“How are you doing?” I asked, to kick-start the conversation. With a moody teenager, I could wait all day before she would do it.
She shrugged.
“You going back to school yet?”
“Still suspended.”
“What did you do, anyway?”
“They didn’t like my sweatshirt.”
Surprise, surprise. “How’d you sleep? I hope it wasn’t too bad, thinking about what we found in the woods.”
She shrugged again. “I don’t care about that.” She paused, but then went on, saying, “My mom came back to the house this morning.”
“Oh?”
“Why is she suddenly pretending like she cares?” Lizzie asked, kicking at the grass that edged the walkway.
“Maybe she really does care, Lizzie. I know it doesn’t feel like it, from your aspect. Has she messed things up between you?”
“We were doing fine until she hauled us back here. Then she just handed me to Grandma and took off.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, because it wasn’t my place to defend either woman, nor did I know enough of the story to know who was in the right or who was in the wrong. “Was she trying to straighten things out, maybe? Did she figure you needed a safe place to live until she could do that?”
“Yeah, well, she said she’d be back for me and that we’d be able to live together again, and then she just . . .” Lizzie glared up at the sky.
I stayed silent, not sure if pointing out that her mom seemed to be trying to keep her word would help. From the conversation I had overheard, it appeared that she had come back and wanted Lizzie to live with her, though the grandmother was blocking the effort.
“Did they find out who that guy in the woods was yet?” she asked.
“Not yet. They’ve eliminated one local guy, Rusty Turner, but haven’t nailed down who it is.” I waited a moment, then said, “I’m sorry for dragging you into it, Lizzie. If I had known . . . but of course, I didn’t. We never would have found him if it wasn’t for you. It was a good thing to do.”
Watching my face, she said, “That cop, he wondered if you, like, led me to the place with the body.”
I was taken aback and put off. “Sheriff Grace thought I led you to that place?”
“I know, right? I hate cops.” She slouched down further. “He wondered if you had already found it, and were just trying to . . . what did he call it?” She screwed up her face in thought. “Were you trying to have me coronate your story, whatever that means.”
Coronate? Oh! “Corroborate?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” she said, her puzzled expression clearing. “Like, trick me into being the one who found the dead guy. But I told him no way. I told you about the camp, not the other way around.”
“I appreciate that. I’m new here, so no one knows what to think of me.”
“Yeah, you’re kind of different.”
The way she said it was a compliment. I think.
I told her about finding Becket and taking him to the vet, but I was thinking all the while. Would her mom ever tell her who her father had been, I wondered? Lizzie was owed the truth so she could at least have her aunt, Binny, to get to know. It would be good for Binny, too, I thought, since she appeared to have no one but her mother. But it wasn’t my place to interfere. Contrary to what some of my friends say, I do not think I know what’s best for everyone but myself.
After another half hour, Hannah trundled out the door and down the walk toward us. “Hey, there,” she said as she approached. “How are you girls doing?”
Lizzie, still a little shy with Hannah, ducked her head and said hello back. Hannah grabbed a book from the bag hanging off her wheelchair handle and gave it to the teenager. “I saved this for you,” she said.
The teen took the book and looked at the title, her face turning red.
I glanced at the cover. The book was entitled Uglies by Scott Westerfeld. I gaped at Hannah with horror, and she caught my look.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, glancing between me and Lizzie.
I glared at the title of the book and raised my eyebrows.
“Oh, my goodness, you don’t think . . . Lizzie,” she cried, stretching out her delicate hand. “I didn’t give you the book because of the title! Good lord . . . you’re a beautiful girl,” she said, wistfully stroking the teen’s hand. “I never even thought you could take it that way. I gave you the book because . . . because I wish it had been around when I was a teenager. It would have helped me understand how it’s good to be unique, and how no one should think they’re wrong for being different than her peers. You have a brain. You have a heart. That’s not always easy in this world, because they’ll try to stifle your smarts and crush your spirit.” Her chin went up. “I know that from experience.”