Gotcha Page 4
The doorbell rings again. Great. I’m balancing here on one foot, in my most pathetic, threadbare nightie. I probably have pillow-face, and after a quick pat on the head I know that my hair looks like a bird’s nest. So now what? I can’t answer the door. But I have to know who it is.
I hobble painfully to the kitchen, cursing myself for caring about the stupid game, and gently pull apart two slats in the blinds. My plan is to see who is on the doorstep without them noticing me. Yeah, right. They immediately see the movement of the slats, turn in unison and flash radiant smiles at me.
It’s a perfect family. A mother, father, son and daughter dressed in going-to-church clothes and carrying stacks of pamphlets and briefcases filled—no doubt—with religious books. The woman gestures at me to open the door. Her smile is angelic, and every hair is combed neatly into place. I guess it wouldn’t be very polite or virtuous to give her the finger, but the one thing I don’t need this morning is someone telling me I’m going to burn in the fires of hell if I don’t convert. I’ve been woken up by these people, possibly busted my ankle because of them, been scared out of my wits, and now I’m about to pee myself as well. I limp back to the door and shout, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, “We don’t want any!” Then I hobble as fast as I can to the bathroom.
“Who was at the door?” Mom asks, shuffling into the kitchen.
I’m sitting at the table flipping, through some newspapers that were left lying there. My foot is propped on another chair, and a bag of frozen peas is wrapped around my ankle. “I don’t know. I didn’t answer it.”
“But I heard you yelling at someone. That’s what woke me up.” She begins grinding coffee beans.
“It was just some religious freaks. I told them where to go.”
“Katie! You didn’t!” She’s staring at me, not sure whether I’m kidding or not.
“I did.”
Her expression can only be described as aghast. “But I’ve taught you to be respectful of all people, no matter what.”
“Well it wasn’t very respectful of them to wake me up and make me trip and break my ankle and get scared out of my wits...all on the morning I could have slept in!”
“You broke your ankle?” She takes a closer look at me and sees the propped-up foot. “What happened?”
“I tripped.”
She’s moved around the table and is removing the peas to check it out. “Oh dear, it is swelling.”
“See? Maybe next time you’ll believe me instead of siding with the strangers at the door.”
Mom sighs. “I wasn’t taking sides, Katie. Why do you always have to be so difficult?” She replaces the peas. “It’s just that I’ve raised you better than that. Everyone deserves to be treated politely.”
“Really. And is that how you were treating Dad—politely— when you were yelling at him in the middle of the night?”
I’ve shocked myself. I had no clue, absolutely no idea, that those words were going to come tumbling out of my mouth. But they did, and now they hang in the air between us.
Mom looks at me, surprised, and quickly looks away. “There’s stuff you don’t understand, Katie, problems that your dad has...”
“Yeah, well, you have problems too. And so do I.”
Mom sighs again. She’s been doing a lot of that lately. “That’s true, Katie, and the problem we have to deal with right now is your ankle. That’s the most important thing.” She seems relieved to direct her thoughts to something besides my dad. “C’mon, I’ll help you onto the couch where you’ll be more comfortable.”
I put my arm around her shoulder and allow her to take some of my weight as I move over to the couch. She places a pillow under my ankle, elevating it, and puts the peas back on top. She drapes a blanket around my shoulders and hands me the TV remote controller.
“Is there anything I can get you, honey?”
“Just a new ankle.”
She smiles, sadly. “Sorry. I can’t do that. But I’ll go get dressed, make us some breakfast, and then I’ll take you to the clinic to have that foot looked at. You just keep it still.”
I scrunch down, totally ticked.
Stupid Gotcha game.
Mom takes me to the clinic, and after putting my ankle through some painful movements, the doctor declares that it’s “just sprained.” Two hours later, with a pair of rented crutches at my side, I’m back on the couch, still fuming. I’ve been told not to put any weight on my foot for the first few days, and then only gradually can I begin to use it again. That means no work, and that adds up to a lot of college money.
And what about the Gotcha game? I’m a sitting duck.
The doorbell rings around noon. I begin to jump up but quickly remember my predicament. “Mom!” I holler into the kitchen. “Don’t you dare let anyone in until you check with me!”
I listen as she trudges to the front hall. I guess she’s taken some pity on me, because I hear the deadbolt unlock, but I can tell she’s left the chain latched as she opens the door.
“Hi, Paige,” I hear her say. Then, “Katie, can I let Paige in?” she yells down the hall, humoring me.
“Is she alone?” I holler back.
“Are you alone?” she asks Paige, loudly, for my benefit. “She’s alone now!” she yells at me. “But her mom escorted her to the door.”
A lot of good her mom would have been if Paige’s stalker had been lurking in the shrubs beside our door.
“All right,” I say.
Mom fills Paige in on my accident before she can even get to the living room.
“Omigod, Katie!” Paige says, seeing my now black and blue ankle. “You poor thing!”
“I’ll live.” I tell her. But not happily.
“Wow,” she says. She plunks herself into the armchair and promptly forgets about my ankle. “So, Michelle lost her bead last night too,” she tells me.
“Really?” I see the crazy Gotcha glow in her eyes.
