XVII. Another Nancy Drewback

"Come on: I'm her friend. There's no need for her to hide anything from me."

"How original." Alex rolls her eyes at me once I tell her my idea for the Whack-Your-Brain theme.

"If you wanted to come up with something better, you didn't have to give me the job." I cross my arms.

"But Halloween? You couldn't think of anything else? That would cost us a load of money for the council, and even if we pulled off a thriftier version of it, it wouldn't even look good."

I sigh. "Okay, okay. I'll try again. Come to think of it, the proposal was a little vague." I hang my head low in thought. "Well...how about we not come up with a theme at all? If we can't afford to spend a lot of money on decoration, maybe we shouldn't."

"What? And have our school look plain on camera?" Marco comes up to the two of us. "Come on, Vivi G. Give us something magical and sudden, kind of like your existence here at Degrassi." He smiles and rolls his eyes at himself.

"Clever." I chuckle. "Look, I don't think that's such a bad idea. It wouldn't be false advertising. Or if it bothers you so, maybe we could have like a sort of hidden theme or something."

"Hidden theme?" Both Marco and Alex echo, wearing identical looks of bewilderment: eyebrows arched, glares featured.

"Yes, it sounds bizarre; it did to me when I first heard of it as well, but listen." I hover close to Marco and Alex. "Last year our school co-sponsored a girls' beauty pageant, and our student council was able to come up with a theme for the final round. We kept it secret from even the contestants and their parents. They didn't know what they were getting into until they walked on the stage. We pulled back the curtains, and voila, on the stage was a Hollywood, night under the stars theme; we thought it was relevant for the lucky girl who would be crowned the winner."

I exhale, looking at the two students in charge of Degrassi's student council. I'm pretty sure they think that I dream about rainbows and flowers, if they haven't already before.

"I find it too much to handle that you're actually serious about that." Alex remarks snarkily. Shocker.

"What's wrong with that? Sure: why not do something like it?" Marco says. "It's creative."

"You can't be serious." Alex looks over at Marco.

"It is an idea from another student council, and a good one." Marco counters. "Then again, Alex, Vivian is right: if you don't like the ideas that she comes up with, you can always decide for yourself." He grins playfully at her. "Wasn't that your job to begin with?"

I suppress my laughter as Alex rolls her eyes again. "Whatever. All I'm saying is that it's a good idea, but we just don't have the time or money to pull it off."

I shrug. "I totally understand. Then it's in stuco's best interest if we drop the idea of a quiz bowl theme altogether."

"You win." Alex turns and walks away.

"Did I?" I turn to Marco. "Do you know why she shot down all of my ideas?"

"Ah," Marco shrugs his shoulders, "it's because you're more of an idealist and she's a realist. Don't take it heavily; she's always like that."

"If you say so." I sigh.

"Hey, points for holding your ground though." Marco pats my back. "Most people give in to Alex's hot head. What's made you so bold lately?"

Being friends with, oh I don't know, Rick? I shrug. "Well, I guess that's all I have for you guys. Here are the names of everyone that showed up for the meeting." I hand Marco a clipboard with several student signatures.

"Fabulous as you always are, Vivi G. Thanks." Marco winks at me before leaving the library himself.

I smile after him. The nickname Vivi G. is a Marco original, so I let him call me by it; after all, it's better than the dreaded "Vivi-midget."

I grab my backpack from one of the library tables and exit the room as well. A to-do list is slowly compiling itself, and I've yet to tackle one of the many tasks on it, starting with that damn trunk dream: I dozed off during lunch and that brief flashback invaded my rest. I can't take it anymore! I need to investigate this now.

I whip out my cell phone and shoot a text message to Queenie:

Do you have time? I want to drop by ur house this afternoon.

There's a moment of hesitation before sending it. I haven't talked to her since our little feud yesterday morning. Going twenty-four hours without any contact with Queenie is a sure sign of an apocalypse. I'll drop by her house and apologize to her. Then we can be friends again. What a comforting thought it is to reunite with my best friend. I send my message. Next, I'll do what Ms. Sauve suggested and find that trunk in our house. I don't think dad and I left anything behind in our old house in Chicago. The trunk should be with us, right? Why would dad throw it out?

My notification alarm buzzes, and I look down at the screen on my phone. Queenie. Be something great.

I flip open my phone and read:

Sorry. Busy right now.

My heart sinks. I guess it's still too soon for us to make up.

But suddenly I receive another message:

It's not that I'm mad at you still about yesterday! Promise! I really am busy. Talk later, K?

I catch myself smiling. That was a Queenie response. A giant wave of relief washes over me. Our friendship is saved. Good.

I walk over to my locker through the empty corridors of Degrassi. I don't recognize the school during after school hours. I can hear the pad of my footsteps echoing along the walls; see my reflection in the double doors a few feet in the distance. It's creepy. Thank goodness I'm not in a horror film.

