Page 19 of The Rebel (Covington Prep: The Girls We Love #7)

JADE

“Valencia’s not with you?” Mom asked, looking at her watch as I came into the kitchen.

“Is she supposed to be?” I asked, plonking my backpack on the floor by the high stool and heading for the fridge.

“No.” Mom shook her head. “I was just hoping she might be. She texted earlier that she was at her friend’s house, but...” She sighed in exasperation. “I just had a text from school that she didn’t show to her detention at the art room.”

“I haven’t seen her,” I said, frowning at the news. “Did she forget and go to her friend’s house?”

Mom’s head was still shaking. “I don’t know. She hasn’t replied to my text. And it appears she doesn’t answer her phone.”

I grimaced, feeling bad for her. Mom had put everything into welcoming Valencia and though she’d been with us for less than twenty four hours, so far Mom had been rewarded with nothing but grief.

After staying in her room all night, apparently Valencia had rushed out this morning, declining the breakfast Mom had gone to the trouble of making.

Pancakes were generally a weekend treat, so Ollie and I definitely benefitted from that.

“She was in a hurry to feed Volley and get a ride to school with her friend,” Mom said, like she was making an excuse for her. “But now I’m a little concerned. Valencia’s never been a...”

Mom didn’t finish, so I jumped in with what she was probably too afraid to say out loud, “...a rebel or a trouble maker?” I poured a cup of milk and gulped it down.

Mom sighed again. “Yeah. Should I be worried? Should I tell Kristin?” She answered herself before I could. “I think I’ll wait till she gets home and talk to her. Get her side of the story first. There might be a legitimate reason she couldn’t get to detention.”

“Hmmm.” I was mighty curious as to what that might be. Because Vice Principal Hayman wouldn’t stand for that behavior.

“Or what if she’s had an accident?”

“Pretty sure someone would have contacted you,” I said, and keen for Mom to quit worrying, I changed the topic. “Hey, I was talking to Lucy. We’re going snow tubing on Saturday, so could we do our Brit night after that? Are you okay with that?”

“Yes, of course,” Mom said enthusiastically. “Sounds great. You write a list and tell me what we need to get.”

“They’ll probably be six or seven of us.” I rattled off my friends’ names: Lucy, Weston, Jordy, Sawyer, Victoria and Hannah, the German exchange student.

“Great,” she said, her eyes mischievous. “Shall I wear my royal crown?”

“We are not doing dress up,” I said adamantly.

“Like you won’t be wearing your Man City jersey?” Mom goaded with a wide-eyed stare.

“Okay,” I relented, “maybe we could have a theme,” because I most definitely would. Any chance to wear it and show my support of my favorite team. Only a few of my friends were fans of the Premier League, most didn’t understand the passion I had for our team, as Dad had called it.

“How did Yearbook Club go?” Mom asked.

I’d signed up for Yearbook Club before I went to England, but this was only my second meeting. Victoria, one of the co-ordinators, had delegated me a job today.

“Benji and I are doing the soccer page,” I said. “He’s writing the report and I’ll do the photo layout.”

“Page? Singular?” Mom asked.

“No, we get two measly pages. The Chargers have taken over.”

The Covington Comets had always lived in the shadow of the Chargers, our football team, and the success of their state championship title meant they were allocated a greater than usual space in this edition.

The Comets had finished third in their division, kind of bittersweet because I liked to believe that if I’d played this season, we would have made it through to the finals.

Though, the Rosemont Raiders would have been tough to beat.

“Do you need any help?” I asked.

“No, I’m good for now,” Mom said, about to peel an onion. “Just leave me to cry in peace. You take a shower.”

“Is that a subtle hint?” I lifted my armpit and sniffed.

“Ahem,” Mom faked a cough, scrunching her nose and laughing.

I peeked in on Ollie who was on his bedroom floor laying out his Harry Potter trading cards. Every so often he liked to sort them and spread them out. I stayed for a bit as he explained how a bunch had increased in value and were now highly sought after.

“Great,” I said, “you’ll be able to buy me that 2012 Mustang Boss.

” I wasn’t a car aficionado, but a beefed-up Mustang sure would be nice.

