The Education Of Hailey Kendrick Part 5

A smile spread across my face and I gave her a nod. The brief upswing in my mood lasted until I got out into the hallway. Kelsie was leaning against the wall waiting for me.

"I have no idea what you're trying to pull," she said, her jaw thrust forward.

"Nothing. The project is my fault. I should have finished it. It was just, with everything that happened, I honestly forgot."

Kelsie sighed. "What kind of sign of the apocalypse is it when Hailey Kendrick forgets to do homework?" She looked around the hall to make sure we were alone. "Who were you with last night, and why the h.e.l.l did you cut the arm off the statue?"

"We didn't cut it off. It sort of fell off. Not by accident or anything. I was sitting on it. We were trying to get his head off, actually."

Kelsie looked at me like I was speaking another language. "How long have you been cheating on Tristan?"

"I'm not cheating on Tristan," I said firmly. "There wasn't any big secret Romeo and Juliet relationship. It was a onetime kiss. It shouldn't have happened. It was a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing. A bunch of stuff went wrong yesterday, there was the project to finish, and then I got nail polish all over my mom's sweatshirt. Then the thing with my dad . . ." My voice trailed off. "I had to get out of my room and blow off some steam. I was so mad-mad at everything. Then there was the statue, and I happened to meet this guy there, and stuff happened." I shrugged. I knew it sounded crazy. It was crazy, but it was the truth and the only explanation I had.

"What's some townie doing on campus?" Kelsie's nose wrinkled up a bit when she said "townie," as if I had been caught kissing a homeless guy who smelled like cat pee.

"He was taking a walk and ended up on campus. No big deal. There wasn't a big plot or plan. The whole thing was like a weird freak accident. It just happened. You know me. You know this isn't the kind of thing I do."

"Man, when you decide to blow off steam, you sure do it big. Most people just sneak a few beers and throw up."

Throwing up reminded me of Tristan and what Joel had seen. "I have to talk to Tristan," I said.

Kelsie grabbed my hand. "No, you shouldn't. He's really hurt. And ticked."

"I have to tell him my side of things. What if he thinks I've been cheating on him?"

"You did cheat on him. You were making out with some guy. The security guard saw you."

"We weren't making out. It was one kiss. One kiss by accident." Why was that so hard to grasp? "I don't want Tristan thinking that I've been sneaking around behind his back. I feel sick about what happened, Kels. If I could change it, I would, but all I can do is tell him how sorry I am."

"Leave it to me," she said.

"What?"

"Trust me. I talked to Tristan right after the a.s.sembly. He's not interested in talking to you right now." She waved her hand in front of my face to stop me from saying anything. "I'll talk to him for you. Try to smooth things over. He's really hurt, and he doesn't want you to see that. You know how he is."

I nodded, chewing on my lower lip. I wanted a chance to explain, but it was quite likely he wasn't interested in talking to me. It might be easier if she talked to him first, gave him a chance to calm down. "Would you do that for me? Explain how I feel terrible, and that it was just a onetime thing."

"I'll talk to him. You might want me to talk to a few other people too. Everybody's pretty ticked about the restriction thing."

"Did you hear what else? Winston put me on janitorial duty."

"Gross. Why?"

"I'm supposed to be learning the importance of cleaning up my own messes."

"I'd have my parents complain."

"My dad thinks it's a great idea. He's still coming up with a punishment of his own."

Kelsie shook her head sadly. "This situation is totally screwed."

I wanted to throw my arms around Kelsie. It felt so good to talk to a friend, to feel like at least one person was on my side. "Thanks for talking to Tristan. It means a lot to me."

Kelsie hitched her backpack up onto her shoulder. The bell was ringing to let us know there were only three minutes left. "Don't thank me yet. I'll talk to him, but I'm not sure it's going to do any good."

13.

When I was a really little kid, I wanted to be invisible. I used to pretend that I had a magic cape that would make me disappear. I loved the idea of slipping in and around what was happening in the world and no one even knowing I was there. I would tie a pillowcase around my neck and slink around the house. My parents would play along, saying in loud voices: "Where has Hailey gotten off to? I don't see her anywhere." Then I would cover my mouth and giggle. Forget flying, or setting fires with my mind-I was convinced being invisible would be the best superpower ever.

