Page 12 of The Rebel (Covington Prep: The Girls We Love #7)

JADE

The sound of the vacuum cleaner led me down the hallway toward the guest room. Strange that Mom was cleaning at this time of the evening. I was ravenous, having just come back from a session at the school gym, but mixing up a protein shake could wait a minute.

“Hiya,” I called over the noise, Mom pushing the machine around the side of the bed. Shutting it off, she looked around and surveyed the floor. No one came in here, so it was hardly in a mess, maybe a bit of dust. “What’s going on?”

“We’re having a guest,” Mom said, unplugging the cord, satisfied at her work.

“Gramma and Pops?” I asked, more in hope than anything, knowing it would be a bone of contention. But eighteen months was a long time without contact and surely the cold war couldn’t continue indefinitely. At some point either Mom or my grandparents would have to cave.

“No,” Mom brushed my comment aside without a reaction. “Valencia.”

“Valencia Reid?” I jolted, shocked by her reply, even though there was absolutely no chance there was more than one Valencia.

“Uh huh,” Mom said without a smile, obviously the mention of Gramma and Pops dampening her mood.

“Kristin and Clint are going on tour with Paris. Just for a month.” But she suddenly brightened up.

“I offered for Valencia to stay here. They were thinking about putting her into the boarding school. But it seems silly for a month.”

“Where’s Paris going?” I asked, an odd rush of blood flooding my veins and a weird tingling shooting down my spine. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Europe,” Mom said.

“When?”

“They’re leaving tomorrow,” Mom said.

My eyebrows shot up. Wow, that wasn’t much of a warning. Though did I need a warning that Valencia was about to stay?

“She’s not particularly happy about it,” Mom said.

“What? Staying with us?”

“No. More that she isn’t going,” Mom said. “Missing out on the trip.”

“Fair,” I said.

“Kristin doesn’t want her missing out on so much school. And they want to focus on Paris, they’ve got like five countries to cover.”

“Wow.”

“So,” Mom said, “I would appreciate it if you would make her feel welcome. Maybe take her to school if she needs it? Kristin said she usually rides with a friend. But if you could help out? Plus, she’ll be able to go home and feed her cat everyday. That should help. She’s cat mad.”

“Isn’t it Paris’s cat?”

“It might have been,” Mom said, now smiling. “Apparently the first thing she did when she got back from Florida is check that I didn’t starve him.”

I laughed, looking around the room at the pastel bedcover, the floral prints on the wall and the decorative clock and ornaments which were more suited to my grandparents’ taste. “Ahh, it doesn’t really look like a girl’s bedroom, though?”

“And how many girls bedrooms have you been in?” Mom cocked her head with a teasing smirk.

A flush of heat colored my neck. “No, I meant, you know, it’s a bit...”

“Blah? Old fashioned?” Mom offered.

I merely nodded and dropped my head, hoping she hadn’t noticed. For all my worldly travels and independence in the past few months, I was shy talking about that stuff with Mom.

Thankfully, Mom turned her attention to the closet. “Well, I can brighten it up with a new cover and pillows,” she said, “but can I get you to take these suitcases out to the garage? That will give her more space.”

“Sure. What about those clothes?” Three heavy winter coats and a bunch of shirts hung at one end. My heart kind of jolted as I recognized the long black woolen one, gray peabody and blue ski parka as being Dad’s. Because he’d been dead for eighteen months now. “Are those—?”

I didn’t get the chance to finish my question, Mom cutting in. “You take the suitcases,” she instructed, disregarding the clothes and pushing two empty suitcases in my direction. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. I’ll finish up here.”

I wheeled them down the hallway, a little shaken.

Obviously I’d had no need to go into the guest room closet, but the thought that Dad’s clothes were still hanging in there threw me.

I wondered if Mom had forgotten they were there, had never gotten around to getting rid of them.

They were top quality brands so did she think they were too good to throw away?

Or that Oliver or I would want to wear our dead father’s clothes someday?

Or did she need something to hold onto?

I stuffed the suitcases up on the storage rack above our bikes and skis and Dad’s golf clubs. Yeah, there were reminders of him everywhere, the process of letting go a long and timely affair. Sports equipment was one thing, but his clothes? Was it weird to keep them?

“Anything else need doing?” I called out as I came back to the room. But Mom had gone, the clothes cleared out and the vacuum cleaner nowhere in sight.

