Chapter Two

Another Day in Cherry Grove

 

 

 

Sunday night, Lexi sat cross-legged on the couch staring at the television, idly flipping through the lame basic cable channels. Weather, news, sports talk shows, reruns of stuff nobody really wanted to watch in the first place.

Her mom rattled around the kitchen, starting their usual late dinner. Probably Hamburger Helper or some other uninspired meal-in-a-box. “That surprise I told you about will take your mind off him—and those auction sign-ups.”

Lexi never should have told her mom about waiting to hear from Ash, but she’d had to do something to distance her from talking about still-missing Jon. Just because her mom worked at the school superintendent’s office, she thought she was part of everything. So she always wanted to talk about school, kids and the teachers.

“There’s more to life than guys, honey,” she said, ignoring Lexi’s silence.

“Oh, really?” Lexi mumbled over the whine of the can opener.

She loved her mom, but the woman was a disaster when it came to men, relationships and understanding what mattered. And Lexi was past hoping things between her and her mom could be the way they had been before her father had died, or even right afterward, before Dale Welks had weaseled himself into the picture. Right after her dad had died, Lexi had felt important, needed. She’d helped her mom sort through his clothes and the other stuff he’d left behind. It had been sad, boxing things up and taking them to the Salvation Army donation place, but her mom had needed her then. During that time before Dale, the two of them had been close, spending weekend afternoons watching movies, baking or going to garage sales. It had been simple, ordinary stuff but it had been just the two of them.

Then along came Dale, filling her mom’s head with a bunch of daydreams. Fantasies that he’d destroyed then rebuilt over and over for the past couple years. This time he’d been gone long enough that it seemed like he might actually be gone for good. Even though her mom couldn’t see it, they were both better off without him. If he stayed gone long enough, maybe things could go back to the way they had been before.

Her mom gave the oven door a final push then joined Lexi in their small family room. “Could you put on the news for the weather?” she asked, dropping into her favorite, brown plaid chair. “Maybe you want to help with raking tomorrow after school? We could do it together when I get home. It might take your mind off—”

“I’ll put the news on,” Lexi sighed. “But I’ll pass on raking leaves.”

After stopping on channel seven, she tossed the remote onto the table and leaned forward to grab the notes for her US history quiz, but paused.

Familiar trees. And those benches.

Where?

Then she knew.

Morgan Park.

Speaking blandly, pointing over his shoulder, the newscaster continued with his update. “The body was spotted by a nearby resident who saw the man seated on the park bench around ten in the morning then again later when she went out to walk her dog. The woman approached the man, then called nine-one-one when he was not responsive.”

The image of the reporter shifted to the side and a second reporter, back at the station, popped into view.

“The body has been identified as Mr. Filpot, Cherry Grove High’s popular baseball coach.”

Her mom gasped then mumbled something.

The reporter said more things that didn’t register with Lexi, then concluded with, “I’m sure we’ll be hearing more about this as additional information is released.”

Coach Filpot dead?

As in, like, never coming back?

Lexi blinked. Her mom murmured something about the coach’s poor family.

Dead was dead.

What’ll happen to the player auction?

The stab of guilt that came on the heels of that thought made Lexi wince, but the question didn’t go away.

Neither did the shivers that sent her heart skittering.

The next morning, outside science lab three, thick gray clouds smothered the sky, threatening to explode with plump pellets of rain. The oranges and yellows of the early-turning trees gleamed like liquid fire, and the branches swayed and spit leaves onto the ground. Inside the school, everyone hunched over their work, half awake, struggling along with the assignment. The whisper of conversation was light, even for first hour Monday morning. Thanks to Taylor’s Twitter, Instagram and Facebook blitz, red and black ‘school spirit’ outfits acted as a constant reminder that Coach Filpot had died just the day before.

Lexi’s sketchpad was covered with lousy attempts to recreate the microorganisms clinging to her microscope slide, and the drawings were getting worse by the minute. Each time she looked at the slide the stupid things blurred together, turning themselves into pinkish, shapeless blobs. How was she supposed to draw that? Somehow she had to get motivated. Every grade mattered and all those grades together were her ticket out.

