White Lies (Sweet Valley High Book 52) Page 5

  Elizabeth shook her head, still smiling. But inwardly she was disturbed. To everyone else it seemed like just a silly, unimportant argument. But Elizabeth knew Jessica was earnest. And she wondered how much longer Jessica and A.J. could go on disagreeing so strongly without having it affect their romance.

  Seven

  "Don't forget, I'll be collecting your dissection reports at the end of class," Mr. Hamilton announced. The biology teacher made his way around the different stations, commenting on the dissections in progress. Jennifer watched him distractedly. Finally he reached her side.

  "How's it coming?" he asked, giving her an encouraging smile.

  Jennifer blushed, and shrugged noncommittally. She was going through the motions without caring about the project at all. "I—OK, I guess."

  "Any questions?"

  How about "Would you please leave me alone?" she asked him silently. She didn't want to be there and didn't care what kind of digestive system an earthworm had. It all seemed so pointless that she could have screamed.

  And the way people had been looking at her since Monday—she didn't care about that, either. It was Wednesday, and she had been living this nightmare for five days, but she couldn't help noticing the speculative glances, the undisguised curiosity in the other students' faces. Everyone knew by now she had been going out with Rick and that he was in jail. Any scrap of scandal would make their day, she thought bitterly. But she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing her get upset.

  They can all jump in the ocean, she said to herself. I never want to talk to any of them again.

  None of them could understand how she felt as a result of Rick's arrest. No one could know how hurt and betrayed she felt. Her heart was like a tight knot inside her chest. Knowing that her father, who had always been so fair and dependable, could have stabbed her in the back this way . . .

  Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut to blot out her thoughts, but the pain didn't go away. For the rest of the class, she thought about how much she missed Rick. Then she handed in her report and escaped into the hallway. Just going through the motions of her life hurt so much, she was almost numb.

  "Hi. Wait up."

  The familiar voice stopped Jennifer as she hurried to the stairs. At least there was one person she could bear talking to. She turned to face John Pfeifer.

  "Hi," she echoed.

  He shifted his books from one hand to the other. "What's your next class? English, right?"

  "Right."

  "Come on. I'm going that way, too." Without a backward glance, John set off down the stairway.

  Jennifer stared at his back for a moment, slightly surprised. In five days John hadn't asked a single question about Rick's arrest, hadn't said anything about her botched plans to go to New York. Nothing. He was just the same old friendly, dependable John.

  Halfway down the stairs he stopped and turned around, giving her a questioning glance. "Coming?"

  Nodding, she hugged her books to her chest and headed down. As she reached the step he was on, he matched his steps with hers, not speaking, as they continued together. Suddenly Jennifer felt a flicker of gratitude toward John. He was always so easy to get along with, so nonjudgmental. There wasn't even a hint of curiosity in him, even though he knew better than anyone how much she loved Rick and what a disaster his arrest was for her. And she knew if she ever felt like talking about it, John would be there to listen, just as he'd always been.

  But I can't talk about it yet—it hurts too much.

  "Well, see you later," John said.

  Startled, she looked up. They were outside her English class, and John was smiling at her with his usual warm, open smile. For some reason that smile hurt her. Her throat tight, she nodded and turned to go inside.

  "Hi, Jennifer," Lila Fowler said with a fake smile. She was just leaving the room for her own next class, and her light brown eyes glittered with malicious curiosity. "Did you find out yet who put Rick in jail?"

  Jennifer darted a pained look at Lila and hurried to her seat without answering. She already knew who had put Rick in jail. It was her own father. And that was why it hurt so much.

  "Now, come on," Jessica said in a coaxing tone. She dragged A.J. toward the Sweet Valley High tennis courts and grinned at him impishly. "A basketball star like you—you can play tennis. It's simple. A nice, relaxing after-school game."

  A.J. dragged his feet, but he smiled back at her, his eyes dancing with laughter. "Sure, Jess. Sure."

  "And besides," she went on in a challenging tone, "you can beat a girl, can't you?"

