Cheshire Girl

Ch. 22

I'd managed to fall asleep at some point.  I woke up Tuesday morning surprised that I wasn't exhausted.  I told Mom I was staying after school again, with Ethan, and she didn't have any shopping for me to do—thankfully.

                I was already halfway over to Charlie's when I remembered I was going to tell her everything, including the pool activities I'd found myself involved in. 

                But I didn't want to talk about! 

                This was the part of friendships I started to suck at when my parents were divorcing.  The last thing I wanted to do was talk about it.  I hung out with my friends to avoid talking about my problems—but they wanted to talk about it all the time.  Did they secretly enjoy hearing my problems because they didn't have any of their own?

                I shook that all away.  This was different—life and death, actually.  And this was Charlie Jones I was thinking about.  She didn't think like the other Cheshire girls.  I actually trusted Charlie.

                Thinking of which, she was sitting on her porch by the time I pulled up.  Charlie rushed down and into the car.  "Mind if I turn up the heater?" she said between her chattering teeth.

                "Go for it.  Why didn't you wait inside?"

                "Everybody's gone.  My parents went first, and then Celia took Ian to school since I'm riding with you.  I rushed out because I thought you were coming an hour early, but when I locked the door I remembered you said only half an hour early.  And my keys are on the kitchen table."

                "So you locked yourself out?"

                Charlie sighed.  "Yeah….  I hate when that happens in cold weather.  Anyway," she rummaged through her backpack.  "I finished the diary—neglecting history homework, but, oh well.  Boring throughout.  I bet all the good stuff was in those last pages.  There's no other diary?"

                I took the diary and put it in my backpack.  "Not that I've found, no."  I never actually looked, but… what were the odds?

                "So," said Charlie as I pulled away from her house.  "How'd yesterday with Ethan go?"

                "I almost drowned."

                She laughed.  When I didn't, she immediately turned serious.  "What?"

                That first statement was a weird way to start, but I managed to keep going and tell her all that happened—including what I'd seen with Beatrice and the pages.  Charlie's eyes widened when I recalled what Celia had seen for me the day I met her.

                Because I was still embarrassed, I left out all the stuff Ethan and I had talked about while he'd helped me.  I figured that was 'Ethan and I' business, and maybe he wouldn't like it if I just… I don't know, gossiped everything to someone else.  Besides, most of it had been about me.  Today was definitely going to be about him.

                Anyway, I also included Beatrice's second(?) visit last night, and what I'd found behind the painting.  I went ahead and assumed that I was right, that Ethan had the thirteen pages somewhere in his house.

                It wasn't until I found a space in the school parking lot (near the Cheshire Foxes sign, actually) that Charlie finally made a sound: