Page 16 of The Rebel (Covington Prep: The Girls We Love #7)

Valencia jogged across the lawn and disappeared from my view.

There was a fence she’d have to climb over into her yard and I cursed myself for not going with her.

She could trip out there, fall on the slippery grass or tumble over the fence.

He who hesitates...isn’t that what they say?

If I went after her now, she’d think it was strange, or that I was strange.

Instead of doing my homework in my bedroom, I took my laptop into the living room. It overlooked the patio and the backyard, which meant I’d see Valencia returning.

But how long did it take to feed a cat?

I’d finished my chemistry notes when Mom and Oliver arrived home. Mom scoped out the room as if looking for Valencia, mouthing a muted, “Is Valencia in her room?”

“No, she went to feed the cat,” I said in a regular voice.

Mom smiled, but she was still whispering. “Oh. Did everything go all right with Mrs. Hayman?”

“Yeah. She said a sub wrote her a discipline slip for using her phone.”

“Oh, that seems a bit harsh,” Mom said, now reverting to normal volume.

“Yeah.” I leaned forward to look outside. She’d been gone at least thirty minutes.

“You’ve got soccer tonight?” Mom asked.

“Yep. At seven.” I played in an indoor soccer league once a week with a bunch of school friends, a good way to keep fit and sharpen our skills in the off season.

“I picked up a rotisserie chicken at the store so I’ll cook some scalloped potatoes and green beans.”

“Sounds good,” I said. She was halfway out to the kitchen when I remembered that I hadn’t checked where she’d put Dad’s clothes. The idea of snooping in her room wasn’t appealing, but I was burning with curiosity.

“I’m coming, right?” Oliver asked.

“If you’ve done your homework,” I said, sounding more like a parent than a big brother. Since coming back from England, it was my mission to take Oliver with me whenever I could, to give Mom a break. And especially now, after seeing the clothes.

“Yep, most of it. I just have to finish my cover for my science project.”

“Okay, buddy.”

“Cool!” Oliver pumped his fist and ran out of the room.

I sat forward on the couch, my neck permanently tilted in the direction of the window. Feeding a cat couldn’t possibly take that long—unless, of course, Valencia was hanging out at her house. But why would she do that—unless she didn’t want to be here.

I stood up and walked over to the doors, now worrying and practically willing her to appear.

What if an intruder had broken into the house and taken her hostage?

People did that, they had sophisticated systems where they learned who was traveling abroad and broke into their houses when they were away. I’d seen it on a video.

“Valencia’s not back?” Mom came back in, looking at her phone.

“No, don’t think so,” I said, pretending I hadn’t been watching out for her. “You want me to find her?”

“I’ll text her,” Mom said.

“You’ve got her number?” I asked.

Mom frowned as if that was an unusual thing for me to say. But I wanted Valencia’s number! In fact, I should probably have it in case she needed a ride, or...

A flash of maroon emerged from the orchard, Valencia coming into sight with her phone in her hand.

Mom’s phone pinged at the same time that I said, “She’s coming.”

I followed Mom out to meet her at the front door. Valencia was swept into an embrace and squeezed tightly like a long lost relative, Mom gushing about how pleased she was to have her stay with us. I had a sudden crazy thought that I should be next for a hug.

But Mom guided Valencia to her room and I was tempted to follow, but she was saying stuff about making herself at home and settling in and dinner being ready soon. Mom came back to the kitchen but Valencia’s bedroom door closed with a loud click.

“Is everything all right?” Now I was the one mouthing words.

“Yes, she’s just getting changed,” Mom said, frowning at me like I was being overly nosy.

Valencia didn’t come out of her room until Mom called for dinner. She’d changed into black sweat pants and a dark purple hoodie and stood awkwardly between the kitchen and the dining room, looking like she wanted to help but not saying anything.

“Take a seat,” Mom shooed her away.

Valencia looked at the table Oliver had laid—his job—and said, “I usually eat in my room.”

Mom’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she was smooth as she said, “We like to eat together, it’s a good time to catch up and hear about everyone’s day.”

I jumped in and pulled out the chair opposite Oliver’s and that stupid, embarrassing accent came out again, “Here m’lady.”

