Such a Good Girl Page 15

  “Well,” Miss Felcher says, “please have a seat, Miss Stone.”

  She has never called me Miss Stone before. Ever.

  This is serious.

  “There are no extra chairs,” I point out.

  “Oh!” she says, and runs out into the general office for one of the lumpy green waiting-room chairs, which she drags in slowly, bumping it against either side of her door frame.

  Alex doesn’t even offer to help her.

  She leaves the seat sort of between my parents, but a bit behind, so that I when I sit down, crossing my legs, I don’t exactly feel like I’m part of the whole conversation. I spread out the skirt of my little blue dress neatly around my legs just like nothing is wrong. Nothing at all.

  Then I swallow my feelings down in one great lump and try not to throw them up all over my parents.

  Ms. Felcher continues, adjusting her cat-eye glasses just a bit. “First of all, we’d like to share that nothing about this meeting will be documented at this point.”

  Something in my chest loosens, just a bit.

  “However.”

  It tightens again.

  “Mr. Belrose has called your mother and father in for a rather unprecedented conference. It seems he is very confused and a bit concerned about your recent academic performance in his class, so he set up this unannounced meeting with your parents. Without informing me.” She shoots him a look, which he ignores. Instead, he steeples his fingers and looks at my father, then my mother, and finally, me.

  “As you know, Riley is a smart girl. The most intelligent, I believe, in the school. Maybe the most intelligent and promising pupil I’ve ever had.”

  My father puffs up, like he’s never heard this feedback before. “We’re very proud of her,” he says, and suddenly I’m actually a little embarrassed. Where has he been? Where have either of them been? He glances back at me and pats me awkwardly on the knee, his hand stiff and open.

  What is the point of my entire existence?

  “That’s why I’m so alarmed right now.”

  My mother leans forward, both hands clutching her brown Coach handbag. “Excuse me? Concerned? About our Riley?” She shakes her head, like she must be hearing wrong.

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone. Very concerned.” He produces copies of my recent homework. Homework I know for an absolute fact I aced. Homework that was perfect and flawless and double-checked before I turned it in. He presents it to my parents.

  C. D. F. D. F. C minus. D plus.

  And of course, neither of my parents nor Ms. Felcher speak French, so there’s no use telling them my French teacher is attempting to get back at me for trying to get him to leave his wife. There’s no use asking them to check my French.

  I am at his mercy.

  I glare at Alex across the table and let my parents gasp at the false red marks and clutch at their hearts.

  “Riley,” my mother says. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

  I scoot to the very edge of my seat and look over at the homework, and flick my eyes up to Alex’s face. I hope he’s enjoying his little show. He knows he has me trapped. He knows every student likes him. He knows he’s won Most Favored Teacher every second since he’s been here, and does loads of community service, and is generally held in high regard ever since the Hartsville News did a piece on him last year.

  And what am I going to say, really?

  I look back down at the work. “Funny,” I say lightly. “I thought I did a rather good job on these.”

  Alex peers at me from behind his steepled fingers, unshakable. “It appears you need to take another look then, Riley. I think that might be your problem; perhaps you aren’t spending enough time on your homework.”

  “What do you recommend, Mr. Belrose?” Mom asks, using her Voice of Motherly Concern, the one she hasn’t had to get out and dust off since the Ethan days, when parent-teacher-counselor conferences were a lot more frequent (and merited).

  Belrose drops his fingers to my papers and moves forward conspiratorially. “Now, I wouldn’t normally do this, but as a bad grade for the semester would move Riley out of her valedictorian standing, I’d like to see her just a little more often. Perhaps she should spend some time with me after school, when she doesn’t have cheerleading practice. It will, I’m afraid, take a very serious time investment.”

  “Is cheerleading getting in the way of her studies?” Dad asks.

  “I wouldn’t pull her out of cheerleading . . . yet.” Alex studies me like I’m not even listening, like I’m something in a zoo behind glass instead of a real girl. “But she should be very, very careful.”