Jasmine was perched on a tall stool across the lab table, her notes scattered over its enameled surface. She kept shuffling the papers around, putting them in order then rearranging them. She wasn’t the only one showing signs of stress. All around the room people were halfheartedly flipping through textbooks, sitting with their chins low, and tapping their pencils against notebooks.

Jazz waved her hands. “This is ridiculous. Nobody’s getting anything done. They should’ve canceled school,” she whispered to Lexi.

Lexi twisted away from the microscope. Jazz’s usually perfect ebony bob lay flat against her scalp, and the flawless makeup was missing from her thickly lashed, sable eyes. Not even her bright red, mini-cable cashmere twinset made her look decent.

“You guys still doing the auction?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Lexi whispered back. “Taylor put up a post last night. It’s still on. That’s what Coach would’ve wanted.”

“She’s right.” Jazz rolled her pencil across the black table, the tiny rattle loud in the hushed room. “At least they know what happened to Coach. He had a heart attack or something. But what about Jon? He could be hurt or—or—”

What could Lexi say that wouldn’t freak Jazz out even more? Or, worse yet, reveal what she knew? “He hasn’t really done anything since graduation. Maybe he just wanted some time to himself before he left for the navy. Isn’t he supposed to leave around Thanksgiving?” Lexi offered, even knowing how lame she sounded.

“The cops are wrong, nobody knows anything. Alan and I talked to everyone on the team. Trust me, if there was someone who knew something we would have found it out.” Jazz frowned and leaned forward. “It’s not like him to go somewhere without telling anyone. And leave alone? No way.”

Too true. Jon Eagle was the kind of guy who’d text his mom from a party to let her know when he’d be home. Not the kind to run off without telling anyone. But then again, how well can you ever really know someone?

“I called his house again this morning—still nothing. The cops aren’t actually doing everything they can. They’re just saying they are to shut people up.” Jazz started pushing her papers around again. “We’re going to add more stuff to the Facebook page we made, more pictures, and list the places where he hangs out.”

Awesome.

A virtual milk carton.

Thinking of Jon’s frantic mother, Lexi shoved her notebook across the table. “Good idea, maybe it’ll help.” She hopped down from the high stool in front of the microscope. “Go ahead and take your turn—everything I’m drawing sucks.”

Jazz shrugged and changed seats. “Might as well try to get something done.”

Lexi set her pathetic drawings aside, pulled out her chapter questions and flipped through the overloaded textbook. As the bright photographs and glossy diagrams flashed past, her attempts to concentrate were ruined by a pair of seniors speculating about Coach Filpot.

Dead Coach Filpot.

“It’s wild, him dying like that. I could see him getting a heart attack running around, cussing out umpires, but not sitting on a park bench.”

“What makes you so sure he had a heart attack? They didn’t say how he died.”

“What else could it be? He was sitting there, had a heart attack, and croaked.”

One of them snickered. “Maybe that missing guy—Jon Eagle—killed him!”

“Yeah, Cherry Grove’s own serial killer.”

“Shut the hell up,” a red-haired jock growled. “Not everyone around here is like morbid like you losers.”

Other kids joined in and the room swelled with speculation. Some stupid, some grisly.

After a moment, a carefully pitched voice sliced through the chatter, worming its way straight into Lexi’s ear. “Hi there. Aren’t you the picture of the serious student?”

Her again. Dressed to get noticed in a snug black-and-red striped crewneck, skinny jeans and sweet ballet flats.

“Sorry. Don’t have time to chat.” Lexi scowled at Monica’s peach-glossed smirk. “I’m busy getting a better grade than you. Again.”

Monica leaned down and whispered in a candy-coated voice, “Well, I just wanted to let you know you can stop freaking out. I got a text from Jon.”

Lexi dropped her pencil and looked up. But Monica wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at the pair of guys behind them, glancing from one to the other. When she was finally done sucking up their admiration like she was Kim Kardashian or some other famous-for-being-famous wannabe, she looked back to Lexi, her expression saying of course they love me. It was the usual thing. Everyone loved perfect Monica Sanders.

Dr. Newberg, typical off-the-wall science teacher, drove that point home by smiling at Monica as he announced, “Time to pack up the equipment. Put your reports and slides on the front counter—be sure they’re labeled with your name and lab number.”