I swiftly take my denim jacket out of my locker and slide both of my arms in at once. I glance around the corridor after I slam the locker door. So many memories have been created in this hallway alone. So much chaos with tension in between students. So much aggressive behavior.

At least nothing happened today. Then again, the target wasn't around to give bullies a reason to pick on everybody. Rick had been sick today, which is weird considering he was just fine the day before. I was a little disappointed obviously: we hadn't had a meaningful conversation since...well that night. Since then the memory of Rick kissing my cheek has been replaying itself in my mind over. It was completely out of no where; well, not entirely, if I had kissed him earlier that evening. Still the sensation was lovely: I can feel his soft, warm lips on my cheek when I touch it.

So what's up with him now? I walk towards the double doors that lead to Degrassi's lobby area. Did I imagine him avoiding me yesterday, or was he suddenly that busy? You're an important part of his life; not his whole life. I remind myself. Surely you'll see him tomorrow. The thought alone drives me insane; I've finally accepted that I can no longer think of Rick as just a friend anymore.

I walk through the school's front doors and head towards my father's blue minivan, the gleam of the sun reflecting off of its shiny coat. The shiny sapphire appearance is always a giveaway that dad went to the car wash.

Hastily I open the door to the passenger seat. "Dad. Work was normal today?"

"It was." He answers. "How's your concussion? You're not wearing yourself out are you?"

I roll my eyes. "No, dad." I close the door. I know where this is going...

"Haven't been cuddling with any certain boys, have you?"

"Dad!" I screech, my face heating up more of embarrassment than of anger. "I needed company; I keep telling you this."

"I know, I know." Dad says calmly. "Just understand where I'm coming from, dear. It's hard watching your only daughter in the arms of some teenage boy."

"But we didn't do anything." I remind him. "We just slept with each other. And not the sleep sleep either."

"I know, sweetie." Dad stares at me. "You're just so grown up from the little girl I used to know."

I shrug. "It's a part of life." I look out of my passenger window.

"So it is." Dad starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot, leaving the school building in the rear.

There's nothing occurring except for the sound of the radio playing an Earth, Wind and Fire song: a favorite band of dad's.

"By the way, Vivian, I'm taking you to Queenie's house so you can get your pillow that you left there a few weeks ago."

This time I turn to look at him. "Oh. Did I leave them there? That was a long time ago."

"Queenie's mother called me to let me know. I think they're rearranging the place and noticed a foreign pillow on Queenie's bed."

"Huh." I say, my interest sparking. "I wonder why they're doing that."

"Yeah I bet. You have always been good at trying to find things out even if they have nothing to do with you." Dad smirks at me.

"FYI, dad, Queenie is my friend, so in a way, it is my business on a certain level." I cross my arms, returning the smirk.

"Whatever you say, honey." Dad smiles again as he maneuvers around a corner.

Soon we're driving down the street where Queenie lives, made evident by the series of brick, town-houses. I believe Emma also lives somewhere on this street: the description of her house sounded very similar to Queenie's as all of the townhouses have a uniform look about them: brick structure, deep green-colored roofs with a matching rectangular door; white-framed windows.

Finally, we reach Queenie's town-house, its special trademark being the display of carved-out jack-o-lanterns that decorate the porch.

"So the Parkers are festive." Dad comments. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Nor me." There's a carved banner hanging from the front door reading, "HAPPY HALLOWEEN" in purple, sparkly letters. It makes sense: Queenie is married to glittery merchandise.

"Go get your pillow. I'll wait here." Dad tells me.

"Okay." I open the door on my side that's conveniently at the sidewalk, so I don't have to risk a crossing.

Maybe I'll get to see Queenie after all. A seed of hope is growing inside me: warm and strong as I walk up the stairs to the porch and approach the door. It isn't until I'm on the porch do I recognize a cluster of plants gathered at the bottom right corner of the door. They're all tall and green, framed by large, wavy leaves at every inch. Pretty, I think. I hover over them and get a closer look. Morning glories. I can see white little buds blooming shyly in the light. There's one plant in the middle of the bunch that's in full-bloom even though it's a little wilted. Cautiously I stick my finger out to touch it...

"Vivian! You're there to get your pillow back!"

I leap up at the sound of my father's voice and nod at myself. Stop being creepy. You haven't even knocked on the door yet!

The door is opened for me anyway, and for a brief moment my heart soars as I see a curly-haired girl on the other side, then crashes down; this is her sister. If it weren't for her taller, curvier stature, I'd think Queenie was a twin. This Parker sister, however, is also distinguished by her darker, more slanted eyes than Queenie's.

"Hi." I say immediately. "Sorry. I got a little distracted on the porch-"

"Oh! Are you Vivian?" She flashes me the pearls in her mouth. "I'm Diane! Queenie's older sister. My momma said you'd be over!"

I smile. "Yep. I'm here."

