“It’s okay if you don’t get it all at first,” he says when he notes the crazed, wild-eye look I’m probably rocking.
“Good, because I’m definitely not getting it at all.” I look at the television screen. “I mean, I get the gist of it, but there’s so many rules and so many guys just running around on a field.”
“I’m probably boring you to death, aren’t I?” He shifts positions, sitting up straight and lowering his hand to his lap. “I have an idea. How about for every rule I tell you, you get to tell me one thing about comics and superheroes.”
“You know I’m into that stuff?”
He nods. “I’ve seen some of your drawings at school too. They’re pretty good.”
I mull over his offer. “All right, Kyler, you have yourself a deal.”
An hour later, he’s leaving with his freshly baked cookies and his head crammed full of superpower knowledge. I feel like I’m floating on clouds and skipping on rainbows, even if my head aches from football facts.
The second the door closes, I overdramatically fall to the floor. “What the hell just happened?” I say, draping my arm over my head. “Did I seriously just spend over an hour talking to Kyler about football and Jedi mind skills?”
Grandma Stephy laughs at me as she starts piling dirty bowls into the sink. “To be young and in love again. I’ve completely forgotten how silly love can make someone.”
“I’m not in love with Kyler. I’m just . . .” I push up on my elbows. “You did hear him, right? I mean, I didn’t dream what just happened, did I? Because I’ve dreamt about him asking me out for a long, long time.” Well, up until recently. Lately, my dreams have been chock full of worries about never finding my mom.
“You’re awake. I promise.” She grabs a dishtowel and tosses it at my face. “Now, get your ass over here and help me clean up this mess.”
I drag myself off the floor and put the flour and sugar into the pantry. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Isabella Anders, you need to stop asking that question before you ask a question,” she gripes as she puts the egg carton back into the fridge.
“Sorry, but I kind of wanted to prepare you for what I was about to ask.”
She pauses, worry creasing her face. “What is it?”
I sigh then tell her about the photo and the birth certificate, omitting the details of what Kai and I did with the certificate.
“I thought I told you to leave this alone and let me handle this. That snooping around wasn’t a good idea,” she says when I’m finished.
“I can’t just sit around and wonder what’s going on.” I pull out a barstool and sit down. “It’s driving me crazy not knowing what happened, where she is, who she is. I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore. Like I’m just this person floating around in the world, lost, without a family. And I don’t want to float anymore.”
She takes a seat on a barstool beside me. “Honey, I know it’s confusing right now, but give me some time to get the story out of your father. I know it’s not happening as fast as you like, but I really do believe that eventually he’ll break down and tell us if I push him just enough.”
I glance down at my bandaged knee, remembering the last time she tried to push him. “You really think you’ll be able to get him to tell you?”
She hesitantly nods. “Eventually, yes.”
I want to believe her—I really do—but I’ve heard the two of them yelling on the phone at each other over the last couple of weeks, and my dad seems pretty dead set on no one telling me anything about my mom.
“Do you have that photo on you?” she asks, wiping her hands off on a dishtowel.
I retrieve the picture from my pocket and hand it to her.
A faint smile rises on her lips. “You look a lot like her.”
“Have you ever seen her before?”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I really am. I wish you didn’t have to go through this.”
“It’s not your fault.” I suck back the tears, get up, and start sweeping the kitchen floor.
But one question is stuck in my head. How did my dad manage to keep my mom such a secret?
“Isa, stop sweeping. The last thing you should be doing is cleaning.” She stands up and grabs her purse from the table. “Why don’t we go out for dinner? We can go to that diner you love, and I’ll even let you order dessert first.”
“That sounds nice.” I smile so she’ll relax, but deep down, I know that even sugar isn’t going to cure the hole forming in the center of my heart.
The only thing that will ever fix it is finding my real mom.
SHIT HAS OFFICIALLY hit the fan. Because Sunday morning, when I return home from my grandma’s, Lynn is there. And she’s alone.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask as I enter the kitchen, which is still trashed from Hannah’s party she had last night.
“He had to make a quick trip out to Florida for work,” she answers, sorting through the stack of mail on the counter littered with beer cans and plastic cups.
My muscles ravel into knots as I remember how shitty she treated me the last time my dad went on a business trip. “How long will he be gone?”
“A week or so.” She sets the mail down and gives me a look that sends a chill down my spine. “And I’m under strict orders to make sure you do your chores while he’s gone.”
“My room and bathroom are already clean,” I say, hoping Hannah’s friends didn’t trash those rooms too.
“That’s nice, but I was talking about your new, extra chores.” Her smile grows as her gaze sweeps around the kitchen.
“But I didn’t make this mess,” I say, fighting to keep calm, because losing my cool is only going to make this worse. “I wasn’t even here.”
“How do I know that for sure, though?” She grabs the handle of her suitcase and drags it with her as she heads for the doorway. “It makes much more sense to me that you would have the party. Hannah’s too good of a girl. Now hurry and get this place cleaned, so I can give you your list of chores.”
I grip the edge of the counter and bite back a stream of expletives clawing up my throat.
This is going to be a hellishly long week.
For the next week and a half I play the role of Isabella Smellera, cleaning and taking on the role as the maid for my mom and Hannah. I thought my dad would be back by now, but every time I ask Lynn about when he’s coming home, she just shrugs and says, “He’ll be back when he gets back. Now get to work.”
I try to call my dad a couple of times, but my calls go straight to voicemail. I try text and email, but I receive no reply. By the time Friday rolls around, it’s been two weeks since I’ve seen or heard from my father, and I’m beginning to get really concerned that maybe Lynn murdered him on their getaway and dropped his body into the ocean.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Kai says as I express my concern to him during third period. “I know Lynn’s a bitch and everything, but I don’t think she’d kill anyone.” He flashes me a teasing grin, trying to lighten the mood. “It’d be too messy for her, and she wouldn’t risk getting blood on her clothes.”
“I hope you’re right.” I add shading to the drawing I’m working on, instead of doing the math assignment.
Kai and I haven’t really hung out very much lately, mostly because I’ve been too busy cleaning the house and cooking for Lynn and Hannah. Same with me and Kyler, but we do have a date scheduled for tomorrow. Now, whether I can get out of the house to actually go on it is an entirely different question.
As for Kai and his issues with his parents, I haven’t had a chance to ask him more about that, but I haven’t noticed any more welts on him or heard any yelling next door. That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop keeping an eye on him.
And the kiss . . . well, somehow the two of us have silently agreed never to mention it again. I think about it sometimes, though. Just like I think about Kyler.