Breaking Rules Page 3

  Three

  After another few hours of brainstorming and collaboration as a whole group, we broke for lunch at noon. Lashell had ordered pizzas for everyone to share, but I shuddered at the thought of waiting around for the food to arrive. Lunch would’ve been about the time that everyone would start swapping life stories and buddying up, and that was definitely not what I’d signed up for. Just the sheer thought of socializing over a meal with any of my classmates was enough to induce a full-on panic attack. With an hour to spare before we had to reconvene, I left the school and headed home to eat in the comfort of my own company.

  “Hey,” Bailey said as I walked in the door. She had seated herself on the kitchen counter and she had her legs folded up beneath her as she messed with her phone. Too enthralled by whatever was on the screen, she hadn’t even bothered to look up when she greeted me.

  “Is Dad home?” I asked. “I think I need to tell him something.”

  “You think you do?”

  “Is he home or not? I asked. I tossed my purse and jacket on the counter next to her and headed straight for the refrigerator.

  “Nope. He’s out.”

  “Wonderful,” I said, dropping my head.

  “So I see you survived the morning,” she said, finally setting her phone aside. “How was everything over in Loserville?”

  “It was fine,” I said. I stared into the refrigerator for a full thirty seconds before I finally closed the door empty-handed. “How was your morning?”

  I suspected she’d give me a long list of all the things she’d managed to accomplish, just so she wouldn’t look like a complete jerk for blowing me off. But she simply jumped down from the counter and said, “Fine. Woke up about an hour ago, took a shower, and now I’m about to meet Jones for lunch at Maurine’s.”

  “You’re headed to Maurine’s?” I asked, perking up.

  It’s not that I was looking for a chance to socialize. If that was the case, I would’ve hung back at school. Nor was I ever eager for an invitation to join her for anything if it meant being around her friends or boyfriends. But Jones, her loving and committed boyfriend of two whole months, wasn’t really all that bad. Jones and I worked together down at the Sugar High Bakery, and I’d grown pretty fond of him in recent weeks. He’d proven himself to be the most tolerable of any of Bailey’s past love interests, and that was saying something because even he had his moments. But in spite of that, I was hungry, and Maurine’s Diner had the best chicken salad in town. I could tolerate an hour of Jones and Bailey if it meant getting a decent meal.

  “You coming with?” Bailey asked, sweeping my purse off the counter. She tossed it to me, and I managed to catch it with only an ounce of grace.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  After slipping back into my jacket, we headed out the door. Ten minutes later, Bailey and I found ourselves seated opposite of one very good looking guy down at the local diner. Jones spent the first five minutes of our lunch droning on and on, talking all about his Econ professor’s amazing inability to deliver a halfway decent lecture. Of course we listened, but we had a hard time sympathizing. Jones was fresh out of high school and aimlessly wandering his way through his first semester of college. His problems were ones we were glad to not yet have.

  It wasn’t until our food was served that I removed my jacket, and Jones’ eyes trailed down to my pocket. He nodded at the emblem.

  “RI?”

  “Oh, Mandy’s taken up volunteering now,” Bailey said, rolling her eyes. “She’s become so desperate for social interaction that she’s stooped to picking up trash off the side of the road with juvenile delinquents and convicted felons.”

  His eyes widened, and I shook my head to deny any truth in Bailey’s over-exaggeration. He breathed a sigh of relief and then took a drink of his soda.

  “It’s a volunteer program we’re doing at school,” I explained. “The surrounding districts are going head-to-head and competing to see who can make the biggest impact on their community. It’s just a way to generate some positive change and raise money with a little friendly competition.”

  “Oh yeah? That sounds cool.”

  Although I would’ve been surprised to learn that any normal person hadn’t heard of the program, I wasn’t so surprised where Jones was concerned. He had this thing about boycotting the media and avoiding the news; he had some weird theory that the government controlled everything, and he refused to be ‘brainwashed.’ It was one of the few qualities that made him tolerable. Jones didn’t care what anyone thought about him or his far-fetched beliefs. He was his own person, and he made no apologies for that.

  “It’s not cool,” Bailey chimed in. “She’s only doing it because one student from the winning team is being awarded a scholarship when all’s said and done. She’s not a saint or anything. Her participation in that project is completely selfish.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “She only wants that scholarship so she doesn’t have to take Dad’s money,” she said, interrupting Jones. He only responded with a furrowed brow. “He won’t let her major in English as long as he’s paying for school.”

  “Are you serious?” he asked, and we both nodded.

  “He says that writers are overworked, underpaid, and unpredictable,” Bailey continued, but not without an over-exaggerated eye roll. “God knows he’s lying through his teeth. It’s all just a cover-up. He won’t let her become a writer because he thinks she’ll end up just—like—Mom.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Jones said, and I couldn’t tell if he was referring to the scholarship, Dad’s unwillingness to fund my dream, or the unnecessary mention of our mother.

  It seemed outrageous to think that Dad would believe that one similarity could evolve into a full-blown, copy-cat lifestyle, but Bailey was right, and I had to give her credit for that. That was really all it was about. Dad’s reservations about supporting my dream had nothing to do with any of the lame excuses he’d given me over the years. Bailey and I both knew that Mom was at the very core of everything he feared.

  If I turned out like her, then I wouldn’t need him anymore.

  If I turned out like her, then money and success would suddenly mean more to me than a loving and supportive family.

  If I turned out like her, then I might just say the same words she’d said to him right before our lives imploded.

  “Listen, what she’s doing is great,” Jones said, and I felt myself jolt back into the conversation. I could tell that he’d sensed my discomfort for where the conversation had turned, so he steered it back in the original direction. “Volunteer work is never selfish, and Mandy’s doing something really awesome here. Who cares what the reason is? She’s making a difference.”