"Omigod! You're so cute!" Diane squeals. "I got a description from Queenie that you were little, but I didn't think this little! You're like a little doll! You're here for your pillow, right? Come in!" She steps a side.

"Thank you." I say, doing as she wishes. Well you can tell that they're related.

The sight of their place has become a second home to me. I almost know the layout by heart: the living area to the left of the main entrance; the dining area a little ways back to the right; the kitchen area straight ahead; and the stairs almost at the immediate right.

"Come and sit down on the sofa." Diane invites.

I follow her over to the baby blue and white polka-dot couch, facing opposite of the door, and plant myself on the right cushion.

"Just wait here a few seconds while I get your pillow from Queenie's room." She tells me.

I nod. "Thanks. I have my dad waiting for me out front."

"Okay." The elder Queenie stands up. "I'm going to let Queenie know."

"Wait, Queenie is here?" I ask, standing up as well. "Do you mind if I go with you? I haven't seen her all day. Is she busy?"

Diane looks startled, widening her eyes. "Uh, yeah you could say that." She answers. Her face returns to perky again, almost if I was imagining her weird reaction to my request to tag along.

I shake it off. "No problem. If she's busy I could just wait here."

Diane nods. "I hate to be rude, but she's in the middle of a private matter at the moment."

"What?" And she didn't tell me? "Queenie knows me well enough to trust me."

"I know. Just..." Diane breaks her gaze. "She's a little embarrassed about her situation right now. You understand right?"

"Yeah..." She's not making any sense.

Diane smiles again. "Good. I'll be right back, okay?" She walks off briskly, almost as if she's running away before I can ask her anymore questions.

I sit back down on the couch, confused. I know I just met her sister today, but she's definitely acting jittery for a particular reason. I think to myself. What does she mean by Queenie being 'too busy'?

Shut up, you nosy girl! I have an internal war with my conscious. What's it matter to you? Your friend is probably dropping one in the toilet! But why would her sister act all weird about something as common as that? I counter my own thought. Wouldn't she have just said that Queenie was in the bathroom?

I lean back on the couch. Sure Queenie has every right to keep a secret from me, but she usually isn't one to do so. Whatever she's doing, her sister is covering it up for her. Now that I'm positive that Queenie is hiding something from me, the real debate is whether or not I should investigate further.

Don't even think about it. I know the logical, morally correct answer, but...I can't help but put this together now. Come on: I'm her friend. There's no need for her to hide anything from me.

Quietly I get up from the couch and, taking the softest steps possible, climb the stairs up to the next level. I glance over to the left of the stairs: Queenie's room is over there, and probably Queenie herself.

What's going on with you? I still tread softly upon approaching her room, the door closed. Is her sister inside as well? It makes sense considering she went to retrieve the pillow that I left inside. What's stalling her?

I'm ten feet away when I hear voices talking.

"You really need to leave before someone sees you. She's downstairs, you know."

That's Diane's voice. That's what you think.

"And hurry up! My mom doesn't know you're here either." That's definitely Queenie.

What the hell...?

The next voice is the most distinct of them all; the one that lodges my heart in my throat and freezes me to the spot.

"Alright. I'm going."

It's a guy's voice. And not just any guy.

It's the sound of a Jay.

No way... I try my hardest to back away towards the stairwell, but I can't move.

"Please tell me you didn't have her pillow on the bed while you two were..." I tune out the rest of what Diane says. No, no, no, no, no.

"Please, I put her pillow on top of the trunk!" Queenie shrieks.

The entire place is spinning around me. I put my hands on either side of my head. My knees wobble. The concussion takes its toll on me and knocks me to the ground. A thud fills the air around me.

"What was that?" I hear Jay ask.

Swiftly the door opens by Diane, and her eyes widen at the sight of me. "Vivian!" She says. "I was on my way downstairs."

I climb to my feet and barge into the room, swerving around Diane.

The sight in front of me is enough to make me wretch. Queenie is sitting under the covers in just a bra, staring back at me with a gaze of pure shock. Jay himself is beside the bed, without his cap, frozen to the spot with the same expression as Queenie's, and in the process of putting on his jeans. He isn't wearing a shirt either.

"Vivian." Queenie says. "Listen to me-"

"I'm just here for my pillow." I don't recognize the sound of my voice. It's robotic and high-pitched. I don't move my gaze from her as I grab my pillow. "My dad's waiting in the car. Sorry I interrupted."

And then I turn and walk away as fast as I can. I ignore both Queenie and Diane calling after me while I run down the stairs and out of the front door.

I leap down the stairs of the front porch and open the passenger door to dad's minivan.

"What kept you?" Dad asks me.

I slam the door. "Nothing. Let's just go."

"You alright?"

"Can we please just go home?" I look at him, tears welling up my vision.

He just stares back at me, then he finally starts the engine.

Dad plays an upbeat song on the radio, but it only makes me feel worse. I just stare out of my window and let the tears fall from my eyes.