“Yeah. It was awful. She drove to the mall alone, which was her first mistake. She parked her car and was just about to get out when suddenly Frazer appears at her window, grinning. She hits the power lock, but Frazer runs behind the car so she can’t back out of the parking stall.”
“I wonder why Frazer didn’t just stay out of sight till she got out of her car.”
“I guess he got overexcited. I don’t know. But anyway, Michelle calls Christy on her cell phone and demands that she come to her rescue. You know how Michelle can be. So Christy picks up Evan, and they pull in beside Michelle in the parking lot. The plan was for Christy and Evan to link up and stand at the window. Then Michelle would roll down the window and Christy would reach in and link with Michelle before Frazer could tag her.”
“So? What happened?”
“Something went wrong, and somehow Frazer was able to reach in and tag Michelle before she and Christy could get linked. I guess there was a lot of pushing and shoving going on.”
“Oh-oh.”
“Yeah, and now Michelle’s ticked because she thinks Christy failed her. She’s not talking to her.”
“How stupid is that? Christy did her best. She drove all the way to the mall.”
“Yeah, and Evan said it was really Michelle’s fault, that she panicked and rolled the window down too soon.”
“Whatever.”
“And Kerry lost her bead too.”
“Oh no. Busy night.”
“Yeah, it was the same kind of thing. She parked in the lot outside the drugstore, and suddenly her car was boxed in on either side and behind by three other cars.”
“Like some kind of police bust.”
“Right. So it was just a matter of who could hold out the longest. Kerry had an early curfew—you know her dad—so she eventually just handed over her bead to Jonah.”
“Huh.”
“But see how it works, Katie?” Paige leans toward me, making her point. “Jonah’s friends worked as a team to help him get his bead. That’s what we have to do too.”
“A Gotcha party?”
“That’s what he’s calling it.”
“That sounds a bit random.”
She shrugs. “Everyone will be standing around linked to someone else. Except those who have lost their beads.”
“Yeah, they’ll be the only ones having any fun.”
She ignores me, but then leans forward again, looking panicky. “You’ll stick with me, right, Katie?”
I decide to toy with her and ask, “What’s in it for me?”
“Katie!”
I have to laugh. “Yeah, I’ll stick with you, but will you stick with me? What if the Pres asks you to dance? A slow dance. Are you going to turn down Warren to protect me?”
“Well, duh! I could get tagged on the dance floor.”
I notice she’s missed my point, but I let it go. “That’s true. But wouldn’t it be worth it, for Warren?”
“Oh shut up, Katie! No, not even a slow dance with Warren would make me risk losing my bead.”
I think about that. She really is into this game.
“So you’re in?” she asks.
“It sounds like a strange kind of party, everyone standing around latched onto their best friend’s arm. What’s the point?”
“I think it sounds like a hoot.”
“You would.”
Paige decides to change the subject. “So tell me, Katie,” she says, “what do you think of Joel Keister?” Her tone is taunting and she’s studying me closely.
“He’s okay. What do you think of him?”
“I think he’s nice. But I’m not the one who was blushing when he looked at me last night.”
“I wasn’t blushing!”
“You were too! You were as red as a tomato.”
“I was not!”
“Look at you! You’re blushing again! Aha!”
Damn Paige anyway. I really can feel my face burning. I’ve got to throw her off.
“I’ve known Joel all my life,” I tell her.
“You have?”
“Yeah. I think he was in my grade one class.”
“Really. Then what can you tell me about him? Hmm?”
Her smugness is really irritating. “I don’t know, Paige. Why are you asking me all these questions?”
“Because I think someone has the hots for Joel, and Joel just might have the hots for someone.”
“Shut up, Paige! I talked to him for exactly two minutes last night. That’s not quite enough time to ‘get the hots’ as you so eloquently put it.”
“Something was clearly happening between you guys.”
“You’re being an idiot.”
“Maybe he’ll be at Tyson’s tonight.”
“Like I could care.” But why did my heart skip a beat when she said that?
“And you never answered my question, Katie. You will stick with me, right?”
“Right. Unless someone better comes along.”
“Katie!”
She’s so gullible. I have to laugh. “Whatever, Paige.”
As she gets up to go, she spots my crutches and tries them out. A worried look crosses her face. “These could be a problem for you in Gotcha you know.”
“Tell me about it. We’ll have to stay seated at the party tonight.”
“Oh.” She hesitates. “Then maybe I should have asked Tanysha to hang with me, instead of you.”
I know I should bite my tongue right now. Paige doesn’t realize how selfish she sounds. How selfish she is. On any other day I might have been able to ignore her comment, but not today. Today I have been ticked off one too many times. “Maybe you should have,” I tell her. “Because how on earth will everyone be able to appreciate you when you’re sitting in a corner with me?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She looks sincerely puzzled, but suspicious too.
“Nothing.”
“I’m serious, Katie. Don’t say ‘nothing.’ What do you mean?”
