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“I will, Grandad. Thanks for letting me spend the night.”
His brows furrow. “You better not say anything stupid like that to me again.”
“All right.” I grin, holding up my hands in a gesture of surrender. Then I get into the car.
He slaps the hood. “Bye, kid.”
I drive off. I get twenty minutes out of Carney before I drink the orange soda. By the time I arrive at Wallingford, I’ve missed most of the day. I roll into the break period after study hall and before lights-out.
Sam is sitting on the striped couch of the common lounge, next to Jeremy Fletcher-Fiske. A newscaster is on the television, talking about football. Some guys are playing cards on a folding table. Another senior, Jace, is watching a carrot on a plate rotate in the microwave.
“Hey,” I say, waving.
“Dude,” says Sam. “Long time, no see. Where have you been?”
“Just family stuff,” I say, sitting down on the arm of the couch.
Tomorrow I am going to have to get my homework from teachers. I’m going to have to start buckling down if I want to pass everything this semester, but I figure that tonight I might as well just relax.
On the screen another announcer starts in on the local news. He says that on Sunday, Governor Patton held a brunch where his unexpected and controversial announcement had his constituents up in arms.
They show a clip of a big ballroom covered in tables and Patton up on a podium with a blue curtain behind him and my mother standing nearby, along with another guy in a suit. Her hair is pulled back and she’s wearing a yellow dress with short white gloves. She looks like a costumer’s idea of a politician’s wife. I am so busy trying to make out her expression that for a moment I don’t realize what Patton’s saying on the clip.
“—and furthermore, after consideration, I have come to realize that my stance was an unrealistic one. While having access to information regarding who is or is not hyperbathygammic would be convenient for law enforcement, I now see that the price for that convenience is too high. Worker rights groups have made the point that it’s unlikely the information would remain confidential. As governor, I cannot countenance any risk to the privacy of New Jersey citizens, especially when that privacy may protect their lives and livelihoods. Even though I have been in the past a strong supporter of Proposition 2, I am withdrawing that support as of this moment. I no longer believe that mandatory testing for workers is something this government should tolerate, no less dictate.”
I must be staring at the screen in horror.
“Crazy, right?” asks Jeremy. “Everyone’s saying that the guy got paid off. Or worked.”
Sam flinches. “Oh, come on. Maybe he just grew a conscience.”
That’s the brunch my mother invited me to, the one she said I’d love. Baby, I know what I’m doing.
A shiver runs down my back. The news has moved on to coverage of an earthquake, but I am still stuck with the memory of my mother’s face on that clip. If you didn’t know her, you wouldn’t notice it, but she was fighting back a smile.
She worked him. There is no doubt in my mind.
I want to scream. There’s no way to get her out of this. There’s no way it won’t be discovered.
Sam is speaking, but the buzzing in my head is so loud, it drowns out all other sounds.
* * *
I call my mother dozens of times that night, but she never picks up. I fall asleep with the phone still in my hand and wake up when its alarm goes off the next morning. I drag myself through my classes. I’m behind in everything. I stumble through answers, fail a quiz in statistics, and botch a French translation to great hilarity.
When I get up to my room, I find Daneca waiting for me. She’s sitting on Sam’s bed, her clunky brown shoes kicking the bed frame absently. Her eyes are red-rimmed.
“Hey,” I say. “I don’t know where Sam is. I haven’t seen him since I passed him in the hall on the way to Physics.”
She pushes a thick braid off her shoulder and straightens up like she’s steeling herself to do something unpleasant. “He already went to play practice. He’s still acting weird, and I’m not here to see him, anyway. I have to talk to you.”
I nod, although I’m not in the frame of mind to say anything remotely sensible. “Sure. Fine.”
“It’s about Lila.”
She couldn’t go through with it, I realize. “That’s okay,” I say lightly. “Maybe it was a terrible idea anyway.”
“No, Cassel,” Daneca says. “You don’t understand. I really screwed up.”
