I had to drag myself out of bed the next morning. Even before I got my eyes all the way open, Duck came to mind.
I brushed my teeth with a vengeance. He’d lied to me—that was obvious. And now, knowing what I did about Gigi and the kid who was accusing Mrs. I., nothing he had ever said to me rang true. Nothing.
For a hopeful second I toyed with the idea that he and Gigi had just met that very minute when I saw them fighting, and he’d instantly seen her for what she was and got on her case.
But I couldn’t buy that story. I had to face the fact that he was working for her—and that all the attention he had shown me was just a part of her scam.
I knew I should have kept my vow and stayed away from boys, I thought. I get burned every time.
Maybe seeing him fighting with Gigi was a God-thing, though, and in more ways than one. As I pulled on a pair of capris, it struck me—if Duck knew about Gigi’s plan, he could be pretty useful to me. I could use him while he still thought he was using me.
I yanked on a T-shirt and shook out my hair, pretending I was shaking him off me. Then I stood up straight and looked at my bedraggled self in the mirror. I had to find out what he knew, and the only way to do that was to get back into his good graces.
“EWWW!” I said to my face in the mirror. “Talk about hypernoxious.”
Celeste would probably have the perfect manufactured word for this situation. I missed her so much. She could have helped me with the plan that was formulating in my mind. Now I was going to have to find somebody else.
Duck didn’t meet me at my locker again before school, which was no surprise. It actually hurt more that nobody else did either, except Eve. I looked behind her as she bounced up to me, her bangs feathering, but she was Holly-less.
“Where’s your friend?” I said.
Eve shrugged. “We’re not hanging out anymore.”
“There’s a lot of that going on. Did you guys have a fight?”
I looked into my locker with studied nonchalance, but there was nothing from the Secret Admirer. A little help—even in the form of a riddle—would have been a nice touch about then.
“We didn’t really fight,” Eve said. “We just aren’t into the same things anymore.”
“That happens,” I said.
I stood up and closed my locker with my foot. As I did, the proverbial light bulb seemed to appear over my head.
“Would you deliver a note for me?” I said to Eve.
Everything on her bounced, including the jumble of charms on her watchband.
“Yes!” she said.
“Okay, see that guy with the big shoulders—”
She scanned the crowd, and her eyes darted back to me as if the mere sight of Duck had stunned her.
“You don’t mean THAT guy?” she said. “In the swim team T-shirt?”
“Yeah,” I said. I peered closely at her face as it seemed to pale at the very thought. “Is that a problem? Do you know him?”
“No!” she said. She looked completely flustered. “It’s just—he’s so cute!”
“Yeah, well, he’s mine,” I forced myself to say. It was like hearing somebody else talking with my mouth.
“I wasn’t going to try to steal him from you!”
“Just keep an eye on him while I write this. Then take it to him.”
Eve obediently scoped out Duck while I opened my locker again and yanked a piece of paper from one of my binders. It was scary how much influence I had over this little freshman. I just wished I weren’t using it this way.
But I have to, I told myself firmly. It’s for Mrs. I. It’s for all of us.
“He’s getting away!” Eve hissed to me.
I scratched out a note: Meet me at lunch, okay? I want to explain about last night.
“Here,” I said as I tucked it into Eve’s hand. “I owe you.”
I was sure she didn’t hear that. She was already going after Duck like she was about to make a tackle.
I watched her until Duck was actually reading the note, then I abruptly squatted down to my locker just before he looked up to search for me. That was when I saw what I’d missed before—a neat parchment envelope hidden under the binders, along with a tiny blue vial.
Please don’t confuse me more than I already am, I thought as I slit the envelope open and read the note: Prepare to greet your bridegroom in humility. You will be as One.
Let me guess, I thought as I held the blue bottle up to the light. This is oil.
What had the story in the Bible said? The wise virgins had enough oil to last them until the bridegroom came. I looked doubtfully at the little one-ounce bottle. This would last me ten minutes anyway.
I put the vial back in my locker and closed it. It was a good thing I was on automatic pilot as far as my schedule was concerned because as I went on down the hall, my thoughts had nothing to do with where my English classroom was located.
In the Bible the bridegroom was Jesus. I needed to be prepared for him—somehow. The Secret Admirer always spoke in symbols. If he didn’t literally mean oil, what did he mean? Something for a lamp—something to see by. Something to help me see when Jesus was coming to—maybe rescue me—and Mrs. I.—and all of us?