  He’s threatening me.

  He doesn’t want me to stop spending time with him. And he’s willing to drag my parents into this mess in order to prove it.

  He’s willing to ruin my entire future just to keep me.

  I feel my pulse quicken, but I don’t move.

  “Does that sound okay, Miss Stone?” Miss Felcher prods.

  I let a smile spread across my face. “Absolutely, Ms. Felcher.”

  “Then I think we’re done here.” Mr. Belrose gathers my papers into a neat stack. “Unless there are any questions.” He stands and tucks the papers under his arm.

  My dad stands and takes his hand. “Thanks for caring about our daughter this much, Mr. Belrose. You’re a good man.”

  Alex looks at me. “I’m just trying to do the right thing, Mr. Stone.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Belrose,” I say. I stand, straightening my dress.

  It’s only then that Mr. Belrose allows a flash of an emotion I can’t quite identify cross his face, and I let myself smile. If he’s going to play dirty, I’ll play dirtier.

  And that means I’ll have to be more perfect than ever.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Love and Hate

  “So you’re not angry with me,” Alex says for the thirteenth time.

  I’m back at his house, and it’s 6:42 a.m. I was supposed to meet him at school for an early morning study session, but since Jacqueline just happens to be in Vegas with her girlfriends, I surprised him at home, like I couldn’t wait to see him.

  “No. I’m not. I understand your reasons.”

  We’re on the couch, and my head is in his lap. His hand strokes my hair slowly, softly, touching each strand like they are fine little woven bits of silk. I feel . . . special. Important.

  “Your parents seemed nice,” he offers, and I laugh. It’s funny, in a weird, strange way, like this whole thing is screwed-up funny, and I don’t even know what’s going to happen next anymore.

  And I used to have everything so smoothed out that I knew exactly what my next move was at any given time.

  He leans down to kiss the top of my head. “You know I love you, Riley, don’t you?” he asks.

  I squirm around so my face is up, and he pushes my hair out of my eyes. “I need you to do something for me,” I tell him.

  “Okay.”

  “Be mine. One hundred percent mine. For real. I can’t keep doing this otherwise.”

  His hand freezes on my forehead. “I will, Riley. I swear to God I will. I just can’t right now. Not yet.”

  Alex kissing Jacqueline flashes across my mind’s eye. “What’s the holdup, then?” I try to pitch my voice to sound casual, but it doesn’t. I don’t. I sound jealous and catty and my voice has a harsh catch in it.

  He lets out his breath. “It’s just that Jaqueline’s life is really hard right now, and I don’t want to pile on, you know? As soon as she sorts everything out just a little bit more, I’ll be able to talk with her, and we’ll separate. Really separate, I mean. I won’t let her come back this time.”

  I feel like someone has just put a vise grip on my heart. “Um, excuse me?”

  He starts stroking again, but instead of his hand feeling good on my face, it’s annoying me. I push it away and sit up next to him on the couch so I can look at him. “Why is now not a good time, exactly?”

  He looks uncomfort
able. “Well, her Fine Wines group, they’re just being really mean to her right now. She’s so beautiful, you know, women are always just mean to her, and she doesn’t handle it all that well. She needs my help. She’s delicate. I’m sure you get it. You’re beautiful, too.”

  “Please don’t compare me to her,” I say coldly.

  “But you understand, right?” He grabs my hands and holds them tightly in his.

  I study his face. The wide jawline, the stubble, the deep green eyes, and I realize, on some level, I hate him a little bit. I hate the man who made me all the promises in the world and just won’t keep them.

  And I love him.

  But I do hate him.

  He leans in, slowly, closing his eyes, and I let him kiss me anyway. The kiss is slow and good, just like all of his kisses, and I hate myself a little too, for letting him kiss me like that. He starts lifting my shirt, but I pull away.

  “You know the rules.” I tap him lightly on the nose. “Is she gone?”