Once the scraping of stools against linoleum filled the room, Lexi grabbed Monica’s arm. “Why aren’t you telling anyone you talked to Jon?”

“I didn’t talk to him. I got a text from him.”

“Whatever. Why didn’t you tell the cops?”

“He doesn’t want me to,” she replied, turning back to the guys who’d been staring at her, smiling at them with her glossy lips.

Relief battled with shock. Lexi stepped between Monica and the guys. “Why not?”

“How the hell should I know?” Monica raked her gaze across Lexi’s face. “Stop looking like that—and don’t you tell anyone either. Just be glad he’s okay and keep your mouth shut. Worry about yourself. And your signatures.”

Across the table, Jazz scowled at Monica’s back as she finished packing up the microscope. After clicking the case shut, she hauled the clunky box off the table and headed to the storage closet, dodging the students already coming back then disappearing into a cluster by the closet door.

Jazz was an awesome friend, but every summer she went to Montreal to stay with her grandparents. If Jazz didn’t go away every June, then Lexi never would’ve gotten mixed-up with Monica. But she had, so now she had to deal what she’d done with her. Ready to fight back, Lexi slipped on her own phony smile. “How’re you doing with your signatures?”

“Better than you are, I’m sure,” Monica replied, moving her phony expression back to her admirers, lowering her voice. “If you spend all your time trying to sign Ash I’ll have the whole team on my list before he even considers texting you. Unless, of course,” she looked up from under her mascara-coated lashes, “you finally decide to put out.”

Lexi ignored the second dig as she studied Monica, committing the moment to memory so she could play it over and over in her mind, her very own YouTube clip. “Ash and I didn’t waste time on texts, he just asked me over.”

Monica scoffed. “So you aren’t the school’s biggest tease anymore? When did you find time to turn in your Lifetime Virgin membership card?” She laughed, throwing her head back dramatically as she strolled off, her suddenly sharp gaze a reminder to keep quiet.

At least keeping quiet was easier than being afraid.

“What’s the big deal about the list anyway?” Jazz asked Lexi as they swerved through the hallway, dodging a group of students from AP Spanish selling raffle tickets for their annual trip to the Guatemalan rainforest. “You’re already in the boosters. I get that you want another thing to put under extracurricular activities, but are you sure you want all that responsibility? I know if anyone can handle it you can, but still…”

“I’d be good at it,” Lexi replied as they rounded the corner by the counseling offices and cut through the mob of anxious kids waiting to turn in their progress reports. They paused by one of the giant, rain-smeared windows to watch a series of lightning bolts slash across the sky, slicing through the autumn trees like bony fingers. Heavy thunder shook the building and churning gray clouds covered the sky.

“And that Monica,” Jazz said, sliding a glance to Lexi after a particularly fierce flash of lightning. “What did she want? And why is she such an epic she-beast?”

Lexi avoided Jazz’s gaze and lifted her finger to trace the lines of water streaming down the window. “Who knows what she wants? She’s a freak.”

“You got that right. No wonder she never has any friends.” Jazz moved away from the window. “See ya at lunch.”

Monica a she-beast? Jasmine didn’t know the half of it. And she wasn’t going to. And neither was anyone else.

Just as Lexi was about to turn the other way and head to history, she spotted the baseball team’s freakiest but best-playing pair, second baseman Tony Jackson and shortstop Scott MacArthur.

She moved away from the wild storm outside as she smoothed her hair into place and, wearing her best you’re-going-to-sign-for-me-now smile, called, “Hey, Shortie, hi, Spaz.”

Spaz rolled up, tipping the brim of his oversize white Tigers cap so it covered one of his bright blue eyes. “Yo, Lexi, I done told you, it’s S-Paz.”

“I’m not calling you that. Not now. Not ever.” Good God. But what else can you expect from a guy who put rims on a Jeep Wrangler?

“Why you hatin’ on me like that?” He rolled his head one way then the other. “Why can’t you show a brother some luv?”

Watching him run his fingers across the gleaming silver hat size sticker, she shook her head, held out her auction sheet and Bic. “Sign this.”

“Due to the sad news on the streets, S-Paz and his boy aren’t doin’ buiznass today,” Spaz said, reaching down to haul up his insanely huge jeans.