Oliver and Mom laughed, but Valencia’s smile was delayed, like it was out of obligation.

“Thanks,” she mumbled while I shuffled back to the kitchen to help Mom bring out the dishes.

Note to self: Stop with the accent and butler behavior!

Mom reached out her hands, Oliver taking it quickly but Valencia made no attempt to move until Mom said with a smile, “We just like to offer thanks.”

She took Mom’s hand, and I tentatively reached out mine, having a minor panic attack as our fingertips met in a barely-there touch. It sent a warm shiver down my spine, but induced an empty head.

Mom went first. “We’re thankful for this meal and for bringing Valencia to us. Girl power!” She raised their hands in triumph, causing Valencia to smile.

“Thanks for Mr. Senna being away from school today so we didn’t have a pop test in math,” Oliver said.

Something about Valencia’s fingers against mine had my mind whirling but also devoid of a coherent thought. I squeezed her hand to indicate she should go next because I was struggling to think.

“Oh, uh...”

“You can say anything,” Oliver prompted.

“Yes, whatever you’re thankful for,” Mom chimed in. “It’s just a little thing we like to do every day.”

Valencia’s jaw clenched and she pressed her lips together, maybe her mind as blank as mine. “Um, I’m thankful...that...thanks for...letting me stay here while Paris is playing his tournaments.”

We all smiled, but I detected a hint of bitterness in the way she said Paris’s name, but Mom didn’t seem to notice, saying, “You’re very welcome. It’s our pleasure.”

I sat dumbly for a few seconds, trying to string my thoughts together, worried she could feel my clamminess. “Thanks for my little brother who’s agreed to do the washing up if he wants to come to soccer tonight.”

“What? I never said that!” Oliver pulled his hand out of mine, and unfortunately that set off a chain reaction where Valencia removed her hand from mine. I missed it instantly.

Oliver protested for a few moments, but brought out his best manners, pouring water for everyone, passing Valencia the bowl of beans, pointing out the salt and pepper shakers as if she wasn’t familiar with such things.

Conversation wasn’t difficult with Mom directing the questions about our day, though she didn’t grill Valencia on her discipline slip.

I steered the talk toward Mom’s day. She was a qualified nurse but now worked at Whittakers Ice Cream Factory as a Health and Safety Advisor.

It was a new thing since Dad had died, allowing her regular hours or working from home.

“Hey, any new ice cream flavors?” I asked.

“There’s always new flavors being tested,” Mom said.

“Did you bring any home?” Oliver asked.

“Not today,” Mom said. “It’s not exactly ice cream weather.”

“It’s always ice cream weather,” Oliver said with a cheeky grin.

“Valencia, what are your favorite foods?” Mom asked. “Is there anything you don’t eat?”

“I’m allergic to crab legs,” she said, quite pointedly.

“Crab legs? That’s random,” I said. “Uh, how did you find that out?”

“Our second night at a restaurant in Florida,” she said, sounding thoroughly peeved. “I came out in big red hives.”

“Oh that sucks.” I laughed, but regretted it. I mean sometimes allergies could be life and death situations. A kid in elementary school had an allergy to peanuts and had to carry an epipen at all times. Peanut butter sandwiches were off the menu for that year because of him.

“Yeah. It does,” Valencia mumbled, head down.

“Is it just crab legs? Are you allergic to shrimp and lobster too?” I couldn’t believe I was having a conversation about shellfish and allergies, but I wanted to keep her talking.

Valencia shrugged. “I’ve never tried those.”

“Sometimes people can be allergic to one but not the other,” Mom offered with a smile.

“I don’t think I’ll be trying any others,” Valencia said.

“What about fish? Are you good with that?” I said, thinking ahead to our upcoming British night with fish and chips, an English tradition.

“Yeah, I’ve never had a problem with that,” she said, sounding thoroughly bored. “Uh, may I be excused? I’ve got homework to do.”

“Uh, well...” Mom looked flustered, Valencia’s plate only half eaten. “Uh, what’s your schedule look like? Do you need a ride to school? Jade, what time do you leave?”

“It’s okay,” Valencia started to say at the same time that I said, “Sure, I can take you.”

