Across the noisy cafeteria, kids carrying trays and slamming them down on the tables, I saw a girl that from the back looked like Jodi Jackson. She possessed the same curvy figure as Jodi, the same cap of curly blonde hair.
Screeech!
My heart stopped. My jaw crashed on the table.
Chapter Seven
It had been more than a week since Dad's death—I don't think I'll ever be able to say I'm over it. But I was doing okay except for a hollow feeling lodged deep inside me that I couldn't shake, and I wondered if the memory of watching Dad die would ever slip to the back of my mind. Still, my life was getting back to normal. Football and books.
When I came home from Ghost Bay, after watching my dad slowly fade, I realized my senior year in high school was going to be the most important year of my life. My future depended on what grades I got, how well I played football, and what college might accept me. I decided to dedicate my senior year of high school to my dad. And that meant staying focused.
This problem with Jodi about her having a baby and my being the father—I decided not to panic. She might not even show up here in Grandview. She might run off to a naval base when Luke got back from sea and marry him. No need to get uptight about something that probably wasn't even my fault.
I slid my tray full of hamburger, fries, milk, and a cookie onto the table where my best friend, Ozzie Harrington, was sitting by himself in the school cafeteria in the corner.
The smells of greasy hamburgers, fries, and pizza swirled in the air. The student chattering and the clinking of silverware against plates, bowls, and trays made it almost impossible to hear, but nobody seemed to mind. Everyone simply talked louder. Or yelled.
"How you doing, Oz?"
He looked up at me, frowning. "How you doing? That's the question."
"I'm getting along."
"I hardly see you, except on the football field. And then not that much."
That was true. I worked out with the offensive unit. Oz worked with the defensive one. Often we labored at opposite ends of the field. After practice, I didn't waste time hanging around. I usually had research I needed to do. Or a paper that needed rewriting. I no longer partied after games or on Saturday nights. "Been keeping busy," I said, and slid my food off the tray onto the table and slipped into a chair across from Oz.
He was devouring pepperoni pizza. A side dish of green Jell-O jiggled next to his carton of milk. "I always liked your dad."
"Everybody did."
"I remember when he was an assistant coach for our midget football team. He thought he was going to make me into a quarterback."
"He said you had the tools."
Oz was powerfully built with thick shoulders and well-defined biceps, like a wrestler's. He would have been a natural 175-pounder. He was the best defensive back I'd ever seen.
"But I had no desire to be a quarterback," he said, and smiled at me sheepishly. "You've heard, haven't you?"
"Heard what?"
"You must've heard." Oz lifted his wedge of pizza to his mouth, bit, and chewed. After a minute he said, "Somebody must've told you."
"What?" I tore open a packet of catsup and squirted it on my French fries.
"I'm taking Christie to homecoming."
I felt my eyebrows bunch together. I stared at him.
This was a total surprise.
"She's the coolest girl in school," he said. "And the hottest. I don't know why you two couldn't work things out when you got back home." He picked up his spoon and scooped out a hunk of Jell-O. "Maybe you didn't know. You look surprised."
"I didn't know. I—how did you get the nerve to ask her?"
Oz was shy around girls. Or maybe he was just plain afraid of girls because he lived with four sisters. Because of his soft features, blue eyes, and blonde hair that curled around his ears, I think most girls considered him cute. Handsome, even. But he hardly dated, and I don't think he'd ever kissed a girl, though he said he'd kissed a couple of girls in junior high. Nothing serious. First base stuff.
"She practically asked me," Oz said. "We sat together at your dad's funeral, you know, got to talking. Started to hang out. She's very friendly."
"Yes, she is."
"You don't care? I mean, that I'm going out with her?"
"That's fine." I flipped the lid off my burger, squirted catsup and mustard on the meat.
"You guys had been going together since your freshman year. You and I are best friends. I feel a little funny...you know, dating her."
"Go for it, Oz."
His face turned pink. "I've never had much luck with girls. I'm scared they're all like my sisters—snotty, selfish, and unpredictable."
"Christie's not any of the above."
"You're not going to homecoming?"
"Haven't given it a thought." I took a bite of hamburger. "Not dating makes life a lot less complicated."
"You're turning our weird, you know that?"
"I'm staying focused."
"People are saying you're not much fun anymore."
"But my counselor says I'm finally motivated—I'm using all my talents. My life's got purpose—" I halted.
At that moment, I happened to look past Oz, over his left shoulder. What I saw zapped me like an electrical charge. Two thousand volts.
Across the noisy cafeteria, kids carrying trays and slamming them down on the tables, I saw a girl that from the back looked like Jodi Jackson. She possessed the same curvy figure as Jodi, the same cap of curly blonde hair.
Screeech!
My heart stopped. My jaw crashed on the table.
Was this the girl who had accused me of making her pregnant? Probably falsely. Be careful, Michael!
A break in the crowd. The girl dumped her tray at the dirty-dish counter. I bolted up. "Oz, I think I see someone."
"You sure you're not pissed about me and Christie?"
"I'm not pissed about anything. I think I see this girl... Dump my tray, will you, Oz?"
"You haven't eaten anything."
I elbowed my way through the students jammed into the narrow hallway leading out of the cafeteria.
"Hey! Watch it, Panther."
"You ain't playing football now, asshole!"
I broke into the clear in the hallway. The girl was ten steps ahead of me. "Jodi?"
Catching her in two strides, I touched her shoulder. She stopped, whirled. "Hello, Jodi." I said and then offered a cautious smile.
Her cool green eyes chilled me.
My smile slid away. "What are you doing here? You said you were going to call."
"Did I?" she said stiffly, and plunged into the hallway traffic.
Was that all? Not even a hello?
"Jodi!" I called. I caught her again. I stepped in front of her, blocking her way. "Hey, what's wrong?"
Students dodged us.
"Excuse me," she said. "I have to meet someone who's been showing me to my classes. He's at his locker now. I'm supposed to meet him by the office."
"You ate lunch with him?"
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
"The head counselor asked him to show me around."
With two quick steps to her left, Jodi was off and galloping. I caught her once more. "Jodi, what's going on?"
She fired off a look at me that could kill and raced on. While I trailed, she nudged, bumped, and shoved ahead through the crowd and halted at the office doors.
Nerdy Norman Bixby—tall and rawboned—he should have been a basketball player—smiled at her. She dug into her purse and handed him her schedule card. Norman studied the card, then frowned at me. "What's your problem, jock?"
Norman and I had never gotten along. He felt athletes stole the glory in high school while National Merit Scholarship winners like himself got the dregs. Step aside, Norman—or I'll hand you your head." I was talking to Jodi," I said.
His eyebrows cocked. "You know this jock-jerk?" he asked her.
"Not really." Icicles hung from her words.
"Jocks!" Norman spit the word at me. "They think they're God." Then to Jodi, "Your next class is this way."
He guided her by the elbow, and they scuttled by me.
My whole face felt hot. I was absolutely pissed. What had Oz just said about his sisters? Snotty, unpredictable—those were two words he'd used. They fit Jodi Jackson perfectly.
Coming Wednesday—Chapter Eight: Michael stalks Jodi