  "Depends on the girl," A.J. joked. He yelped as Jessica poked him in the ribs with her racket. Then he followed her in through the gate.

  Jessica took a firm stance at the baseline at the opposite end of the court and bounced a ball a few times. "Now, most important is follow-through, A.J." She looked at him over the net. He looked fantastic in tennis whites, she thought. She decided it was the way his white shirt emphasized his red hair and his tan that made him so irresistible. A.J. was a natural athlete, and she knew he could play tennis if he tried. And since she played tennis a lot, she wanted him to try.

  Grinning, Jessica blew A.J. a kiss, then sent him an ace serve. He swiped wildly with his racket and stumbled backward.

  "Hey! Wakefield, you watch it," he said, scowling severely.

  "Oops. Sorry." She gave him another innocent, angelic smile and paused for a moment to watch a slim, auburn-haired girl walk onto the next court with a hopper of balls. While Jessica watched, the girl plucked two balls from the basket, pocketed one and tossed the other up into the air. In a blinding flash she brought up her racket and sent the ball smashing across the net.

  "Nice serve!" Jessica called out. She gave the girl an appraising look. She had seen her around school a few times but wasn't sure what her name was.

  "I'm Jessica Wakefield, and this is A.J. Morgan." A.J. saluted with his racket.

  "Hi, I'm Kristin Thompson."

  Jessica recognized the name of Sweet Valley's up-and-coming tennis star. "Maybe we can hit a few balls sometime."

  To her surprise Jessica noticed that Kristin was trying not to smile. "Well—OK. Sometime," the girl said in a neutral tone.

  Jessica nodded haughtily, annoyed. She didn't need anyone patronizing her. Turning back to A.J., she put Kristin Thompson out of her mind. She was there to concentrate on her boyfriend, after all. "OK. Watch out, Morgan—and keep your racket back!"

  Jennifer sat in stony silence at the dinner table on Wednesday night, picking at her food. When she first realized what her father had done, she refused to eat with her parents at the table. But her mother insisted. "Eat with us like a civilized person, or don't eat at all," she said.

  But that didn't mean she had to look at her father, talk to him, or acknowledge his existence. It had been five days now, and Jennifer hadn't relented one bit.

  "How's school?" Mr. Mitchell said in a tight voice.

  Jennifer deliberately picked up her glass of milk and began drinking it, her eyes straight ahead. A tense, uncomfortable silence echoed through the room.

  "Jennifer Holland Mitchell—"

  "Honey!" Mrs. Mitchell interrupted hastily, shaking her head. "She'll come around," she continued in an irritated tone.

  "I will not come around." Jennifer spoke to her mother coldly. She glared at Mrs. Mitchell for a moment, aggravated because her mother wasn't bothering to return the look. Unexpectedly, though, her mother's face underwent a change as Jennifer watched. A look of alarm passed across it.

  "Brian—are you all right?"

  Mr. Mitchell dropped his knife and fork on the plate and let out a stifled grunt of pain. "Just heartburn," he muttered.

  Good. Now you know how I feel, Jennifer raged at him silently. My heart feels like it's been burned to a crisp.

  "It's this case—it's driving me up a wall," he went on. Mr. Mitchell's current court case had been dragging on for weeks, constantly getting bogged down in technic
alities.

  "Well, why don't you go take some antacid and lie down," Mrs. Mitchell suggested. Turning to Jennifer, she added, "And I'd like you to clear the table and wash up. Then take out the trash." Her tone was severe.

  Jennifer raised her gaze briefly to her mother's face. If her mother thought tough treatment would make her forgive her father, she was completely wrong.

  I'll never forgive him for what he did, Jennifer vowed.

  On Friday at lunch John went to the newspaper office to finish up a story about the girls' basketball team. The cluttered Oracle staff room was empty and quiet, and he sat for a while, musing. He couldn't help remembering the conversation he had had there with Elizabeth, when he had asked her for advice about Jennifer.