Paris’s dream car was a ’67 Shelby, he’d always said he’d buy one when he won his first pro tournament, but in the meantime he drove a Lexus SUV, because he did have a lot of tennis gear to cart around—and a reputation to maintain.

Freshly showered, I came back into the kitchen to see the taco meat was steaming on the stove top. The lines on Mom’s forehead were a little more embedded, still no sign of Valencia or a text.

“You couldn’t go over and quickly feed the cat, could you?” Mom asked. “It’ll save her a job when she gets back. I don’t know what time she’ll be here.” She looked at her watch in frustration. “The key’s under the terracotta planter.”

I didn’t really want to go out in the cold to feed the cat, but Mom was stressed to the max. As I put on my jacket and shoved my feet into my sneakers, Mom explained the cat’s feeding requirements. “Call out to him, he usually comes straight away. Otherwise, shake the canister.”

“Sure thing,” I said, already forgetting whether it was one scoop or two of dry food.

I regretted not wearing boots as I traipsed over the soggy lawn and climbed the fence. There was a light on in the back of the house, on a timer I assumed. When I got closer, I could see it wasn’t the outdoor security lighting, but an indoor light. Like someone was home.

The key was under the second terracotta pot that I lifted up, but as I stood at the back door which led directly into the laundry room, I sensed that someone was inside, and my first thought was that Valencia had come home to feed the cat, fallen and was trapped.

Knocking sharply, I called out. “Valencia? Hey, Valencia, are you in there?” I didn’t wait for a response, putting the key into the lock with an urgency. Of course, it didn’t fit on the first attempt, but before I turned it, the door opened a fraction.

“Jade?” Valencia immediately turned her head, like she was hiding her face and my initial instinct was that she’d been vaping. I could smell a fruity fragrance of some sort.

“Valencia?” I came inside and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around to face me, a detective about to catch the criminal in the act, ready to seize the evidence.

Vaping had been a pretty big problem at my school in London, less so here at Covington Prep because Principal Portman’s zero tolerance and immediate suspension was a deterrent that scared even the most rebellious.

But I realized Valencia wasn’t hiding a vape when her watery eyes stared back at me, aghast that she’d been caught crying. I was equally shell-shocked, averting my gaze quickly to the blood on her chin.

“You’re bleeding,” I said, not just an out-loud observation, but almost pretending I hadn’t seen her tears.

“Am I?” She pivoted around and swiftly went out the door. I automatically followed, nearly kicking the cat’s food bowl on my way. “Volley got a fright when you knocked on the door.”

“Oh. I came to feed her,” I said, super curious as to why she was upset. Was it being clawed by the cat or was she in more trouble with Vice Principal Hayman for not showing to detention. “Mom said you were at your friend’s house.”

“Him,” she said, sniffing as she hurried into the downstairs bathroom.

“Him?” I stood at the door as she retrieved a packet of wipes from the drawer of the wooden vanity cabinet.

“Volley’s a boy,” she clarified.

“Oh,” I said, relieved, because for a second I thought him meant her friend was a boy, which had made me surprisingly, stupidly, insanely jealous for a second. But I quickly remembered why Mom had sent me. “You didn’t answer Mom’s calls?”

“Uh...yeah, I just saw them,” she said, rubbing at the specks of blood on her chin, blinking rapidly as she checked in the mirror. “I thought I’d feed Volley first.”

I was trying to compute a lot of stuff in my head, noticing she was wearing ski pants and a ski jacket, which indicated she’d been sledding. And my tone came out sounding sarcastic and a little too parental, “So you’ve been sledding with your friends and forgot all about your detention?”

Valencia scowled and she lowered her head and turned on the faucet. “Yeah, something like that,” she jibed back with equal sarcasm, splashing water all over her face. I immediately felt bad. I’d been too harsh, too judgy.

Or maybe not.

Turning off the water, she snatched the small towel off of the rail and buried her face in it before haphazardly replacing it and storming past me, loitering and filling up half the doorway. As her parka brushed against me, I got a whiff of a strawberry scent, and my heart rate suddenly surged.