  “For the weekend.” He sulks, and I laugh because I know I’m supposed to give in, but I don’t. “She’s very depressed. I’m just worried about her. Really worried.” He looks down.

  I cock my head to the side. Is he confessing to me that he’s worried about his wife? His wife who he said he wants to leave?

  Does he want me to be sympathetic?

  On what level is this—any of this—okay?

  I fight the manic laugh trapped in my throat.

  “We’re been married for almost six months, Riley. I care about her.”

  Suddenly, I don’t feel like I’m a part of him anymore. I feel like I’m in another room, or another house, and something’s separating us. Maybe a curtain, or a window screen, or maybe I’m watching a fuzzy film of someone I used to know but don’t quite anymore, and the communication is delayed, like I can see his lips moving but the meaning doesn’t hit me until just a moment later.

  “I’m so glad you understand me,” he says gratefully.

  He’s wrong.

  I don’t understand him.

  And clearly, he thinks I’m an idiot if he thinks I’m going to stand by and let me be a little pawn in his sick game.

  Rage squeezes my heart. The veins burst and blood spurts and I die inside.

  If Jacqueline were to just disappear, maybe it wouldn’t be so weird. She is depressed, after all. And she is in the way. Of us. Of happiness. And she’s clearly a horrible person.

  If only I were a killer.

  I squeeze Alex’s hands. “I understand,” I tell him. I touch his face softly. Kindly. I am there for him, he thinks. I am his silly little waiting-around toy.

  “Can I see you tonight?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, and I know he is dying to get his hands on me. They drop to my waist and squeeze, and I wiggle away and sling my backpack over my shoulders.

  “Thanks to your surprise meeting with my lovely parents, I definitely can’t get out of any more cheerleading practices or study sessions or anything without looking suspicious.” I kiss him lightly, but he furrows his brow.

  “Huh? My meeting?”

  I run my hands along his hairline and behind his ears. “Don’t be ridiculous, Alex.”

  “I didn’t schedule that meeting.”

  I smile. He wants to play. How cute.

  I’m just not in the mood.

  “I’ll see you at school, okay, Alex?”

  I lean over and kiss him one more time, hard and fast, and his hands are everywhere they shouldn’t be, so I untangle myself.

  “You need to be there soon yourself,” I warn him. “And don’t mess up my hair.”

  And then I walk out the back door into the cold morning sunlight. A few snowflakes are falling from the sparse cloud cover, and I smile into the odd weather and put on my hat before walking through the back gate into the alley.

  Alex Belrose is going to be all mine, one way or another.

  I am sure of it.

  Things to Know About Riley Stone:

  • When Riley Stone learned about the water crisis in Michigan, she began selling water bottles with the #HARTSVILLECARES hashtag—and ending up raising more than five thousand dollars. She spent the money on bottled water, which she sent to the impacted areas.

  • Riley also began an anonymous gossip newsletter for the high school and employed her fellow students as models for the advertisements. The publication was eventually shut down by the school, but no one ever found out Riley ran the newsletter, and Riley made out with fifteen hundred dollars in profit, even after paying her models (who did get detention).

  • Last year, Riley started a letter-writing campaign for the troops overseas. The effort gained statewide attention, and Riley ended up sending more than ten thousand letters and five hundred carefully selected care packages. She assembled a team of community volunteers and has since received multiple requests to run the campaign annually.

  • At age fourteen, Riley’s algebra teacher, Mrs. Corkstone, became very interested in her. While Riley passed her class with an A plus (as usual), Mrs. Corkstone did not trust Riley and kept an extra-close eye on her at all times, and often did not even let her leave class to use the bathroom.

  • One of Riley’s adopted grandparents in her Senior Friends program was convicted of second-degree murder—at age ninety-three.

  THIRTY

  Off

  The morning after I visited Alex at his house, I have a doctor’s appointment. It’s just a checkup—nothing to worry about, of course—but since cell phones aren’t allowed to be on in the doctor’s office, and I’m not exactly the type of girl who needs social media 24-7, I don’t bother to check it when I leave the doctor’s office.

