Crescendo

CHAPTER 12

TUESDAY AFTER CLASS, I WAS ON MY WAY OUT OF the building to meet Vee, who’d skipped class to hang out with Rixon but promised to swing back by school at noon to chauffeur me home, when my cell phone chirped. I opened the text message just as Vee hollered my name from the street.

“Yo, babe! Over here!”

I walked to where she was parallel parked at the curb and folded my arms on the open window frame. “Well? Was it worth it?”

“Skipping class? Heck, yeah. Rixon and I spent the morning playing Xbox at his place. Halo Two.” She reached over and unlatched the passenger door.

“Sounds romantic,” I said, climbing in.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Violence really puts guys in the mood.”

“In the mood? Is there something I should know about?”

Vee flashed a hundred-watt grin. “We kissed. Oh man, it was good. It started out all slow and gentle, and then Rixon really started getting into it—”

“Okay!” I cut in loudly. Had I been this sappy when Patch and I were together and Vee was odd man out? I prayed not. “Where to now?”

She scooted back into traffic. “I’m tired of studying. I need to inject a little excitement into my life, and that ain’t gonna happen with my nose in a book.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Old Orchard Beach. I’m in the mood for some sun and sand. Plus, my tan could use a base coat.”

Old Orchard Beach sounded perfect. It had a long pier that stretched out over the water, an on-the-beach amusement park, and fireworks and dancing after dark. Unfortunately, the beach would have to wait.

I jiggled my cell phone. “We already have plans tonight.”

Vee leaned sideways to read the text message and grimaced. “Marcie’s party reminder? For real? I didn’t realize you guys were new BFFs.”

“I was told that missing her party is the surest way to sabotage my social life.”

“She’s such a ho. Missing her party is the surest way to make my life complete.”

“Might want to rethink your attitude, because I’m going—and you’re coming with me.”

Vee pressed back against her seat, her arms going rigid on the steering wheel. “What’s her angle, anyway? Why’d she invite you?”

“We’re chemistry partners.”

“Seems to me like you’re forgiving her for that black eye awfully fast.”

“I owe it to her to at least show up for an hour. As her chemistry partner,” I added.

“So you’re saying the reason we’re dragging ourselves to Marcie’s party tonight is because you sit beside her every morning in chemistry.” Vee gave me the look of someone who knows better.

I knew it was a lame excuse, but not as lame as the truth. I needed to make absolutely certain Patch had moved on to Marcie. When I’d touched his scars two nights ago and been transported into his memory, he’d seemed reserved with Marcie. Up until their kiss, he’d even been short with her. I hadn’t made up my mind how he felt about her. But if he’d moved on, it would make it that much easier for me to do likewise. A confirmed relationship between Patch and Marcie would make it easy to hate him. And I wanted to hate him. For both our sakes.

“Your breath smells like liar, liar pants on fire,” Vee said. “This isn’t about you and Marcie. This is about Patch and Marcie. You want to find out what’s going on between them.”

I tossed my hands in the air. “Fine! Is that so wrong?”

“Man,” she said, wagging her head, “you really are a glutton for punishment.”

“I thought maybe we could look in her bedroom. See if we find anything that proves they’re together.”

“Like used condoms?”

Suddenly my breakfast was rising up my esophagus. I hadn’t thought of that. Were they sleeping together? No. I didn’t believe it. Patch wouldn’t do that to me. Not with Marcie.

“I know!” Vee said. “We could steal her diary!”

“The one she’s been carrying around since freshman year?”

“The one she swears would make the National Enquirer look tame,” she said, sounding strangely gleeful. “If something is going on between her and Patch, it’ll be in the diary.”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on. We’ll give it back after we’re done. No harm, no foul.”

“How? Toss it on her porch and run? She’ll kill us if she finds out we took it.”

“Sure. Toss it on her porch, or take it during the party, read it somewhere, and put it back before we leave.”

“It just seems wrong.”

“We won’t tell anyone what we read. It’ll be our secret. It’s not wrong if nobody gets hurt.”

I wasn’t sold on stealing Marcie’s diary, but I could tell Vee wasn’t going to let it drop. The most important thing was getting her to agree to come to the party with me. I wasn’t sure I was courageous enough to go on my own. Especially since I couldn’t count on having a single friend there. So I said, “You’ll pick me up tonight, then?”

“Count on it. Hey, can we light her bedroom on fire before we leave?”

“No. She can’t know we were snooping in it.”

“Yeah, but subtle really isn’t my style.”

I looked sideways, eyebrows peaked. “No kidding?”

It was just after nine when Vee and I climbed the hill leading up to Marcie’s neighborhood. Coldwater’s socioeconomic map is easily determined by a simple test: Drop a marble on any street in town. If the marble rolls downhill, you’re upper class. If the marble doesn’t roll at all, you’re middle class. And if you lose the marble in a vapor of fog before you have a chance to find out if it rolls, you’re … well, you live in my neighborhood. The backwoods.

Vee pushed the Neon uphill. Marcie’s neighborhood was older, with mature trees that spilled above the street, blocking all moonlight. The homes had professionally landscaped yards and half circles for driveways. The architecture was Georgian colonial; every house was white with black trim. Vee had the Neon’s windows rolled down, and in the distance, we heard the steady pulse of blaring hip-hop.

“What’s her address again?” Vee asked, squinting through the windshield. “These houses are so far off the road I can’t read the numbers over the garages.”

“Twelve-twenty Brenchley Street.”

We came to an intersection and Vee turned onto Brenchley. The music intensified as we cruised down the block, and I assumed it meant we were headed in the right direction. Cars were parked bumper-to-bumper down both sides of the street. As we passed an elegantly remodeled carriage house, the music reached an all-time high, vibrating the car. Flocks of people were cutting across the lawn, streaming inside the house. Marcie’s house. One look at it, and I had to wonder why she shoplifted. For the thrill of it? To escape her parents’ carefully and perfectly crafted image?

I didn’t dwell on it longer. A deep ache swirled in my stomach. Parked in the driveway was Patch’s black Jeep Commander. Obviously he’d been one of the first to arrive. He’d probably been inside alone with Marcie hours before the party started. Doing what, I didn’t want to know. I sucked in a deep breath and I told myself I could handle this. And wasn’t this the evidence I’d come looking for?

“What are you thinking?” Vee asked, her gaze also glued to the Commander as we rolled past.

“That I want to throw up.”

“All over Marcie’s foyer would be nice. But seriously. Are you okay with Patch being here?”

I set my jaw, tilting my chin up slightly. “Marcie invited me tonight. I have the same right to be here as Patch. I’m not going to let him dictate where I go and what I do.” Funny, because that’s exactly what I was doing.

Marcie’s front door was open, leading into a dark marble hall crammed with bodies gyrating to Jay-Z. The