn you when I’m talking to you. But I know this sucks for your family. I don’t know how to stop them from finding out about the memorial. Damn, you really have to tell them the truth.”
“When I’m free of Leah’s family, I’ll make my parents listen and prove who I am.” I sighed. “But I don’t know how long that will take. Leah’s father may not let her go even when she turns eighteen — whenever that is. Isn’t that sad? I don’t even know her birthday.”
“July fourteenth.”
“How do you know?” I asked, surprised.
“From surfing online about the Montgomerys. I’ve found interesting stuff. Rumors about a shifty connection to a congressman named Donatello. Ever hear of him?”
I didn’t answer right away, ashamed to admit about the dance. “I’ve heard a little.”
“Nothing good, I bet. He acts like he’s a respectable family man, but he was accused of beating up a hooker. He denies everything of course. If he shows up, stay away.”
I nodded silently.
Then I changed the subject, asking Dustin about his latest campaigns. He launched into the political buzz about who-did-what, etc. I admired his zeal for justice, even if I wasn’t sure about his methods — like the “fake official” website he was creating to expose the use of illegal chemicals by a supposedly organic nursery.
Even though we were talking about flowers, the word “nursery” reminded me of the weekend I helped paint the triplets’ nursery canary yellow. Mom was on bed rest by then, so Dad and I tackled the walls, splattering yellow