“No, it’s all done,” she said from the dining room where she was now setting the table. “How was school?”

“Yeah, good. Principal Portman wants me to speak at assembly next week.” I attempted an English accent, “About my experience in London.”

“Jolly good,” Mom said, laughing at her own attempt which came out sounding more like Santa Claus. “Hey, we’ll have to have our British night.”

“Yeah, Lucy keeps reminding me,” I said, having a nostalgic moment of some of the different foods my host family had served, like roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, fish and chips with vinegar, and an English breakfast every weekend.

It was a feast of sausages, bacon, eggs, mushrooms, toast, baked beans, and something called black pudding, a weird blood sausage type of thing.

I did try it, but I can’t say I enjoyed the taste. “Mom, are you sure?”

“Yes, just let me know what’s on the menu.”

But that’s not what I was talking about. “No, I mean...” I paused and proceeded with caution, “about having Valencia stay over.”

Mom’s eyes flashed with a bright smile. “Kristin’s been such a good friend. It’s the least I can do,” she said, shifting the cutlery into precise positions on the table. “And I’m sure Valencia will be no trouble at all.”

I nodded in agreement, but a flicker of doubt crept into my mind, and nothing to do with Valencia.

It was true that Kristin Reid had been a great support to Mom, especially after Dad died.

But you wouldn’t pick Mom and Mrs. Reid as likely friends, Mrs. Reid being extremely focused and serious.

We used to hear her barking out coaching orders to Paris and Valencia back in the early days, whereas Mom was the laidback and relaxed one.

To me, Mrs. Reid seemed like she’d make a good school principal; she ran a pretty tight ship as far as Paris’s routine of school and tennis training went, much like a military operation.

If he came over to my house, he always had to be home at a certain time, computer or gaming time was severely frowned upon and he never drank soda or ate candy.

If we weren’t on the tennis court, Mrs. Reid preferred us to be active outside, kicking a ball or riding our bikes.

But seeing Dad’s clothes had put me into a spin, making me wonder if Mom wasn’t as strong as she’d made out to be.

When Miss Piatti told me about the opportunity for the school exchange to England for the beginning of senior year, I’d originally turned it down.

Though it had been on my to-do list, it wasn’t the time to be leaving Mom and Oliver for a whole semester.

I worried that three months was too long to be away.

But Mom insisted and basically bullied me into remembering Dad’s words.

Yep, Dad had a lot of lingering thoughts and wishes on his deathbed.

Ticking off bucket lists, seizing opportunities, living life to its fullest. He wanted Oliver and me to reach for the stars, to live our dreams, his dreams. You see, because of Dad, I was mildly obsessed with the English Premier League, and he’d instilled in me his own love for the Manchester City team—what we called soccer, they called football—and I was desperate for the whole English experience and of seeing my team playing in their home stadium with fifty thousand other passionate fans.

Guilt had wracked me initially, but Mom and Oliver assured me they were coping without me—and I ended up having the best time.

But now the guilt was back. Was Mom’s strength a facade?

Even though we knew Dad’s death was coming, it hadn’t lessened the shock when that day finally hit.

Fighting stomach cancer had been a rollercoaster ride, the highs of hope when believing he’d beaten it, down to devastating lows when it returned with a vengeance—and a death sentence.

And added into all of that had been the conflict with Dad’s parents—my grandparents—who we hadn’t seen since the funeral.

Now I worried that Mom had been faking this I’m-strong-and-moving-forward attitude. Was she actually stuck in time and unable to move on?

Because why else would she keep Dad’s clothes?

“Kristin’s dropping over Valencia’s things tomorrow morning. Then they’re driving to Falls Creek airport,” Mom said. “I think it’ll be nice to have another girl in the house.”

“What? You think you’ll be painting your nails and doing beauty stuff together?” I joked.

“Maybe,” Mom said, laughing. “And we might binge watch a few chick flicks.”

I rolled my eyes, but wondered where she’d put Dad’s clothes. In her closet?

“Do you wanna shout out to Ollie now? And wash up for dinner,” Mom said, glancing at the workout gear I was wearing.

I stood at the doorway and was about to yell down the hallway, but decided to go to Ollie’s room. His was just across from Mom’s.

“Hey,” I said, poking my head in, “dinner’s ready.”

“Yep, won’t be a sec,” he called back from his desk where he was doing homework.