“Hey...” I called, following her to the kitchen where she scooped up her gloves and beanie on the counter, and moved a keychain with a yellow fluffy tennis ball attached to it over to a small dish next to a fruit bowl filled with some sad looking oranges.

I made a big effort to soften my voice. “Hey, Mom’s worried, that’s all.

She just wondered if something had happened to you, you know an accident or. ..”

Valencia lips twisted and she shrugged, but her tone was unapologetic. “Yeah, I guess I could have texted.”

Her blasé attitude riled me up. She was so cavalier about it, but I fought to keep from speaking in my authoritarian ‘Dad’ voice. “Hey, just reply,” I said ever so softly. “So she knows you’re okay.”

“Yep, whatever,” she flung back, dismissing me with, “I’ve got stuff to get upstairs.”

I was more than ready to disappear, leave her to her own devices to get home, but I hesitated and called up after her, “It’s okay...I can wait.”

Well, it wouldn’t be the right thing to do to let her walk home alone across the cold and dark backyards, but also, a suspicion niggled in the back of my mind.

The cat scratch hadn’t been that deep or drawn much blood, so to cry seemed a little over the top.

I’d never known Valencia to be a weakling or feeble, and the nosebleed must’ve hurt a heck of a lot more and yet she hadn’t shed one tear.

As her footsteps took a slow march up the stairs, I walked across to the fridge, looking at the various photos and newspaper cuttings pinned to it.

The now familiar photo of Paris at the US Open after his first round win took up the most space, but there was another one with a trophy from the MidWestern tournament, and several winner’s certificates dating back to the 16s age group.

I had time to read the whole article about Paris’s amazing first round Grand Slam win by the time Valencia returned with her school backpack and a shoulder bag with her school uniform stuffed into it.

“You’re still here?” she asked flatly, her expression holding no joy.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” I said, pulling away from the fridge door. “That was a pretty decent write-up about Paris.” Valencia rolled her eyes in disinterest, but I was unperturbed. “Have you heard from him? How’s he doing?”

She huffed, like it was a waste of her precious breath to tell me. “He starts qualifying tonight, well in our time. It’ll be tomorrow for him.”

“Cool,” I said. “Do you need a hand?” I gestured for her backpack, but she stubbornly hoisted it onto her shoulders and strode ahead while I returned the key back under the pot.

Mom looked relieved when I returned with Valencia. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re back! I thought your friend was bringing you home?”

“I decided to feed Volley first,” Valencia said, suddenly all sweetness and light. “Sorry about missing your calls, Dani. I didn’t hear them.”

“Is everything all right?” Mom asked. “I had a message from Mrs. Hayman that you didn’t turn up to detention.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I forgot.” She was so cool and calm about it, like there was no threat of consequences.

“I’ll make it up tomorrow,” she said, a little too easily for my liking.

Did she have any idea how the system worked?

A no-show was guaranteed to add extra time to her detention.

“Ah, is it okay if I shower before dinner? It was pretty cold out there.”

“Of course,” Mom said, melting like an ice cream cone in the middle of the Sahara Desert. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes, love.”

“Okay,” Valencia said, returning Mom’s smile.

Mom and I stood in silence until we heard the bedroom door click shut.

“She forgot detention and went sledding with her friends,” I mouthed in outrage.

Mom blinked and shrugged as if it was a perfectly acceptable excuse. “It’s been a manic few days,” she whispered. “She needs a little time to settle down. I’ll call Mrs. Hayman and explain the circumstances.”

I tried not to look horrified, but Valencia had somehow cast a magic spell over Mom, who was now fawning over her and allowing her to get off scot-free. Well, not allowing, but completely aiding and abetting! What next? Getting Valencia’s detention canceled?

Mom sent Oliver to knock on Valencia’s door after she’d called us to the table and we waited several minutes for her to turn up. I gave thanks to Mom for having Taco Tuesday on a Wednesday, while Valencia spoke directly to Mom and thanked her for her beautiful bedroom and comfy bed.

She excused herself after dinner, avoiding the cleaning up for the second time, saying she had lots of homework to do. We never saw her for the rest of the night, but Mom was satisfied that she’d missed detention unintentionally. Like she’d wrapped her round her little finger.