Ink Is Thicker Than Water (17 page)

Chapter Sixteen

I wait at Kaitlyn’s locker the next morning, even though I can feel how that’s dangerous. But we’ve said nothing official, and maybe I’m not being fair. Maybe it seems to her that I’m blowing her off, too. Okay, I don’t really think that, but I need to talk to someone about Sara and Dad and Oliver and of course, my impending sex life. Kaitlyn’s good at all that stuff. Who else is going to weigh in on if I actually do need to buy fancy underwear or not?

“What?” Kaitlyn asks as she walks up.

“
What?
Is that how we’re saying hi now? Okay. How are you?”

“Don’t be so weird,” she says, pushing past me to reach into her locker. She looks exactly the same; her hair is beautiful, and her outfit is one we picked out together at West County mall, and she’s been carrying that overpriced Coach purse for six months now. But also she’s not the same at all, and I can feel that.

“Never mind,” I say, because this Kaitlyn isn’t going to have anything useful to say to me, even about sex underwear. “I just—”

“Don’t you get it?” she asks. “We’re not friends anymore, Kellie.”

“We were friends last week,” I say.

“I guess. Stuff changes.” She stares at me, hard. “Don’t be such a baby about it.”

Lora walks up and gives me a side-eye. “Everything okay here, Kait? Is she bothering you?”

“Oh my God,” Kaitlyn says,
and giggles
, and then they’re off down the hallway together. What the hell?

I find Adelaide, hoping she’ll pick up on my mood and say the right genius thing, but she just gives me a flier for an art show/political rally happening on Saturday night.

“Kaitlyn’s being…” I try to communicate with my eyes how I feel.

“Are you feeling okay, Brooks?”

I think Adelaide has at long last picked up on an emotion of mine, but she just gives me a travel pack of Kleenex because I apparently look like I’m suffering from allergies. I want to be annoyed, but having a friend who keeps an eye on my health and well-being is a good thing. And I can’t be mad at Adelaide for not being more like Kaitlyn, when isn’t that the point anyway?

Dexter, weirdly, texts me at lunchtime.
Yo Kells it’s Dex. What’s up with Sara?
I respond right away.
no clue, haven’t seen her since friday. why?

“Is it true you have some college boyfriend?” Chelsea asks me while I’m willing my phone to beep with Dexter’s response.

What a weird thing to be true, and also to be asked about, like Oliver and I were photographed in the latest celebrity tabloid or something. Canoodling! “It’s true.”

Chelsea has all the standard questions, from his name to his major, which I’m fine with giving. Still, I get the feeling she thinks I should be gushier or full of bigger details, and I just don’t feel like going there. Having a boyfriend shouldn’t be about bragging rights or gossip possibilities, just tons of making out and talking and listening to music.

Though I guess to be honest, I do hope it trickles up to Kaitlyn and her table, and she’ll have to admit her supposedly uncool and immature former friend is practically doing it with a college guy. I try to look a little more mysterious to Chelsea and Mitchell in case “mystery” = “practically doing it.”

Newspaper feels like something I’ve been doing for a million years by the time it rolls around after school. I’d already discussed my potential ideas with Adelaide, so I just let her select my lunch options idea and watch as it’s written next to my name on the board. (Of course I do get that the people writing timely and hard-hitting stories like about the upcoming Halloween Ball or changes to next semester’s curriculum have a little more pressure to deal with.)

Chelsea announces she’s having a party next Friday because her parents will be out of town, and we all get really excited even though I think most people in this room are real rule-followers who aren’t going to start experimenting with sex or drugs. Parties are still good news, and it’ll be close enough to Halloween that we decide costumes are mandatory.

It’s my night to pick up Finn from daycare, which is good timing because newspaper kept me distracted enough from my life’s drama. It’s basically impossible dwelling on anything annoying when you’re running around a park and seeing if you still fit down the kiddie slide (just barely). Dexter calls while I’m showing Finn some ninja moves like sneaking around a telephone pole, so I tell Finn it’s his turn, and I park myself on the ground so I can keep an eye on him while I answer my phone.

“I hate texting,” he says. “So I didn’t wanna type any more to you. But you wanna grab a cup, talk about crap?”

I know it’s pretty weird to get coffee with your sister’s boyfriend-slash-your boyfriend’s brother, but if anyone will understand how crappy stuff is getting with Sara, it’s him. “Um, yeah. Later? Right now Finn and I are hanging out at the park.” I grin at Finn, who mimes throwing a ninja star at me. I mime catching it in my teeth, which makes him burst into giggles. If only I could keep Finn around at school; he is totally my antidepressant of choice.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dexter says. “Call me when you’re free.”

I agree to that and go back to ninja moves until it starts getting dark. Mom is home by the time we arrive, which is great, because there’s sesame tofu nearly ready to eat, and also because as soon as I’m done with that, I’m free to meet up with Dexter. Hanging out with Finn is almost always awesome, but it’s a relief that at the end of the day, literally, he isn’t really my responsibility.

Dexter and I make plans to meet up at The Beanery, and we end up walking in at practically the same time. Dexter is still in his uniform but has his blazer on inside-out so the pattern shows instead of it being navy. I guess that’s how hipsters make dressing like everyone else work. We step up to the counter together without a word, and I order.

