The Neighbor's Secret(49)

She crossed to their side of the hall, hovered a few feet away from them, inched close enough to hear Haley’s voice, clear and loud, punch her in the ear.

“She’s out of control.”

One wide step and Annie was between the girls, inches from the painting, close enough to smell the not-quite-dry acrylic. “Who’s out of control?”

Haley’s eyes narrowed. Sierra blushed.

“Who?” Annie repeated. She didn’t care about the boundaries she had just bulldozed through, because she knew exactly who they were talking about.

The moodiness, the night “runs,” after which Annie would surreptitiously sniff her daughter’s jacket, check its pockets for bottle caps.

Who else could it be?

Laurel was out of control. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. And, as Lena had said over Christmas: better to intervene.

“Sierra,” Annie said in her best strict-teacher voice. “You’re coming with me.”



* * *



“Someone needs to do something,” Sierra said. She took a bite of the red velvet cupcake and held it out to Annie. “Splitsies? It’s so good.”

“All yours,” Annie said.

Annie had bribed Sierra with the cupcake from the teachers’ lounge, but it hadn’t been necessary. Sierra was an open book, happy to miss a few minutes of English to spill everything about Se?ora Bemis, the new Spanish teacher, who was apparently totally out of control.

“Two tests in two weeks isn’t helpful to anyone.” Sierra spoke with her mouth full of frosting. “No one is learning, no one understands what she’s saying because she only talks in Spanish. And she hit Joshua Flake. In class.”

“Se?ora Bemis hit Josh?”

“Well, she tapped his backpack. With a pencil. But hard. I could hear it three rows away. Teachers should not be touching students. Isn’t that, like, a violation of Me Too?”

To move things back on track, Annie tilted her head, pretended to silently contemplate how to solve a problem like Se?ora Bemis.

She waited a beat before asking, “How’s Laurel doing?”

“She’s taking French.” Sierra didn’t bother to disguise her pity at how out of the loop Annie was.

“Yes. I know, I mean—is she drinking?”

“No.” Sierra’s eyes widened. “We all got the message, Annie: Alcohol bad. Very, very bad.”

“I worry about Laurel. About all of you guys.”

“Aw.” Sierra’s brow furrowed in sympathy. “But she’s so healthy, with all the marathon obsession.”

Marathon?

Given that her daughter had grumbled through every cross-country unit in PE, it had not occurred to Annie that Laurel was genuinely passionate about running. She’d assumed it was a cover for alone time. Or sneaking into neighbors’ garages to steal from their coolers.

Laurel was planning to run a marathon?

“Laurel’s planning to run a marathon,” Annie said haltingly.

Sierra nodded. “If anyone can do it, it’s Laurel, but a marathon is, like, twenty-six point two miles? Did you know that?”

Was it even legal for a fourteen-year-old to run a marathon? Wasn’t some sort of parental permission required?

“But don’t worry, Annie, because she’s being so healthy, like no junk food, tons of vegan protein bars and water. She wouldn’t get drunk, even if, like, Haley and I pushed a bottle in her hand and chanted, drink, drink, drink.”

Sierra laugh-snorted, then quickly stopped herself, straightened her posture and made her face angelic. “Not that we would ever do that.”

“Hm,” Annie said.

On its face, running sounded like a perfectly healthy hobby, but alcohol abuse and exercise abuse were both addictions.

“She really loves running,” Sierra said in a “Scout’s honor” tone. “Like really.” She peeled the cupcake’s pink wrapper, popped the last bit in her mouth. “Did my mom tell you, I think I’m going to dump Zack? He’s nice but a sloppy kisser.”

Good grief.

Sierra blinked myopically, waiting for advice. Really, you could dole it out until your face went blue, but they never took it.

“Don’t ever waste time kissing someone you don’t like kissing,” Annie managed.

“I know, right?” Sierra nodded with enthusiasm.

“Let’s not tell Laurel about this conversation? I just don’t want to make her feel—”

“Like you’re crazy?” Sierra said a little too quickly. She had a sly smile and her eyebrows had arched high.

I’m not crazy, Annie wanted to scream. I’m the only one paying attention.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE



Twenty minutes before dinner, Annie found Laurel cross-legged in the laundry closet, her back wedged in the crack between the washer and dryer, her head bowed over her science textbook.

“You can’t be comfortable,” Annie said.

Laurel shrugged.

Last year, Annie would have just blurted out the question—what’s this insanity about a marathon?

But their entire relationship had been different last year. Laurel had been reachable. There had been hugs. Voluntary hugs, right up until October.