Turns out being invisible sucks.

I used to say being popular wasn't important to me. That was before I found out what it was like to be on the other side. Now I realized that being popular had come with significant advantages. The week dragged on-snide comments in the hall ways, my toothbrush knocked off the countertop onto the bathroom floor, no one saving me a seat in cla.s.s or complimenting me on what I was wearing. The bubble of approval that used to surround me, people telling me how great I looked, laughing at my jokes, and agreeing with my views, was busted. What I noticed the most about my new status was how lonely I felt. I realized that before, I had almost never been alone. There was always someone calling out to me when I walked across campus, or stopping by my room to chat, or asking me for advice. If I went out, there was always someone who wanted to come along or a group that would beg me to join them. Now no one wanted me around.

I had never been so glad to see the weekend. All I wanted to do was hole up in my dorm room and pull my covers up over my head; instead I was following Joel to the administration building to begin the next stage of my humiliation.

Parked in front of the building was a beat-up red pickup truck. It looked like the only thing holding it together was the random b.u.mper stickers that were plastered all over it. I'D RATHER BE SKIING. ADRENALINE IS MY DRUG OF CHOICE. FRODO FAILED. ELVIS HAS LEFT THE PLANET I'D RATHER BE SKIING. ADRENALINE IS MY DRUG OF CHOICE. FRODO FAILED. ELVIS HAS LEFT THE PLANET. There was dried mud sprayed across the side panels. A guy leaned against the truck reading a paperback. He was tall, at least six feet, with long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail. He seemed to be around my age, maybe a bit older. He looked like a surfer who had gotten very lost coming back from the beach and had somehow ended up in Vermont. When the guy saw us walking up, he carefully folded over the page he was reading, to mark his spot, and tossed the book into his truck.

"You must be Joel," the guy said. He turned to me with a half smile. "And you must be the guilty party coming to scrub your soul and the toilets clean."

I didn't say anything to him, but pleaded with Joel. "I don't see why I can't be a.s.signed a project to do on my own. I could paint a cla.s.sroom or something."

"That doesn't sound like a team player att.i.tude," the guy said. "You know what they say: Many hands make light work."

Great. I was partnered up with a motivational speaker who smelled like Mr. Clean.

"Dean Winston wants you to work on the cleaning crew, not on your own," Joel said. "This is Drew. He'll show you around and make sure you know what needs to get done." Joel stood there looking at both of us, his face pinched. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Don't worry. She's going to be washing floors, not defusing bombs in a war zone." Drew clapped Joel on the shoulder and started walking, indicating I should follow him. I didn't.

Joel waited until Drew had taken a few steps away. "You know if I could take your place I would. I hate to see you having to do this."

I wasn't sure how it had ended up that I had to be the one to comfort Joel when he was going to be able to go back to bed and I was going to be the one cleaning fly corpses out of the lamps. "It'll be okay. Cleaning is good exercise. It's like a step cla.s.s, only more productive." Joel squeezed my hand and then left, looking as if he were dropping me off at the executioner.

A disbelieving snort came from behind me. I spun and saw Drew standing there next to a cleaning cart. He rolled it over to me. "Do you want to push the cart? Really feel the calorie burn?"

I pressed my lips into a thin tight line and yanked the cart over. I must have pulled too hard, because the mop flew off and the handle smacked me right between the eyes. Drew gave another snort as he choked back a laugh.

"Do you think that's funny? If that had bleach on it, I could be blind."

"You look okay, Helen Keller. I'm guessing it takes more to keep you down than you think. Let's get going before you amputate a finger with the dustpan. It's got that sharp edge, you know. Careful. There's a feather duster, too. It might be full of bird flu germs."

I shoved the giant Rubbermaid cart ahead of me and walked away before he could make fun of me anymore. One wheel was stuck and wouldn't turn, so I wasn't able to make the dramatic exit I had been hoping for.

I rolled the cart into the first cla.s.sroom and looked around, wondering where we were supposed to start.

"We need to wash all the desks down with disinfectant, mop the floors, wash the windows, and give everything else a quick wipe down. You do know how to clean, don't you, Prima Donna? I'm hoping you learned something watching your maid all those years."

