Anything but Normal - Melody Carlson [19]
Sophie let out a quiet groan.
“Seriously, what’s the problem?” He studied her face as if looking for a clue. Suddenly she remembered what a great reporter Wes was, how he had a nose for news, and how he was an expert at getting to the bottom of a story.
“There’s no problem,” she said lightly. “I guess I was just daydreaming about possibly having a life. You know, something beyond staring at the computer screen for hours on end, cutting and pasting and all that.”
He frowned. “But that is a life. I mean, don’t you want to take journalism in college? Don’t you plan to work in it after you get your degree? That’s what you’ve always said. When did you change?”
She considered this. “You’re right, Wes. And I do still want that. It’s just that—”
“I know.” He held his pen up in the air like a torch. “You got a boyfriend, didn’t you? During summer vacation you went and got yourself a serious boyfriend. Am I right or am I right?”
She shook her head. “No, you’re definitely wrong.”
But he didn’t look convinced.
“What time is the yearbook meeting?” She knew when it was, but it was a good distraction technique.
“Four. Same as always.”
“Fine. I’m going to run home and take a nap, and then I’ll see you at four.”
Wes grinned. “Be there or be square.”
She rolled her eyes. “More like be there and be square.”
“I better get to class before Mr. Young marks me late.”
“Just tell him you talked sense into me and I’m sure he’ll excuse you.”
Wes nodded and hurried into the classroom, closing the door behind him. Sophie just stood there and sighed. It seemed crazy to get involved in yearbook committee. That was a long-term commitment. And who knew where she’d be by the end of the school year?
Yet she knew that to quit those normal activities would only draw attention—raising a red flag that something really was wrong with her. Better to just play the game. Keep up the act. Maybe eventually she would figure a way out of this mess.
In the meantime, she just wanted to sleep. But as she started her car, her cell phone rang. She was tempted to ignore it, but it was her dad. And since he never called her, she was concerned. What if something had happened to Mom or Bart? Or . . . what if her parents had somehow figured things out? What if she’d left some scrap of evidence in the upstairs bathroom? What if someone had spotted her disposing of the pregnancy kit at school? What if they’d run a DNA test and . . . Okay, she knew she was being ridiculous.
“Hey, Dad,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Pumpkin,” he said in a surprisingly friendly tone. “Can I ask you a huge favor?”
“Sure, what?”
“Well, Marge broke a tooth eating Corn Nuts, so she’s got to run into the dentist, and I need someone to watch the front desk for a couple of hours. I remembered you get off of school early now. Would you mind?”
She so wanted to tell him to forget it, but he was being so nice that she just couldn’t. “Well, I have yearbook at four and—”
“That’s perfect. Marge was sure she’d be back here by four.” “Okay . . .”
“Hurry.”
“You want me to speed?”
“’Course not . . . just don’t dawdle.”
“Dawdle . . . yeah, right, Dad.” She told him good-bye and closed her phone. Great. Just what she needed—two hours of breathing stinky tire-rubber fumes.
Her dad knew she didn’t like working at the tire store. They’d been over that enough times over the years. Fortunately her mom supported her on this subject. But sometimes when he was in a pinch, like now, she’d help out.
When she got to the tire store, her dad was in the garage repairing a flat tire, and three people were waiting at the counter. The first guy wanted to pay for his tires and get the keys to his car—pronto.
“I already missed an hour of work,” he said, like she was personally responsible that his first credit card was just rejected and she had to run a second one. “And believe me, someone’s gotta pay the bills.”
“Sorry you had to wait,” she said in a fake-sounding cheerful tone. She watched as he signed the receipt, then handed him his keys. “Have a nice day, sir.”
He just growled “thanks” and