How could he not know that scene was so completely over? “Sign now and I won’t remember that Pretty Ricky poster you had hanging in your locker all through middle school.” Then, crossing her gaze to Shortie, she added, “I won’t remember that dance when you and—”

“Gimme that.” Shortie signed, then passed the sheet and made sure Spaz took care of business.

The whole incident was over in a matter of seconds.

“Thank you, boys,” she called over the ringing bell, trotting down the almost empty hall.

Tiptoeing into history class, she scooted past the first two rows and tucked herself into her assigned seat.

Miss Crossman, perched on her desk in a horrible black and red polka-dot dress and looking as subdued as everyone else, leaned over to make eye contact. “Lexi?”

Lexi’s heart thumped. She really did not need to get sent to the office. “Yeah?”

“The quiz has been postponed until tomorrow.” She tapped the sheet of paper in her hands against her desk and added, “I was just telling everyone that Coach Filpot’s funeral will be on Saturday.” After saying some stuff about counseling available during lunch and after school, she started with where they’d left off the day before.

Lexi tried to get into whatever Miss C was saying about the oh-so-important Whiskey Rebellion, but the only thing rolling around her head was Jazz’s question—what’s the big deal about being president?

It’d be easy to convince her friend that she wanted the spot to make her look good. Everyone knew Lexi picked school activities based on how they’d look on college applications.

Everything she did—like adding to the ever-growing pile of college packets on her desk—she did to get closer to getting into the best school possible. Sure, having a degree would be great someday, but that stack on her desk represented something more important—her ticket out of Cherry Grove.

But the plain truth about the president’s spot was that it’d give her instant respect. And it wasn’t her future that fueled her desire for respect. It was her past. Back when she let losers—like Dale—take advantage of her and control her life.

A year ago, when she’d gotten her license, she’d figured out what a total manipulator her stepdad really was. It was obvious he hated losing control, because he’d taken every opportunity he could find to butt into her life. And ask questions.

Where was she going?

Who would be there?

Why did she want to hang out with them?

Each time he came up with another ridiculous concern, he’d share it with her mom. Eventually her mom had started thinking Dale knew what he was talking about. Why couldn’t she see the only thing he cared about was wedging himself between them, keeping the two of them from being close the way they’d been before he’d shown up?

When he’d started taking those out-of-town jobs, Lexi had hoped things would get better between her and her mom, but they hadn’t. Sure, they got to spend time together while he was away, doing mom and daughter stuff, but her mom constantly talked about him like he was still there, like he mattered. In a way he was there, because he always reappeared, claiming he had to sign in at the union local to see what companies were hiring welders. Every time he showed up, she welcomed him back as though his coming and going was normal, as though all husbands acted that way.

Lexi ran her finger down the edge of the desk, assuring herself for the thousandth time that she’d never let herself be treated like crap again. The first step to making that happen was getting named boosters’ president. She’d start under Taylor during basketball season then take over completely in the spring. Next year things would be perfect. Her last year in Cherry Grove would be everything she wanted it to be. Why? The boosters’ president was on top. Whatever she wanted—she got. Invitations, attention, best seats anywhere, rides to everywhere and most of all—no-questions-asked, just do-what-I-say—respect.

“What’re you smiling about?”

The husky whisper came from the next row over. Outfielder Peter Archer—auction list prospect—had pulled his gaze away from the drizzle-spattered window.

Luck was on Lexi’s side and this chance to sign up another player wasn’t to be wasted. With practiced ease, she forced the raw emotions deep inside where they couldn’t do damage, broadened her smile and angled over. “I’m thinking about you. And me.”

Peter’s grin was full of promise. “You think you can talk me into signing?” Heading into his third season, he knew the girls were in fierce competition to get the most signatures. He folded his arms across his faded Cherry Grove hoodie. “You won’t get your chance till Friday night.”

“We don’t have school on Friday, so make it Thursday.” Lexi gave him a slow once-over, admiring the way his long legs nearly hit the underside of the desk.

His smirk told her he noticed her looking and liked it. “Pick you up at eight?”

Lexi nodded, shifting her gaze back to Miss C and letting her smile drop. Progress, yes, but it wasn’t him she was really after.