“Okay, Paige,” I tell her. Maybe it is time for her to know how I feel. “Listen to yourself. You come over here and beg me to go to the party so you will have someone to link with. When I hint that you might go off and leave me stranded, you only think about how vulnerable you’d be without me, not how vulnerable I’d be without you. And then, instead of giving me any sympathy about my ankle, you think instead of how my injury might affect your fun. Everyone knows you like to be the center of attention, but gosh, it might be a little hard to be that center if you’re sitting off in a corner with me. Yep, I think maybe you would be better off with Tanysha.”
The words have just spewed out of my mouth, and for a moment I feel relief from the crankiness that has plagued me all morning. I’m expecting the Drama Queen to react, and I’m ready for a good fight.
But then I see the wounded expression on her face.
How I wish I could press a rewind button on my mouth and take it all back. Just as suddenly as the anger hit me, it has left me, and I remember that despite her self-centeredness, she is also fun and loveable and sweet and funny. Those things more than make up for her other qualities. I can’t believe I’ve said those hurtful things.
My mom chooses that moment to barge in with a plate of cookies and mugs of hot chocolate. She’s always believed that food can fix anything, even sprained ankles. “So, Paige,” she says, oblivious to the mood in the room. “How have you been? I love your new hair color!”
Paige blinks and looks away from me. It takes her a moment to gather her thoughts. She turns to my mom. “Well, I was okay until just a few minutes ago. But Katie just finished informing me that everyone thinks I’m selfish and that I like to be the center of attention. I’m not feeling quite so okay anymore.”
My mom turns to me, shocked. “Katie!”
“It’s okay,” Paige says to my mom. “I can handle it.” She nods.
I desperately search my brain for something to say, anything to fix the damage I’ve caused, but my mind is blank, and I can only stare stupidly at Paige. I can see my mom looking from Paige to me and back to Paige again. She reaches out and hands a mug of hot chocolate to Paige, convinced, I’m sure, that food can even fix this mess.
Paige accepts the mug but simply places it on the table and then leaves the room.
“I’m sorry, Paige!” I holler down the hall.
I hear the front door close behind her. She hasn’t arranged for anyone to pick her up, and she has no one to link arms with on her way home.
Did the truth hurt that much? Enough to take those chances?
Mom glares at me. Then, without a word, she takes Paige’s hot chocolate off the table, and she too leaves the room.
Why can’t I learn to keep my mouth shut like that?
Less than an hour later the doorbell is ringing again. I wish I knew how to switch the stupid thing off.
Mom and I go through the same routine. “It’s Mariah and Tanysha,” she calls to me. “Can I let them in?”
“Yes.” I really don’t have the energy for any more games today.
They both look angry when they enter the living room, but Mariah is kind enough to ask about my ankle.
“It’s just sprained,” I tell her.
“So why did you say those things to Paige?” Tanysha asks, getting right to the point. She looks steamed.
“Because it was the truth,” I tell them. “I’d had enough. My foot hurts, I can’t work...I might as well forget playing Gotcha, but all Paige cares about is her own stupid self.”
I haven’t told my friends about my dad’s disappearing act. I don’t know why, exactly. There just hasn’t been a good time. And maybe I don’t want to see the pity in their eyes. And the knowing glances between them. And I’m certainly not going to use that as an excuse right now.
“Paige is Paige,” Tanysha tells me, as if that’s news, “and she may be a little egocentric now and again, but you’ve really
hurt her this time. She’s so upset she’s not even protecting herself from whoever has her name.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Being sorry is not going to change what you said.”
“Give me a break, Tanysha,” I say, feeling my temper spiking again. “I’m the one with the sprained ankle.” And the ruined life.
“An ankle probably heals faster than a crushed ego,” she tells me.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Tanysha come to Paige’s defense. She has an unwavering loyalty to Paige that borders on hero worship. And she’s not the only one. Paige has an entourage of adoring fans, and yet she seems oblivious to it. She usually singles me out for friendship, and I am the least adoring of them all. To be honest, I thought she appreciated the reality check I provided. Until today, anyway. “She’ll get over it,” I tell Tanysha. “You know how dramatic she can be.”
I turn to Mariah, attempting to change the subject. “Did you go out for another latte with Jefferson?”
I see her face light up, but before she can reply, Tanysha grabs her arm and begins dragging her out of the living room. Mariah glances back at me apologetically, but I know she won’t stand up to Tanysha or Paige. “I don’t think she’s going to just ‘get over it,’ as you say,” Tanysha tells me. “You’ve done it this time, Katie.”
Why do I get the feeling she might be happy about that?
They practically crash into my mom in the doorway. She’s carrying yet another tray of snacks. She watches as they storm off, looks at me and then shakes her head. She turns and goes back to the kitchen.
Five
From: dannyo56@hotmail.com
To: kittiekat17@hotmail.com
Subject: What’s up?
Hey Katie,
What’s new? I’m missing you, but I’m still working at getting my life in order. Any day now!
Send me a note, tell me what’s happening. (And how is your mom?)
Love and hugs,
Dad
From: kittiekat17@hotmail.com
To: dannyo56@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: What’s up?
dad,
i have a badly sprained ankle. i cant work. that means im not makin the money i need 4 college or even 4 a simple grad dress. my friends hate me. ive organized a game that will probably get me kicked out of school. my father left me. my mother is a cow. i have no future. life sux.