I hated that Ollie had been so young when losing Dad; he’d been eight when Dad got sick and I worried that he could only remember him that way.

I sidled across to Mom’s half open doorway, my arm outstretched to push the door, when I heard, “Can we sled tonight, Jade?”

I withdrew, coming back in Ollie’s room. “What’d you say?”

“Can we go sledding tonight?”

“Don’t think Mom will let us. School night, buddy.”

“Dang it,” he said, but as resilient as ever, closed his laptop and came running at me, arms wide to take me in a tackle. Of course he couldn’t take me down, but I let him have a moment where he thought he could, before lifting him and flinging him over my shoulder like he weighed nothing.

Lifting weights had been a thing Dad and I started when he got sick.

Treatment made him weak, so we put together a small home gym.

We shifted furniture around in the second living room, Mom’s sewing table and the old computer desk pushed into the corner to make way for a weight bench and a cable machine.

Every night we’d pump up the music—mainly heavy metal songs to annoy Mom (who detested that music)—and work out.

When the treatment stopped and he needed surgery to remove his stomach, I started to realize it had never been about keeping up his muscle strength but about bonding, time together.

Toward the end, he’d sit on the stationary bike and barely had the strength to pedal, but he’d act as my personal trainer, making me do all the heavy lifting.

With Ollie hoisted over my shoulder, light as a feather, those memories with Dad flashed before me—funny how random memories could just pop into your mind.

“What do you weigh?” I mocked him. “Eighty pounds? Training starts after dinner. In the gym.”

Oliver giggled, waving his feet in front of my face. I screwed up my nose, carrying him into the dining room and deposited him down on a chair.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Mom said, with a laugh. “Did you wash up?”

Ollie and I looked at each other and nodded in sync, causing Mom to shake her head—she knew we hadn’t.

Every meal time was like Thanksgiving Day for us, where we’d join hands and express our gratitude, a tradition started when Dad was having treatment.

He used to be thankful for the silliest things, like he’d lost his sense of taste—while smirking at Mom’s cooking.

Now we tried to beat each other to say the most ridiculous things.

“Thank you for this wonderful food,” Mom started, “and for my amazing sons who are going to eat all the vegetables on their plates.”

I sneered at the portion of green beans, carrots and some other green thing on my plate while Ollie’s eyes popped before flashing mischievously. “Thank you for Axe deodorant to cover Jade’s stinky armpits.”

Mom bit down on her lower lip to smother a smile.

“And I’m thankful for socks,” I contributed, “so I don’t have to smell Ollie’s disgusting feet.”

Mom grimaced and squeezed our hands a little firmer. “And thank you for bringing Valencia to us tomorrow in the hope that the quality of conversation may improve a little.”

“Amen,” Mom and Ollie chimed in unison, mine a little less vocal.

“Mom, can we go sledding tonight?” Ollie asked.

“Not tonight,” Mom said, “it’s a school night.”

“I told you you’ve got weight training tonight,” I said, determined to follow through on my promise. “Gotta build up those weedy arms of yours.”

“But what about when Valencia’s here? She likes sledding.”

“Does she now?” Mom asked.

“Yeah,” Ollie said.

“She probably likes it better when you’re not crashing into her sled,” I said, poking an unfamiliar green thing onto my fork.

“It’s zucchini,” Mom said, like she’d read my mind.

“It was an accident,” Ollie was immediately in defensive mode. “She was in my way and I couldn’t stop.” He went on to tell Mom about Valencia’s nosebleed and how I fixed her up. He even told her that I’d bought hot chocolate.

“That was so she wouldn’t sue us,” I joked. “You know, sweeten her up.”

“Oh,” Mom said. “Kristin didn’t mention that. But it’s good that you’ve all been reacquainted. I’m sure she’ll fit right in.”

I had a sudden memory of Valencia at her locker, hair tied up in a high ponytail, her brown eyes heavily lined in black, her cheeks turning pink when I spoke to her. Had she been embarrassed because I mentioned the nosebleed? Or was it me?

“Does it taste okay?”

“Huh?” Mom’s voice blinked me back to reality.

“The zucchini. Do you like it?”

I shrugged. “It doesn’t really taste of much,” I said.

“Oh, I thought you were licking your lips in pure delight at my flavors.”

I nodded, not realizing my tongue had rolled across my lips, but I certainly hadn’t been thinking about zucchini.

No, definitely not zucchini.