“Your mom said you usually ride with your friend?” Mom said.

“Yep. I’ll be okay,” Valencia said.

“And what about after school?”

“I’m fine after school,” Valencia said.

“Well, if I’m working in the office, I usually finish at three, so if you ever need a ride, just text me. And maybe you should have Jade’s number, just in case too?”

“Sure. Good idea,” I said too quickly.

“I should be fine,” Valencia said, but I wasn’t sure if she was meaning she didn’t need my number or she had a ride lined up. “I have to help in the art room this week and on Mondays I volunteer at the blind center so I’ll be late that day.”

“Oh, what do you do there?” Mom asked.

“I help people with art, like painting and stuff. They’re not totally blind, they have low vision.”

“That sounds like a wonderful thing to do,” Mom said. “It must be very rewarding.”

Valencia nodded, pushing back on her chair impatiently.

“Are you doing any sport this semester?” Mom asked. It felt like she was drawing blood out of a stone.

“No, volleyball finished.”

“That’s right, you played volleyball,” Mom said. “You’re not playing any tennis?”

Valencia shook her head and shifted her cutlery. I reached for the potato dish and scooped another serving onto my plate.

“I’ll probably join the recreational swimming club,” Valencia suddenly said.

I frowned, not knowing there was a recreational swim club, but sometimes there were different activities offered for juniors.

Mom nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great.”

Valencia took that as her cue to leave and excused herself to her room before I got the chance to ask her if she wanted to come and watch our soccer game. You know, to make her feel included. But then I figured she was probably keen to unpack her bags and sort her room.

When Oliver and I came home, Mom was alone in the living room half watching television with her laptop and a bunch of papers spread about.

She wanted a play-by-play account of the game and Oliver and I gave a combined version of events, from the goal I scored in the tenth minute to Sawyer’s amazing penalty shot.

Sawyer was the kicker for the football team but he joined our indoor soccer in spring, and his skills were impressive.

With the football team this year’s state champions, we were lucky to have him.

In a way, I was sad that I’d missed all the hype and celebrations.

But the dream of going to England and seeing Manchester City play had been totally worth it.

“Has Valencia gone to bed already?” I asked in a low voice, after a commentary of our 5-2 win had been completed. I didn’t want it to seem like it was at the forefront of my mind, even though it was the first thing I’d noticed.

“She’s been in her room all night,” Mom said in a hush.

“All night?” I mouthed in surprise. I felt bad for Mom, knowing she’d been looking forward to her company.

Mom nodded, giving an excuse for Valencia’s less than stellar behavior. “I guess she’ll need an adjustment period. It did happen very quickly and she’ll be missing her family.”

Oliver and I hustled over who would shower first, our shared bathroom between our bedrooms. Even though I pointed out that I’d been the one sweating, he raced me and I made a mock protest as he beat me down the hallway.

I was always going to let him win because his bedtime was looming, but I wanted to spray myself with some deodorant, you know, in case Valencia came out of her room.

I lingered in the kitchen, drinking a banana smoothie. Footsteps came padding down the hallway and thinking—hoping—it was Valencia, I put it down and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my stupid heart amping up at the anticipation of seeing her.

It was Oliver, dressed in his Harry Potter pajamas. “What?” he asked.

“What?” I parroted back.

“You were smiling.”

“I wasn’t.”

“What were you smiling at?”

“You in your stupid pajamas.”

“Nah.”

“I was thinking how good my goal was,” I said, stepping out from behind the counter in a reenactment of dribbling the ball before striking it hard with my left foot into the back of the net. “Come on, you need to get to bed.” It was my Dad voice again.

“I just wanted a glass of water.”

“Well, hurry, it’s late,” I said. “You finished in the bathroom?”

Ollie nodded and I left him to it, taking my smoothie with me.

I sauntered down the hallway, alert for any signs of what Valencia might be doing.

A sliver of light shone from under the door but no sound came from the room.

I considered knocking to say goodnight, but a galloping Oliver kept me walking on by.

But probably Mom was right—she was no doubt missing her family and with the trouble at school, she might need a little space.

I’d catch up with her tomorrow.