I have to find whatever it is SOON, God, I prayed silently, because we need you NOW.
I gave a Joy Beth grunt. Duck was a far cry from Jesus, as far as I was concerned. But if he helped me clear Mrs. Isaacsen—it had to be a God-thing.
It had to be.
Which didn’t mean I wasn’t a basket case by the time the lunch bell rang and I stood outside the courtyard in the hall. Duck hadn’t sent me a note back, and I hadn’t seen Eve to find out what his reaction had been. Chances were he wasn’t even going to show up.
But he was suddenly there with that hunchy, blotchy, embarrassed look that I hadn’t seen in a while. His eyes were round and wary, and he ran his hand over the top of his hair and licked his lips—he did everything but hold up a sign that said,
I AM SO NERVOUS I COULD HURL!
“Can we just go sit in my car?” he said.
I only felt a small pang of guilt as I took advantage of his current neurosis.
“Then you aren’t ticked off at me,” I said.
His eyes widened. “I thought you were mad at ME.”
“Something just came up last night,” I said—in that other person’s voice.
He let out a long breath, but he didn’t actually seem relieved. As I followed him out to the parking lot and climbed into his green Honda Civic, I was halfway convinced that the case of nerves that made him chew dried skin from his lips was for real, that he was actually nervous that I was trying to dump him.
I can’t feel sorry for him, I told myself firmly. It isn’t about him and me anymore.
The sad thing was, it never had been.
“So,” I said when he finally climbed in beside me. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t know why you stood me up. I thought maybe I scared you off by asking you to the prom. I thought we—”
“Sure, I’ll go with you,” I said.
Slowly, he grinned at me, that little-boy smile I USED to think I was falling in love with. The word vurp came sadly to mind, but I swallowed that—and my better judgment—and smiled back at him.
“So—are you hearing the same rumors I’m hearing about Mrs. Isaacsen?” I said.
He took my hand and twirled my class ring on my finger. “I’ve heard people talking about her,” he said. “Who is she?”
I watched the side of his face for clues, but he wasn’t a jaw twitcher like some guys.
“She’s a counselor,” I said. “THE counselor.”
“Oh. I have Mr. Bloomfield. Weird guy. He plays with his eyebrows when he’s talking to you.”
“Nuh-uh!” I said.
Duck gave me a tentative grin. “I’m serious. I think HE needs a therapist.”
“Ya think?”
The grin got bigger. “You’re cute when you get sarcastic like that,” he said.
I wasn’t feeling terribly cute.
“I better get to class,” I said.
“I’ll walk you,” he said.
“No, that’s okay. I need to run and see somebody.”
“Some guy?” he said.
I stopped halfway out the door. He was actually getting green around the gills again.
“No,” I said. “You’re my prom date, right?”
And then I fled, from myself as much as from him.
I headed straight for the guidance counseling suite, where Michelle was sitting at the secretary’s desk, algebra book open, staring into space.
“You okay?” I said.
“Fine,” she said. She nodded toward Mrs. I.’s door, which currently bore a sign reading,
MRS. ISAACSEN IS OUT OF THE OFFICE TODAY.
“I’d be better if she were here.”
That took me away from the Duck issue for a minute.
“She always has the answer, doesn’t she?” I said.
Michelle shrugged. “There IS no answer for me this time.”
I set my backpack carefully on the floor. “What’s happening?”
She looked up at me, her black eyes guarded, as always. Even as I watched, though, the shields fell.
“She can’t stop my mama from dying,” she said.
I put my hand over my mouth.
“She’s been dying for a long time. Only it’s worse now—they say it won’t be that long. That’s why I had to give up activities. I don’t have time for them, with sitting with her.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
Michelle stared at the sign on Mrs. I.’s door. “She just makes it not seem so bad. And now they’re all over her with this stupid—”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I already know.”
She nodded. “I hear things in here. I know it’s not true, but there’s nothing I can do—about anything.”
“Maybe there is,” I said.
She cocked an eyebrow.
“It isn’t illegal or anything. I just need to know who Neil Duckwell’s counselor is. It could help Mrs. I.”
Michelle didn’t even hesitate. She flipped open a binder on the desk and scanned its contents.
“He’s out of luck if he wants to get in to see her,” she said. “It’s Mrs. Isaacsen.”
I barely saw her close the binder, hardly heard her say she’d already been in to talk to Mr. Wylie to tell him that Mrs. I. never tried to talk to her about the Bible. I’m not sure I even said good-bye.