Little Do We Know, Page 3

  Translation: I would be going to BU next year if it weren’t for him.

  “I have to study,” I said to Alyssa, tapping my fingernail against my flash cards.

  She plucked them from my hand. “What could possibly be more important than my future husband’s sexy new hair?”

  “World hunger. The roles of women in developing countries.” I grabbed my flash cards back. “Me not failing Chem.”

  Alyssa looked back at the stage, and I followed her gaze. Aaron shuffled through a stack of sheet music on the bench next to him. Then his eyes flicked toward the front row. He tipped his chin toward us and grinned.

  I glared at him.

  When he looked away again, Alyssa slapped my arm. “Did you see the way he just smiled at me? That boy’s mine.”

  I laughed under my breath. “Boy?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “Stop saying that. He’s not that much older than me.”

  “He’s five years older than you!”

  “Four,” she corrected. “I’ll be eighteen next month.”

  “Whatever. He’s still practically our teacher.”

  “He won’t be in June,” she said with a wink.

  The sanctuary lights dimmed and the stage lights came on. I used to cringe at what came next, but after three and a half years, I’d gotten used to it.

  My dad ran in from the side of the stage wearing a lavalier mic and waving his hands wildly in the air. He stopped in the middle, bouncing on his toes and looking out at us. And then he lifted his arms into the air and yelled into the sanctuary, “This is the day that the Lord has made!”

  We all yelled back, “Let us rejoice and be glad in it!”

  “Nice!” He lowered his arms. “Wow, you sound unusually spirited for a Monday morning. Amen!”

  “Amen!” everyone yelled back.

  He insisted that everyone call him Pastor J because Pastor Jacquard sounded overly formal and no one could ever pronounce it anyway. My friends always told me how lucky I was to have him as my dad. They said he was more like a friend than a pastor, and that they told him secrets they’d never tell their own parents. That always used to make me proud. Lately, it made me wish he wasn’t my dad so I had someone like him to confide in.

  “Before we get to official business, a few quick announcements.” Dad paced back and forth across the stage as he spoke. “As everyone in this room knows, this is a unique school. We gather together for Monday Chapel. Throughout the week, we meet in smaller groups and share what’s going on in our lives. We come back to this room with our families every Sunday. We connect,” he said, interlacing his fingers. “We get each other, don’t we?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see heads bobbing in agreement, Alyssa’s included. “Amen,” she whispered.

  Dad’s heart was in the right place, but it bugged me when he talked about Covenant like that, as if he’d singlehandedly created this perfect teenage utopia where everyone got along, talked openly about feelings, and never said or did anything to hurt anyone. Nice visual, but it wasn’t true. We judged each other; we just did it more subtly and about different things, like who was the better Christian.

  “Our annual Admissions Night is in three weeks, and I’m going to need all of us to come together as a team.”

  I glanced around, taking in all the empty rows in the back of the sanctuary. When I was in elementary school, Dad used to turn away hundreds of kids every year, but by the time I was in middle school, things had started to change. Applications were on a steep decline and Dad had started letting teachers go, cutting back programs, and taking out loans from bigger local churches.

  Over dinner one night, he told Mom and me all about his new plan.

  “We’re going to focus on the performing arts program. We already have an incredible dance troupe and drama department, a competitive show choir, and of course, an award-winning a cappella group,” he’d said as he patted my hand. “And we’re in LA, after all!”

  Mom snickered. “We’re in Orange County. LA is an hour away from here.”

  “Close enough,” he’d said.

  Dad spent the next six months getting investments, beefing up our drama and dance departments, hiring new directors and upping their budgets.

  Admissions Night had always been a big deal, but lately, he seemed to be pulling out all the stops, more determined than ever to fill that room. And now I knew why.

  Aaron.

  Me.

  “I want each one of you to think about the reason you’re here at Covenant.” Dad slowly paced the stage, stopping to smile at specific students. It was his way of connecting, of drawing them in. He told me once that he tries to find the people in the crowd who don’t seem to be hearing the message, or the ones he knows need to hear it most, and he makes a point to look directly at them. “Maybe you were someone who never quite found the right group in middle school. Maybe you felt a bit lost. Maybe you felt pressured to do things you knew weren’t right.”

