Chapter 5: Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three Three weeks. “Prove it.” Three weeks since the party. Three weeks since my little white lie. Three weeks since I’ve been trying to dodge everyone. Three weeks of misery. It’s October now and I’m in homeroom. “Okay, class! That’s the end of this lesson,” Mr. Hopkins yells from the front of the class. Everybody starts packing their books up. “Hold on, don’t pack up just yet.” Everybody groans. “Remember we’re going on a fieldtrip tomorrow,” he continues, “to New York City. We are going to be visiting Times Square and the Statue of Liberty to learn about the history of it. Make sure you bring back the permission slips by tomorrow morning or you won’t be coming! Class dismissed.” People get up and leave the room. I forgot to give the slip to Mr. Hopkins this morning. I rummage through my bag to find it. Candy turns to me from her seat. “We’re going to New York City! Times Square! Can you believe it?” I shake my head and smile. Maybe it’s good that this is happening. It could give me some time to take my mind off of… other things. I pass my permission slip to Mr. Hopkins and grab my bag as the bell rings. This has been my routine: never get to class too early, and never get out of class too late. People always randomly ask me questions about Lee Richardson. Even adults and teachers I don’t know! Apparently, the entire senior year and some of the underclassmen were at the party— things got spread around fast. I’m an idiot, I think as I open my locker and dump all my books in. This never would have happened if I just shut up and stayed out of Karen’s way. She’s always trying to bring me down. The hallways are crowded as people get their things to go home. I shove my way through and get to the parking lot. Reaching my Honda, I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m just about to open the car door when a flash goes off. I shield my eyes from the bright light. Another flash goes off. “Stop!” I protest. I blink and regain my vision. A middle-aged man is standing in front of me with an expensive looking camera. I’m confused. “Can I help you?” He grins, wrinkles forming near his eyes and mouth. “Hi, I’m Larry Cowell.” He takes my hand and shakes it. “Famous reporter.” “Um,” I say. “That’s great?” I pull my hand back and stuff it in my jacket pocket. I slowly inch away from the man. He could be a fake weirdo who takes pictures of teenage girls and then kidnaps them or something. Then he must chop them up and sell the body parts. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. But, I’m still not going to talk to some stranger. I back away but he yells, “Stop!” He puts his hands up in defense. “Hold on. I just want to talk to you about something important, and then I’ll be gone.” I slowly nod, urging him to go on. “Yes?” “Are you dating Lee Richardson?” My knees wobble. No, no, no, I tell myself. This is not happening. No way that the news could’ve gotten this far. Not all the way to the media. “Ivory?” the reporter says when I don’t respond. “How do you know my name?” I ask, my throat feeling like it’s closing up. Before he can answer, Karen shows up out of nowhere. “Oh, Ivory, hi. I told him your name. This reporter is a friend of my dad’s, and I just told him the latest gossip. I mean, who shouldn’t know about you and Lee?” So it was her doing. I fix my expression quickly—leaving no sign of anxiety. I force a fake smile. “Oh, of course, Karen. I’ll answer some questions for you. No biggie.” I definitely wasn’t going to let Karen get the chance of catching me lying. Her eyebrow twitches in anger. The reporter moves her aside and focuses the camera on me. “So, are you dating Lee Richardson?” I grin for the camera. “Yes. Yes, I am.” An hour passes full of questions and photos. I am driving home now. Larry, the reporter, just asked some questions about how we met and how we fell in love. I lied, of course. And it felt horrible. I pray that he’s not as famous as he says he is. I pray that if he ever publishes that interview, that people won’t read it in his magazine. I grip the steering wheel harder as I drive down my street. I get to the driveway of my house and park my car. The air is chilly and the green leaves of summer have turned to orange and red leaves of autumn. Maybe Mom could help. “Mom, I’m home!” I yell when I open the front door even though I know she’ll be too busy painting to hear me. I pick up some envelopes left by the door by the mailman and bring them inside. Throwing them on the kitchen table, I go check on Mom. She’s in her studio working on some waterfall painting. I love her studio. It has baby blue paint on all three of the walls. The last wall has Mom’s own paintings of people’s faces, landscapes, and nature. Every color is painted with love and ease. I’m jealous of Mom. She has a talent. She can draw, paint, and can make ugly things look so beautiful. Everybody has a talent… except me. I can’t draw, or play sports, or cook. Nothing. I frown as I think of this. “Oh, Ivory!” Mom exclaims when she notices me. “Just on time!” She ushers me over to her painting. Her face has blue flecks of paint as well as her arms and apron. “What do you think?” I look at her painting. It’s a waterfall that’s hidden deep within the forest by trees. Birds fly in the distance and the sky is a beautiful blue. Small land animals wander around the trees and the wind blows leaves off the trees. “It’s beautiful,” I say. It really is. Mom smiles. “You think?” She picks up the painting from the easel and puts it down against the wall to let it dry. Mom wipes her hands off a towel nearby and then turns back to me. “So, how was school?” “Great!” I lie. I follow her out of her studio and we head into the kitchen. I grab an apple out from the bowl that is placed on the island counter. “School’s just wonderful, Mom.”