Home To Family. Ann Evans
who doesn’t like to be insulted, I guess,” Matt said. “Let it go, Danny. Don’t spoil a nice day by being a total jerk.”
Danny made a move to come around the counter toward her. “Do you know what I should do?”
Matt halted him by taking a small step into his path. “What?” he asked. “Shut up and go back to the ice?”
After chewing the sides of his mouth for a moment, Danny blew a disgusted breath. The tightness in Leslie’s chest began to ease as he backed away. “We’re getting up a hockey game on the far end of the lake,” he said to Matt in a sullen tone. “If you can tear yourself away.”
They watched him filter into the crowd of skaters, then Matt turned back to face her. “My father says a still tongue makes a wise head,” he told her. “You ought to be more careful about the battles you pick.”
“Seems to me you ought to pick better friends.”
He laughed and tossed his empty cup in the waste-basket. “Most of the time I don’t pick them. They pick me.” With a few graceful steps, he was on the ice again, skating backwards as he called out to her, “Let me know if you and Danny ever decide to duke it out. I’ll hold your coat.”
Turning, he disappeared into the crowd of skaters. Leslie didn’t see him again that day.
On Monday morning Danny LeBrock showed up at school with a butterfly bandage plastered across his swollen nose and a black eye. One of the girls who specialized in classroom gossip told Leslie that Matt D’Angelo had accidentally flattened Danny during the hockey game on the lake. Nobody seemed to know the exact circumstances, but Danny sure didn’t seem chummy with Matt that day.
Leslie made a point to catch up with him between classes. She didn’t waste time with vague hints as she came up beside his locker. “I hear you whacked Danny LeBrock. Nearly broke his nose.”
He stopped twirling the combination lock and looked at her. “Yeah. His face picked a fight with my elbow during the hockey game Saturday. My elbow won.”
“Did you do it on purpose?”
“No. Why would I do that?”
“You mean, besides the fact that he’s a nasty little creep who probably has a 666 birthmark someplace on his skull?”
“That’s not very nice,” he said with a laugh. He shook his head and went back to fiddling with his lock. “No wonder you have a hard time making friends.”
“I don’t. I’m just picky. Unlike some people.”
His eyes swung sharply back to her. “Danny isn’t my friend.”
“Since Saturday?”
“Since forever. I can’t help who tries to hang around with me. My mother says I’m charismatic. That means—”
“I know what it means,” she said. “I hope your mother also tells you that a little modesty is a good thing in a person.”
“You know, you’re a riot, Meadows. You ought to have your own television show.”
He looked annoyed now, and her heart banged up in her throat, but her battered dignity wouldn’t allow her to back down.
“I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me,” she told him.
“No. You don’t,” he said in the mildest tone she’d ever heard. But in the next moment, her insides swam with an odd sense of loss when he slammed his hand upward to shut his lock. Giving her a final sullen look, he turned away and left her standing in the hallway.
She was quite sure that that would be the last conversation she’d ever have with Matt. She avoided him for weeks, and he certainly seemed oblivious to her presence. But in the spring, her life suddenly went from bad to worse.
Her father lost his job in construction. After drowning his misfortune at a bar, Quentin Meadows decided that the best way to handle unemployment was to slash his ex-foreman’s tires and smash the windshield of his truck. He spent two nights in jail.
Leslie endured those forty-eight hours as though she’d been sentenced as well. She listened to her mother cry, tried to convince her to eat something, and wished she had the nerve to run away.
By then she should have been used to the self-destructive events that seemed to pepper her life as a member of the Meadows family. And this one wasn’t too bad, really. Although everyone knew about it, none of the kids mentioned the incident when she came back to school. Not even Danny LeBrock, who had stopped calling her names and was now focusing all his attention on some other poor victim.
Leslie had forgotten about her English teacher and worst nemesis, Mrs. Bickley.
The woman hated her for the lack of thought she put into her homework, for daydreaming in class, but mostly—Leslie was sure—for being poor. Rumor had it that Bickley had come from the wrong side of Lightning River herself and despised any reminder of that past, especially from a slacker like Leslie Meadows.
The last-period bell had rung when Mrs. Bickley caught the attention of every kid. “Just one moment, class,” she said, sounding as though she’d just remembered something. “Leslie, I meant to speak to you.”
Leslie didn’t say a word as she stood beside her desk and waited. It was her first day back, and she was determined to keep a low profile. All around her she could feel the other kid’s stares, their eagerness to go. The girls blew impatient breaths. Behind her Danny LeBrock smothered an oath. Beside her Matt slowly stuffed homework papers into his notebook.
Mrs. Bickley gave her a sweet smile. Leslie should have known right then that trouble was coming. “Can you come to school early tomorrow morning?” she asked. “I’d like you to make up the test you missed yesterday.”
“Sure,” Leslie said. “What time?”
“Seven o’clock?” the woman replied, pretending to hunt for her scheduling book.
That was another bad sign. Bickley was a neat freak who knew where everything on her desk was.
After a moment, the teacher frowned. “Yes. Can you make it that early? I mean, your father isn’t still…going through his current difficulties, is he?”
There was a snort of laughter from the back of the room and a few tittering whispers. Blood pounded loudly in Leslie’s ears. That swipe had to be deliberate. It had to be.
“You mean, is my Dad still in jail?” she asked in a voice that hardly shook at all. “No, he’s out. I don’t know what terrible trouble he’s got planned next, so I’ll get Mom to bring me.”
Bickley gave Leslie one of her mechanical smiles that never reached her eyes. “That will be fine, then. I’ll be waiting for you at seven. Class dismissed.”
Leslie nodded and stumbled awkwardly out of the room. She didn’t stop for anything or anyone. She didn’t take the bus home that day. She ran past the school’s track-and-field hut, through the open meadows that were just starting to pop with spring wildflowers, down the back alleys of Broken Yoke where trash cans overflowed. She followed Lightning River all the way to the turnoff for the interstate, and only stopped running when the stitch in her side doubled her over.
By the time she went home it was almost dark. She was drenched in sweat, breathing so heavily that she felt dizzy. Her parents weren’t home, but that didn’t surprise her. She fell on the old plaid sofa that smelled of beer and cheap perfume and wondered just how fast your heart had to beat before it killed you.
The next day she felt better. The horrid feelings that had curdled her insides yesterday were locked down so tight there was no way they could get out again. She was completely calm. She got to school early.
The door to Mrs. Bickley’s class was already open, but the English teacher wasn’t there.
Leslie went over to the woman’s