  I heard a few scattered amens around the room as Dad made his way to the other side of the stage. “Or maybe you came here to make the most of your God-given talents in music and dance. No matter what brought you here to this family, you’re in a place where you belong.”

  Dad kept pacing, looking out into the sanctuary, pausing to let his words sink in.

  “I bet every one of you knows someone who needs this place as much as you did.”

  I thought of Emory. She used to come to church with me all the time when we were little, and she never missed any of my choir performances, but over the years, I could tell she’d become more uncomfortable in this room. When I asked her to come to candlelight service last Christmas Eve, she scrunched up her nose and said, “I’m gonna pass this year. That’s your thing, not mine. You understand, right?”

  I told her I did, and I’d meant it, but it still hurt.

  “Right now, I want each one of you to close your eyes and picture that person.” Dad was still pacing the stage. “I’m going to count to three and I want you to say that person’s name out loud. Ready? One. Two. Three.”

  The auditorium filled with sound. I couldn’t think of anyone else, and I wasn’t about to say Emory’s name, so I mumbled something unintelligible, knowing the names would all blend together anyway.

  “I know I’m your principal and not a teacher, but I’m giving out a little bit of homework today. I want to see the person you just named sitting right next to you on Admissions Night. Amen?”

  “Amen!” everyone yelled.

  Dad pointed at Aaron. “Aaron has been working so hard on a new promotional video, and he’s finishing it up this week. When he comes around, be yourselves. Ham it up. Have some fun! Show our community what this school is all about. Amen?”

  “Amen!”

  “Okay, let’s get to today’s sermon.” I heard the whir of the projection screen as it lowered from the ceiling.

  I knew from all the time I’d spent singing on that stage that the first row was hard to see from the glare of the spotlights, so I pulled out my Chem flash cards and kept them on my lap. I figured if he happened to notice me with my head bent down, he’d think I was praying.

  “Why do I feel like people are looking at me?” I slid my tray down the lunch line.

  “It’s your imagination,” Charlotte said as she reached for a basket of fries.

  “Yeah, I thought so.” I tossed my purple feather boa over my shoulder with dramatic flair, and it hit the guy standing behind me right in the face. I apologized even though he didn’t seem to care.

  I reached for a salad and changed the subject. “I like your hair, by the way.”

  Charlotte’s long blond hair was twisted into a soft braid that started at one temple and continued over the top of her head, framing her face like a crown.

  “Thanks. I think I’ve finally got this one down. I’m going to post the video tonight.”

  My hair looked the same every day; I liked sleeping too much to get up early
and mess with it. But Charlotte’s hair always looked different. She wore it in sophisticated-looking updos, braided it in fishtails, or let it hang in big, loopy curls. Once she mastered the new technique, she’d post a short tutorial video on Instagram. Last time I checked, she had over twelve thousand followers.

  I looked over my shoulder at Luke’s table. His back was to me, but I could see him at the far end, talking with his friends. He broke from his story long enough to take a sip of soda.

  I was just about to turn away when Lara noticed me. Once she did, that was it. It was like I’d flicked my fingertip against the first domino. Lara elbowed Tess, who leaned into Ava, who nudged Kathryn, and one by one their heads turned to look at me. Eyes widened. Jaws dropped. And then it was the guys’ turn. None of them even tried to hide their surprise. They laughed and pointed until it snaked around to Luke, the final domino to fall.

  When he saw me, I tilted my head to one side and gave him a flirty wave, feeling all Marilyn Monroe and hoping I looked the part. He covered his mouth, but I could tell from the crinkles next to his eyes he was smiling.

  When I stepped up to the counter to pay for my lunch, the cashier looked at me sideways. “What?” I asked, and she shook her head and said, “Nothing,” as she handed me my card.