  Elizabeth had been right as usual, John thought. He was confident that Jennifer would get over losing Rick before long. At least she was still in Sweet Valley and not in New York. That was something to be glad about, and Jennifer still thought of him as a friend. As for Rick Andover, he was still in custody, awaiting a hearing.

  John was staring absently at the door when it opened and Jennifer stepped inside. He gaped at her, almost believing for a second that he was imagining her, since he had just been thinking about her. But she really was there.

  "Hi," she said shyly. She twisted a strand of her long blond hair and looked around the office. Her brown eyes turned back to him after a moment. "I had a feeling you'd be here."

  "Hi." Coming to his senses, John stood up from his chair and took a step toward her. He couldn't believe she had come looking for him! A warm flood of happiness washed over him. It actually could be the start of a whole new relationship for them!

  "Well, you were right," he added, feeling stupid. His cheeks grew pink as he looked at her. "I'm just working on a story."

  She rewarded him with a soft, wistful smile. "I won't bother you if you're busy. I can come back some other time."

  "No—come on, sit down. I'm finished. Actually, I'm not really doing anything."

  He watched in hopeful silence as she sank into a chair and propped her elbows up on the big conference table. She looked so forlorn and sad, he was tempted to go right over and hug her. "Everything OK?" he asked, fighting the urge.

  "I don't know," she said after a moment's thought. "I feel so—lost. Like I don't know what to do."

  John nodded in sympathy. "I know. It's really rotten luck."

  "Luck?" she scoffed. Her tone was surprisingly hard. "If you call having a mean, devious father who'd rather ruin your life than give you a shot at happiness bad luck . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she jutted her chin out stubbornly.

  A feeling of uneasiness settled in John's stomach. He grabbed the nearest chair and sat down quickly. He swallowed. "What do you mean about your father?"

  Jennifer drew a deep breath. "You know what he did? This is all his fault! That night when Rick and I were going to leave, my father listened to us on the phone, and then he called the police to frame Rick! That's what I mean," she concluded, her voice heavy with scorn and anger.

  "How—do you know?"

  "Oh, come on! It's obvious, isn't it? Besides, who else would have done it?" Jennifer said vehemently. "He did it—and I hate him for it. I hate him so much I could scream."

  Stunned, John sat staring at Jennifer, trying to absorb her harsh, bitter words.

  This wasn't supposed to happen! he cried silently. This is all wrong!

  From knowing the Mitchell family for so long, John knew Jennifer really loved her father. So for her to hate him now showed how upset and disappointed she was about Rick. And for her to ignore the evidence—Rick did have the stolen guitar when he was arrested, after all—meant she was too distraught to listen to reason. He knew he couldn't let her go on blaming her father for something he didn't do.

  But if I tell her I called the police, she'll hate me instead, John thought.

  "You never really know someone, do you?" Jennifer was saying. She slumped in her chair. "It's so hard to know who you can really trust."

  John nodded, too confused and frustrated to say anything. He felt like the biggest liar in the world, but he couldn't stand the thought of telling Jennifer the truth. He sensed she was opening up to him in a new way and that it might lead to something else—something wonderful. He couldn't risk losing that. Not now, not when he was so close.

  "I know what you mean," he heard himself saying.

  "Except you." Jennifer gave him a long, measuring look. Her large brown eyes were thoughtful as she said, "I always knew I could trust you. It's like we've known each other for so long—I don't know." She looked away. "I'm not making any sense."

  Through clenched teeth he repeated, "I know what you mean."

  There was a short silence. Jennifer stared across the newspaper office, seemingly far away, and John sat, feeling miserable, watching her.

  I have to say something—it's not fair, one side of his conscience argued.

  But I can tell she's starting to think differently about me—I can tell, the other side insisted.

  "Well," she began, pushing her chair back, "I should probably—"

  At that moment the public-address speaker hummed, and there was a crackling sound as someone blew into the microphone. "Attention," came one of the secretary's voices. "Attention, please. Will Jennifer Mitchell please come to the administration office immediately. Jennifer Mitchell to the administration office."

  Jennifer was frozen. She stared at the speaker up on the wall with wide, terrified eyes. Slowly she turned to look at John. "It's Rick—something's happened to him!"