  Or when I stop at Starbucks.

  So it isn’t until I pull into the parking lot that I notice something is different. Off. About fifteen students are clustered outside the glass door that leads to the gym corridor, and they are just standing there. Talking. Leaning in. And no one—not a student aide, or a teacher, or anyone, is telling them to get to class.

  I check my phone. It is definitely class time. It isn’t a passing period or anything.

  And there are thirteen texts I’ve missed. I type in my passcode to open them.

  Mom (1)

  Kolbie (7)

  Neta (5)

  Mom: Can you stop at the grocery store before you come home tonight and pick up onion powder please? Hope your appointment went well. XOXO.

  Kolbie: OMG DID YOU GUYS HEAR

  Neta: YES. What is going on?!?!?!?!

  Kolbie: I have NO IDEA

  Kolbie: JUST GONE JUST LIKE THAT

  Neta: Everyone is freaking out

  Kolbie: Mrs. Tanner isn’t even bothering to teach the lesson right now.

  Neta: Is she crying, because there are girls in my class actually crying.

  Kolbie: Yep cryers here too. It can’t be that serious can it? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Likeeee probably dentist appointment for wisdom teeth or something

  Neta: yeah well I heard they called the police so . . .

  Kolbie: OH SHIT WHAT

  Neta: Yep. It’s not like him, though. I would freak if I were his wife.

  Kolbie: It’s getting real. This is SCARY

  I click out of my texts and slip my phone into my purse. I could ask Kolbie and Neta what is going on, but if they’re in class, they won’t be able to respond immediately. Plus, based on the current tone of their messages, they’re likely to be more than a little dramatic.

  So I stop by the students gathered of the steps leading into the corridor. “What’s going on?” I ask.

  A freshman girl with pretty braids detaches herself from the group, eager to share gossip with me. She looks both ways, like she’s afraid someone might see her. “Mr. Belrose didn’t show up for his classes this morning.”

  And then, everything inside of me falls apart systemically.

  First, my heart seems to stop. Then my stomach curls.

  And the
n my legs feel like they detach and my bones vanish.

  “What?” I ask, very faintly. I want to rest my hand on her shoulder, to get my bearings.

  “He just didn’t show up,” she repeats. “And no one can get ahold of him or find him or anything.” She bounces a little bit, like this is very exciting news. “People are really worried. There are people praying in the library and other people trying to break it up because this is, like, a public school.”

  I think I say something back, but I’m not sure.

  I fumble my way toward the locker room, which happens to have the closest bathrooms, and am promptly sick into the toilet, which is where Neta finds me twenty minutes later, still puking my guts out.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  I nod, wiping my mouth off with a clump of thin toilet paper that clings to my chin. “I think it was just something the doctor did.”

  She feels my forehead. “You’re not that warm. Still, you should probably go to the nurse’s office. I’ll walk you down there.”

  I shake my head. I need to stay here. I need to figure out what is going on. If I’m home in bed, I’ll have to rely on text messages, and I can’t even be overeager about those or it’ll look really suspicious. I wash my mouth out and grab a stick of mint gum from my backpack. “I’m okay,” I insist. I try to pull my hair around my face a little bit, so I don’t look so sticky and pale. I am not one of those crying girls in the hallway. I am not Thea, who is clawing at the wall, acting like her world has ended.

  I am fine. Getting overly excited about a teacher failing to show up for class would be decidedly not Riley behavior.

  “Did you hear about Belrose?” Neta asks, her voice low. “Weird, right?”

  I nod. “Really weird. Have you heard anything?”

  “He didn’t show for a makeup test for Gabriella Hernandez this morning, but she just went to the office and reported it so they could mark that she hadn’t ditched, you know? And they didn’t think much of it. But then he didn’t show for his first-period class. Or his second period. And he’s still not here.”