  Charlotte was business as usual. “Are you skipping the theater today?”

  “No. Why would I?” I stuffed my card back into the pocket of my denim skirt.

  She gestured over at Luke. “Look, you don’t have to keep doing this. How many days left?”

  I didn’t skip a beat. “One hundred sixty-one.”

  “Have lunch with your boyfriend. It’s okay. I know you made a big deal out of it, swearing you’d never ditch Tyler and me like I ditched the two of you when I started dating Simon, but seriously, it’s okay. We get it. And we like Luke. You don’t have to hang out with us at lunch.”

  “Sure, I do.”

  “No, you don’t. Seriously. Even if that would make you a ginormous hypocrite, I’d never say so.”

  “Not to my face.”

  “Never to your face.”

  I laughed. “Well, it’s not about you two anyway. Our Town is four weeks away and if I don’t get my Emily Webb lines down, Ms. Martin’s going to strangle me. Or replace me, which would be much worse.”

  I pointed at the double doors that opened onto the path that led to the theater.

  “Go. If I don’t show up, it’s because Mr. Elliot sent me home, not because I don’t love the hell out of you.”

  I tossed the purple boa over my shoulder, spun on my toes, and moved across the cafeteria like a runway model. I could feel every eye fixed on me. I ate it up.

  When I reached Luke, I set my tray on the table, threw my boa around his shoulders, and sat on his lap. He squeezed my thigh. And then he kissed me.

  It was a little kiss. A school kiss. Not a get-a-room kiss, but it might as well have been. I could feel everyone watching us.

  I licked my lips. “You taste like peppermint.”

  He reached into his sweatshirt pocket and held up a roll of Mentos. “Freshmaker?”

  Luke dropped a mint into my palm, and I popped it into my mouth.

  “So…I assume there’s a story behind this,” he said as he played with my feathers.

  “There is an excellent story behind this.”

  I said it loud enough for Tess and Kathryn to look up from their food, and for Ava and Dominic to stop talking. Luke’s twin sister, Addison, waved her hand toward her chest and yelled, “I’ve gotta hear this,” reminding me why I liked her most.

  “Okay, so…” I sat up a little taller, twisting toward them. “I’m at my locker between third and fourth. I’m just about to leave for class when I turn and find Mr. Elliot standing there with his arms crossed, looking all stern.” I mimicked his posture and expression. “In this real quiet voice, he asks me if I’m aware that I’m in violation of the school dress code.”

  Using Luke’s shoulder for balance, I stood so everyone at the table could see my outfit in its entirety.

  “I think he’s referring to my skirt, right? So, I give it the fingertip test.” I stretched one arm to my side, demonstrating. “And it barely passes, but it does, so I figure I’m in the clear. But then he waggles his finger at me and says, ‘Bare shoulders are not allowed, Miss Kern. You know that.’”

  I scanned the cafeteria to be sure there weren’t any teachers in sight, and then I pulled the boa down, exposing my shoulders.

  Even Tess looked surprised. “Um. It’s a tank top. The dress code says they aren’t allowed, but everyone wears them anyway.”

  “Right?” I slapped my hand down hard on the table. “That’s what I thought! But apparently, this is not a tank top, Tess, this is a ‘dress code infraction.’” I curled my fingers around the words as I said them.

  I had everyone’s undivided attention. I liked that.

  “Anyway, Mr. Elliot keeps going, telling me I have to go home and change because what I’m wearing is ‘distracting to the boys,’ which is nuts, right?” I looked at each of the girls. Ava nodded. Kathryn said, “Duh.” Tess rolled her eyes. Then I looked right at Luke. “Are you distracted?”

  He shrugged. “Sure, but I’m pretty much always distracted by you.”

  “Of course you are.” I kissed the tip of his nose. “And that is completely your problem and not at all mine. Anyway,” I said, addressing the group again. “I tell Mr. Elliot that I have something that will cover my shoulders, and he thinks about that for a minute and tells me to go get it. Then he walks away.”

  I took a sip of Luke’s soda and got right back to my story.