“Hey, Kellie.”

I turn around and see that Paul from the paper is sitting at one of the front tables with a couple of his non-newspaper friends. “Oh, hey.”

“You going to Chelsea’s party on Friday?”

“Yep.”

“Wearing a costume?”

“Well, it’s mandatory, so, yes. Mandatorily.” I wait for Dexter to order before walking to the end of the counter for my drink. He shoots me a smirk. “What?”

“Like you don’t know.”

I really don’t. But once we’re settled at a table with his black coffee and my vanilla hot cocoa, he leans in conspiratorially and gestures in Paul’s direction. “That guy’s really into you.”

“What? He’s not, he’s just some guy from newspaper.”

“A guy from newspaper who wants to jump you,” he says. “What? I’m not gonna tell Ol or anything. Who cares if I even did? I didn’t say you wanted to jump him.”

“Stop talking about jumping people,” I say. “What’s going on with you and Sara?”

“Nothing,
nada
,” he says. “All of a sudden she’s too good to return my calls or texts, too busy, I dunno. She said anything to you?”

“That would be hard considering I haven’t even seen her. She’s staying at Camille’s,” I say. “Just one more crappy thing about this crappy week.”

Dexter lets out a whistle. “Tough talk, Kells. Things that shitty?”

I shrug, weighing how I don’t really know Dexter that well against the fact that it’s absolutely useful to be around a guy who isn’t my boyfriend and therefore, will not distract me with magical sexy powers. (Also I really don’t care how whiny or immature I seem to Dexter.) “My best friend’s totally cut me out of her life for no real reason. Well, the reason is she wants to be cool, and I’m uncool—”

“What? Kells Brooks
uncool
?” He raises his eyebrows like he’s an ultra-suave Muppet. “Who said that? I will defeat them.”

“Shut up, and you know what I mean. I don’t have any shirts made out of gold glitter, and I don’t feel like sneaking into any clubs.”

“Where the hell is that written down in a list labeled as
cool
?” Dexter shakes his head. “I thought Ticknor was one of those goddamn hippie schools. I figured the cool kids started drum circles and smoked a lot of weed.”

“If only,” I say. “Well, that sounds awful, too, but less so. Also, my dad.”

“What about your dad?”

“Just how I’m this huge disappointment to him and Sara’s his shining star.” I shake my head like the conversation is an Etch-a-Sketch and this’ll clear it. This is one topic I don’t want to bring up to the guy who’s the shining star in his family. “So, um, are you still trying to get in touch with Sara? Or just ignoring her, too?”

Dexter makes a grand gesture, takes out his cell, and dials Sara. I hear her voice mail pick up, and he clicks off the phone. “Listen, I’m trying. You hear from her, let her know, okay?”

A tiny and dramatic part of me worries I won’t hear from Sara any time soon and won’t get a chance to pass on the message, but I don’t like how defeated Dexter seems. “I’m sure I’ll hear from her soon, and of course I’ll let her know.”

Since Mom and Russell are still acting like nothing unusual or apocalyptic is going on in our family, I decide to take things into my own hands. I won’t just act brave; I will be brave.

I go back to Dad’s on Wednesday.

“You here for the night again?” Dad asks, looking surprised but honestly not unhappy. “We could order something for dinner or go out, your choice.”

“Whatever you want is fine,” I say, not feeling deprived at the moment thanks to dinner on Sunday. Living with a vegan is fine as long as you can occasionally make a great steak escape. “Um, so have you talked to Mom this week?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.” He riffles through his mail and looks back to me. “Why did you think I would have talked to your mother?”

“Sara got back into town Sunday, but she told Mom not to pick her up at the airport because she’d be staying with Camille for a few days.”

Dad’s eyebrows draw together. “And Mel said okay to that?”

“You know Mom, she wants everyone to be happy and making independent choices or whatever.” I make it sound really casual, because Clayton Brooks hates casual. I will scare him to his core and make him the one who reacts.

“Right,” he says, when I know he means something more like,
Yeah, that crazy woman
. “I know Sara’s really enjoyed spending time with Camille, and when has Sara ever made a bad choice?”

He does have a point, even if it isn’t one I necessarily want to hear from him. Where is my control freak dad?

“We haven’t heard from her since,” I say.

“Well, that was just Sunday,” he says. “Today would still be included in ‘a few days,’ wouldn’t it?”

I have to admit he’s right.

“Dinner thoughts?” he asks, and I hope he’ll ask me
anything
about
me
. What am I working on for the issue of the
Ticknor Voice
? How are my friends? (Ugh.) Even how are my grades? I try to send little mind beams to him:
ASK ME SOMETHING
.

But obviously, I don’t have magical mental powers (or a dad who cares that much about my extracurriculars). At least he lets me pick the restaurant, burgers in U City at Fitz’s, where they brew their root beer right there on the spot. (That makes it just as much better than regular root beer as you’d think.) Dad isn’t usually one for driving more than a couple miles or going anywhere that actually qualifies as cool, so it feels like almost as much of a victory as if he’d asked about the paper.