  John's stomach tightened at the anxious note in her voice. She was still in love with Rick.

  I should've known, he told himself. You're a jerk to think she could start to like you already.

  "You'd better go and find out," he said. He hoped his voice didn't betray how hurt he felt.

  "Come with me, please?" Jennifer said, pleading with her eyes.

  John pushed himself up from his chair. "Sure. No problem. Let's go."

  In silence they hurried through the building to the administration office. John stole a quick glance at Jennifer as they walked and wasn't surprised to see an expression of fearful concern on her face.

  "Hi, I'm Jennifer Mitchell," she said as they entered the office.

  The secretary looked up and nodded tersely. Her expression was grave. "Your mother just phoned from the hospital, Jennifer. Your father is sick. I'll give you a pass to excuse you from the rest of school."

  John felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. Without thinking, he reached for Jennifer's hand. "Come on," he said, pulling her out into the hall again. "I'll take you to the hospital."

  "No." She yanked her hand away and planted herself firmly where she stood. "I don't want to go."

  He stared at her. "But, Jen—your father—"

  "No! I don't have anything to say to him," she insisted coldly.

  Sick with guilt, John stood staring at her, not knowing what to say. It was his fault that she felt this way about her father. If it weren't for him, she would rush to the hospital to be with her father.

  "Jennifer—I—"

  "Please back me up on this, John." Jennifer looked up at him with a hurt, tearful expression in her eyes. "You're the only friend I have now."

  Against his will, John felt himself nod. He couldn't say no when she put it that way. "All right," he said hoarsely. "Whatever you say."

  Eight

  Jessica flopped into a chair across from Amy Sutton and snapped open a can of soda. "Mondays are such a bore." She groaned. The weekend had gone by like a flash, over before it even started, it seemed. "The whole week to get through—sometimes I feel like I spend my whole life at school."

  Next to her at the cafeteria table Lila picked fastidiously at a plate of chicken salad. "Tell me about it," she muttered.

  "Maybe all we need is a little excitement," Amy suggested. She threw a speculative look around the crowded cafeteria. "Some
thing to stir things up."

  "How about some new guys?" Lila cocked one eyebrow and shrugged. "That would be a major improvement."

  Jessica snorted. Lila had already dated most of the decent available boys at school. In fact, she seemed to go through dates as quickly as arrogant Bruce Patman did.

  "Maybe some new categories in the slam books," Amy mused. "Some really juicy ones."

  The slam books had been Amy's most recent contribution to Sweet Valley High social life. Marbled notebooks with each page headed "Most Flirtatious" or "Biggest Jock" or some other category were circulated around the school. Anonymously, everyone filled in a name under each category, and the results had really caused a sensation.

  "How about 'Most Likely to End Up in Jail for Tax Evasion'?" Jessica offered with a grin. "I bet Lila gets a lot of votes."

  "Lila's accountant, you mean," Amy corrected her.

  Lila gave them both a withering look. "Please. Spare me." Lila's father was one of the richest men in Sweet Valley, and Lila often complained about her trust funds and tax shelters.

  A mischievous gleam came into Lila's eyes, though. She put down her fork carefully and twined her fingers together. "Actually, there are some things we should find out—off the record."

  Amy sat up straighter, looking interested. "What do you mean?"

  "Well—like 'Best Kisser,' " Lila explained. "I know for a fact that every girl automatically put in her own boyfriend, but that doesn't necessarily follow, you know. It's not impartial."

  Jessica let out a giggle. "Maybe we should do some field research—"

  "Take a survey," Amy cut in, laughing. "Serious hands-on research."

  Lila hooted. "Or we could interview Jess. She's dated half the boys in school—"

  "And you've dated the other half," Jessica interrupted. She tapped her cheek thoughtfully. "I hate to admit it, but Bruce is pretty good, believe me."

  Amy smirked. "I know."

  "But so is Tom McKay—"

  "Out of bounds," Lila interrupted with a giggle. "He's taken."