  “I go straight to the theater, figuring I’ll find one of my sweatshirts backstage or in the greenroom or something, but there’s nothing. So, I go to the prop room and rifle through the costume racks, and voilà. I found this hot little number.” I modeled it again. “It covers my shoulders just perfectly, don’t you think? And I’ve always looked good in purple.”

  Everyone laughed and I curtsied. Then I hopped off Luke’s lap, took the spot next to him, and reached for my sandwich. I was starving.

  Addison stood and came down to our end of the table. “Scooch,” she said to Brian and Jake, and they both slid over so she could sit between them. “So, Emory. You’re going to Luke’s game on Wednesday, right?”

  “This Wednesday?” Charlotte, Tyler, and the rest of our drama group friends always met at the diner after Wednesday rehearsals, drinking coffee, eating chocolate chip cheesecake, and running lines together. I couldn’t imagine missing it. And I needed to practice my lines.

  “It’s the first game of the regular season,” Luke said. “You’ve never even seen me play, not in a real game, at least.”

  “But I don’t know a thing about lacrosse.” I could tell by the looks on their faces that it wasn’t a very good excuse.

  “That’s okay,” Addison said. “I’ll talk you through it.”

  I’d never been to a school sporting event. I always assumed I’d graduate from Foothill High School without ever seeing one. But what could I say? It was Luke.

  He wrapped his hand around my waist. “You can wear one of my jerseys.”

  I giggled. I couldn’t help it. “Your jersey?” Luke was broad-shouldered and at least five inches taller than me. I’d swim in one of his jerseys. Plus, wearing my boyfriend’s jersey sounded so…mainstream. So…girlfriend-y.

  “Does it say Calletti in big letters across the back and everything?” I asked.

  “Well, it doesn’t say Jones.”

  I started to make another joke, but I could tell this whole jersey thing was important to him, so I changed course. “Can I make a few alterations?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ve got dozens of jerseys. Do what you want with it.”

  “Uh-oh,” I heard Jake say. “Elliot’s heading this way.”

  I looked up. Mr. Elliot was over by the cash registers with his eyes locked on me.

&nbs
p; “That’s my cue.” I wrapped up my sandwich and adjusted the boa to be sure my shoulders had the appropriate amount of coverage.

  I gave Luke a kiss. “See ya,” I said as I headed for the double doors that led to the theater.

  “Testing. Testing, one, two, three.” Alyssa pulled her hair into a ponytail while she waited for Jack to connect the next microphone. When he was done, he gave her a nod and she stepped in front of it. “Testing. Testing, one, two, three. This one’s not working,” she yelled up toward the balcony, tapping her fingernail on the mic.

  I could see Aaron up in the sound booth, behind the glass, bent over the mixing board, sliding levers up and down. His voice came over the sound system, Godlike and omnipresent. “Try again.”

  “Testing. Testing,” she said. “Nope. Nothing.”

  Alyssa slapped my arm with the back of her hand. “Hey, I have something to show you after rehearsal.” She tipped her head toward the sound booth again.

  “Aaron?” I spat his name out like it was toxic on my tongue. I wasn’t in the mood to hear it, but I knew I didn’t have a choice. Ever since he came to Covenant, Alyssa had been on a personal mission to find everything she could on him. The last time she’d spent the night at my house, she made me watch all these videos she’d found of him performing at his old church.

  “I found high school stuff.” She grinned. “Get this. He was in a band.”

  I lowered my mic stand and twisted the knob, tightening it in place.

  “And guess who else I found?”

  “Who?” I tried to sound like I cared.

  “His girlfriend, Beth. Well, I think it’s Beth. She kinda looked like that picture he showed us on his phone a couple weeks ago.”

  “You do realize you sound like a stalker right now?”

  “Me?” She looked at me wide-eyed. “No. I’m just a girl who happens to be intensely curious and infinitely resourceful.”

  “Who is also kind of stalker-y,” I joked.

  She ignored me. “You’ll never guess what he played.”