I didn't dignify his comment with an answer. It was true I had always had a maid, but it had never struck me as a job that required a lot of experience. I was pretty sure I could figure it out.

Drew bent over and started to pull various bottles and rags out of the cart. "You can pick what you want to tackle. The desks are easy. You might want to start with that and work up to the hard stuff." He looked up at me, and when I didn't comment, he tossed a rag and a can in my direction.

I looked at the can. It was some kind of industrial cleaner, most likely able to eat my flesh off if I got it on my skin. It looked way less user friendly than the organic, good-for-the-environment cleaner that my dad's cleaning service uses. I flipped the can over so I could see the warning label.

"Have you had any formal training for this job?" I asked Drew.

He looked over the mop bucket at me. "How did you know I got my master's degree in this?"

"I'm being serious. You know if you mix some cleaning supplies you can create chlorine gas? It can kill people."

Drew smacked his forehead. "Ah, that explains what happened to everyone else. I thought the death toll was high for this job."

"Have you considered a career in stand-up? Your talents are clearly wasted here," I said. I sprayed the desk closest to me, inhaling the oily stink of the cleaner. I wiped it down and moved to the next.

"Don't worry, Prima Donna. If you start to look faint, I'll drag your body to safety."

"My name is Hailey."

"Okay, Hailey. I'll drag your prima-donna b.u.t.t to safety, right after I finish my lunch break. Never underestimate the appeal of a leftover Spicy Italian from Subway."

I made a face at him. "Chlorine gas can cause brain damage too."

"You're going to want to make sure you wipe under the desktop as well. A lot of these cla.s.sy kids drill their noses during cla.s.s and leave boogers under there," he said, pointing.

"That's disgusting." I pulled my hands away from the desk. I sat in some of these chairs. It had never occurred to me to check underneath them.

"You're telling me. I'm not joking either. Look for yourself if you don't believe me. Some of the desks practically have snot stalact.i.tes growing down. You would think instead of a Mercedes they could have bought some manners."

I glanced at Drew as he mopped the floor. I'd met his type in town before. They resent us for who we are. It isn't our fault our parents have money. What did people expect us to do? Give it all away to charity? Did he think I believed for a moment that he would send it all to Afghanistan to build schools if the situation were reversed? Most likely he'd spend it on fast food and NASCAR races. I wiped the desks with renewed vigor. The last thing I wanted Drew to do was whine that I didn't pull my weight. I really wished I had a pair of rubber gloves to wear, though. The idea of touching someone else's crusty snot grossed me out. Since I was on restriction, I couldn't buy any gloves in town, and I wasn't sure I could bring myself to ask Drew to do me any favors. Maybe I could buy a pair from someone who worked in the cafeteria.

"So, what did you do to land yourself here?" he asked as he moved the mop across the floor.

"What makes you think I did anything?"

Drew's lip raised on one side. "Of course. My mistake. How kind of you to volunteer your time. Or are you planning a career in the cleaning arts and looking to log some valuable practical experience?" He leaned on his mop. "Come on. Fess up. Did you get caught p.a.w.ning someone's silver spoon right out of their mouth?"

"What is your issue with me?"

Drew laughed. "You should see yourself. Your face is all red."

"You like annoying people, don't you?"

"As you can tell, this job isn't exactly a huge intellectual drain. I have to do something else to keep myself entertained."

"I wouldn't think you would require much to keep you intellectually challenged. Walking and talking, for example."

"I'm remarkably skilled at mult.i.tasking, actually. Check this out." Drew grabbed a couple rolls of toilet paper off the cart and began to juggle them. Great. I was stuck working with Bozo the Cleaning Clown.

"You're impossible to insult."

"Years of practice. My ego is armor plated." He tossed the toilet rolls back into the cart and picked the mop back up. "Besides, I knew you'd insult me, so I was able to prepare. Your type never likes the help when we get uppity."

"My type? What exactly do you mean by that?"

"You shouldn't ask. The answer is just going to upset you. In my experience your type is overemotional. Sensitive."

"You think you know everything about me?"

"Not everything, but I'm betting I've got the big picture covered."

"You know what I did to land myself here? I was the one who broke the statue in the quad," I said, putting my hands on my hips. I felt almost proud of myself when I saw his surprise.

"You?"