  That, of course, elicited a nasty stare from Bailey.

  She hated when we got along; Bailey liked her men to be her men, even in the friendliest capacities. And even if she hadn’t been extremely territorial about her boyfriends, she had absolutely nothing to worry about where Jones and I were concerned. Even if he was the last man on Earth… well, you get the picture.

  I cringed at the thought.

  “How’re you liking it so far?”

  “It’s not too bad,” I said as I gnawed on the edge of my sandwich. “We’re only on lunch now. The woman in charge of my group is cool, and the other volunteers are nice enough. The work seems like it’s going to be hard and time-consuming, but I guess that doesn’t matter. I have a feeling it’ll be equally rewarding.”

  “Aw, that’s great, Mandy,” he said, reaching forward to thump my arm. “Good for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So what’s the RI stand for, anyway?” he asked, cramming a handful of fries into his mouth. “They based out of Rhode Island or something?”

  Right. Jones wouldn’t know; when it came to keeping up on anything remotely newsworthy, he might as well live under a rock.

  “No,” I half-laughed. “It’s the Raddick Initiative. It�
��s named for the founder, Gabriel Raddick.”

  He nearly choked on his food. When he managed to swallow the fries and take a drink of his soda, he coughed a few times to clear his throat and then leaned forward again to get a better look at me.

  “Gabriel Raddick?” he asked, and I nodded to confirm he’d heard me correctly. “Gabe? Tall, scrawny kid? Blond hair, glasses, freakishly blue eyes?”

  I searched my memory for a mental image. The tall, blond, freakishly blue eyes part seemed about right, but the scrawny and glasses part most definitely did not.

  “Why?” I asked, trying to drum up a clearer picture of the man I’d met earlier that day. “Do you know him?”

  “Yeah, I know him. I mean, I used to. I went to high school with him,” he said, and his jaw hung open a little as he struggled to remember. “There were three… no, two years between us? He was a senior when I was a sophomore?” Again, he thought silently for a second and then shrugged. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” He leaned back and stared at me open-mouthed. “Man, I always wondered what happened to that guy after he left school.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That dude was such a loser. I’m just… you threw me for a loop with that one, Mandy. A volunteer program? Really? Gabe? I don’t think so. There’s no way we’re talking about the same guy. Dude was such a loser,” he repeated himself, and Bailey snorted as he half-laughed at his own insensitivity.

  “You know, that hardly seems fair,” I said, chiming in and stifling their laughter. “Did you even know him? How close were you?”

  “Close? I never said a word to the guy,” he admitted. “I’m not sure anyone did.”

  “You never spoke to him, but you’re comfortable enough to sit there and call him a loser?”

  “Mandy, man, I’m telling ya,” he said. “The kid was a freak. He was always sitting alone at lunch, never spoke to anyone. He had no friends, none. For a while, we weren’t even sure if he spoke English. He was mute, and he spent most of time sulking through the hallway, scribbling like a maniac inside this big, green notebook.”

  “That doesn’t mean he was—”

  “Even his family thought he was a joke,” he interrupted me. “I remember being at his graduation. My cousin walked that year. We stood by the door and watched him leave after their ceremony, all alone and completely zoned out; no one in his family even came to watch him accept his diploma. Complete—social—misfit.”

  “Hey, kinda like our Mandy here,” Bailey chimed in, putting her arm around me, but I shook it off. “I bet you two would be perfect for each other. Two lonely losers out to save the world—”

  “Real nice, Bailey,” I said, shoving her away.

  “Oh, come on, you know I’m only teasing.”

  “Well, it’s nothing to joke about. I can’t speak for who he used to be, but he’s made something of himself. That should count for something. I met Gabe today, and he was…generally… a nice guy.”

  The lie was sour on my tongue as I defended him, but I wasn’t about to let both of them sit there and say those things.

  “Lashell really loves him,” I said, quick to defend him again. “And from what I’ve gathered this morning, Gabe seems to have a pretty big influence around here.”

  “Yeah, I’m not buying it.”

  “Me neither,” Bailey echoed as they picked through the fries on Jones’s plate. “Once a loser, always a loser. You should understand that better than anyone, sis.”

  I watched them sit there, expressionless and void of any emotion, and it shocked me that two people could be so cold and heartless. Couldn’t they hear what they were saying?

  “You two should be ashamed of yourselves.” I swiped my keys off the table, pulled my jacket back on, and slung my purse over my shoulder. I turned and gave my sister one very disapproving look. “I’ve gotta take the car back to school. You can catch a ride home with your boyfriend.”

  I started to walk away when I heard Jones say, “Come on, Mandy. Don’t be like that.”

  But I didn’t bother sticking around to hear another one of their ill attempts at making a joke. I’d always thought of my sister as insensitive, but I was beginning to worry that maybe I’d seriously underestimated her. Inconsiderate, rude, impolite… those were only a few of the words I would’ve used to describe her. But now, more so than ever, I was truly convinced that those weren’t even enough. Mean. Malicious. Degenerate. Those seemed more suiting.

  I didn’t care for one second what kind of person Gabe was—lonely, loser, freak, social misfit, complete jerk—it didn’t give them any right to say those things.

  And as I walked out of the diner, slamming the door shut behind me, I realized just how much I let their words get to me in there. It scared me that I’d gotten so worked up over nothing that directly concerned me. But I’d felt every strike they’d taken against Gabe, and I couldn’t help but take it personally.

  If Gabe had really been that kind of guy back in high school, then he and I had a lot more in common than I could’ve ever imagined. I knew exactly what it felt like to be all alone, and it was the worst feeling in the world.