Page 39 of The Rebel
“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 thoughthimmeant 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 andforgotall about your detention?”
Valencia scowled and she lowered her head and turned on the faucet. “Yeah, something like that,” she jibed back with equalsarcasm, 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 beenthatdeep or drawnmuchblood, so tocryseemed 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 uptomorrow,” 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.”