"Yes, me. I guess you don't know my type as well as you thought."

Drew looked at me as if he were reappraising my character. "I guess not. My opinion of you has just gone up. I wouldn't have pegged you as the vandal rebel-without-a-cause type. Personally, I've always hated that statue. The knight always looks like he has a lance wedged up his a.s.s. I'm impressed you did it. I would have thought you were a by-the-rules kind of person. You don't look like you would cross an empty street without being in an approved crosswalk with the light on your side."

I stopped short. "Crossing the street can be riskier than you think. It can change everything."

Drew tossed me a fresh roll of paper towels. "True. Thing is, Prima Donna, anything can be a game changer. The question is, why do you a.s.sume the change has to be bad?"

14.

I sat up in bed, using my finger to hold my place in sat up in bed, using my finger to hold my place in The Count of Monte Cristo The Count of Monte Cristo. I thought I had heard something. I paused for a beat, but when I didn't hear anything else, I went back to Dantes's revenge plans. A door opened down the hall, and a burst of music shot into the hallway. I heard a bunch of girls giggle as they walked by. I waited to see if anyone would drop by my room, but they walked right past. There are few things sadder than doing homework on a Sat.u.r.day night, not because you're behind but because you have nothing else to do. I opened the book again, but the words marched back and forth across the page without making any sense. I chucked the book to the floor.

This was stupid. I had friends. They weren't just Tristan's friends, but we were never going to be able to hang out as a group if I couldn't make things right with Tristan. He didn't have to forgive me and throw his arms around me, but we couldn't keep up the silent treatment. Every time I stumbled across Tristan, in the hallway for cla.s.ses or in the dining hall, he would freeze. His entire body would go stiff as if he had been exposed to a nerve agent, and then he would turn away. I tried to smile or even say a quiet h.e.l.lo, but he looked straight past me as if I were invisible. It was time for me to talk to Tristan directly. Kelsie kept telling me to give him more time, but how was time going to help if it was time spent hating me? I looked over at my clock. There was an hour before the dorms were locked for the night. The one good thing about a school-wide restriction was that I knew where to find everyone.

I slipped across the quad into Tristan's dorm. The guys' dorm always smelled like a mix of Axe, sweat, and popcorn. In the front lobby there was a group playing some weird version of full contact soccer, where the sofa seemed to be one goal. There was no clear way to identify who was on what team, and a smaller group was trying to watch a sci-fi movie in the corner, while sitting on the same couch. Our dorm had Ms. Estes, but Tristan's was monitored by Mr. Harrington. Mr. Harrington had served in the military before becoming a dorm monitor. There was a theory that he had some kind of post-traumatic stress syndrome and as a result was on heavy medication that kept him mellow. He couldn't be bothered with enforcing the million small rules in the student guide. I guess if you were used to seeing people blowing themselves up trying to set roadside bombs, you couldn't get too worked up about some fifteen-year-old kid forgetting to tuck in his uniform shirt. I wished I could live there. It was still a dorm, but it felt more like a home.

Tristan and Joel's room was on the second floor. There was an open s.p.a.ce near the top of the stairs that was supposed to be a public study area, but it had somehow morphed into being an extension of their room. Tristan had bought a big flat-screen TV that he'd plugged in out there, and no one turned it on without checking with him first. It was a strictly invitation-only public s.p.a.ce. As I climbed the stairs, I could hear voices. It sounded like a decent-size crowd was hanging out. I could make out Joel and one of our friends, Aidan, debating if they wanted to order a pizza. They had the hockey game on. I'd practiced on the way over what I would do and say. Making a big deal out of it would only focus everyone on it, so my plan was to act casual. I took a deep breath and got ready to face Tristan.

"This is bogus. I had a date tonight," Aidan said. "Just because Hailey got lucky, I can't."

I froze in place. I peered around the corner. Kelsie was folded into the corner of the sofa, flipping through a magazine. Joel and Aidan were sharing the remainder of the sofa, and Tristan was sprawled on the floor. There were a couple of other guys watching the game, and two soph.o.m.ore girls wearing way too much makeup were giggling like a broken record.

"Dream on. It's going to take a lot more than a movie and large popcorn to convince a girl to sleep with you," Joel said, chucking a throw pillow at his head.