Part 21 (1/2)

Tommy poked his head in, his brown hair scruffy with sleep. ”You're in the paper.”

”What?” I sat up in bed.

”Dad says you're in the paper. He's kinda mad.”

I threw the covers back and grabbed my robe on the way out of my room. How in the world was I in the paper?

My dad was sitting at the kitchen table, forking a breakfast ham. He didn't look up.

”Dad? What's going on?”

He pushed the paper over toward the empty chair across from him. I sat down and scanned the headlines. At the bottom of the front page, I found it. MAYOR'S DAUGHTER AT CENTER OF CHRISTMAS DANCE BRAWL. Beneath the headline was a fuzzy picture of me just after Jack and I had been knocked down. It looked like it'd been taken by a camera phone, and it looked ten times worse than it was.

I shoved the paper aside without reading further. ”I didn't start it, Dad.”

He took a long sip from his mug of coffee, his eyes still focused on the paper. ”It doesn't matter, Nikki. What matters is how it looks.”

”But it's not the truth.”

”Haven't you learned anything? It's not necessarily about the truth. It's about how people perceive a thing that makes it damaging. What does it really matter where you were for six months, when people are going to think what they want to think? In the absence of proof, all that matters is perception.” He picked up the paper, and I realized this was about more than just the photo. ”I can't fight this. The article says I have no comment, because the only choice you've given me is to hope that it goes away. And in an election, nothing goes away.”

”But what I do shouldn't make a difference,” I mumbled.

”You know better than that. Tomorrow's headlines will read something like, 'How Can the Mayor Run the City When He Can't Even Run His Household?' What am I supposed to do with you? Do I have to hire a nanny for my seventeen-year-old daughter? Do I have to stay home from the office? Send you to a private school? Tell me.”

”No, Dad. It won't happen again.” I got up to leave. ”But it wasn't my fault.”

”That may be true. But pictures”-he held up the paper- ”drown out everything else. My denials will be like ... a whisper at a rock concert. No one will hear it.”

”So you're not mad about what really happened.” I smacked the paper on the table. ”You're just mad about the picture.”

He stared at me and breathed through his nose. ”You may have cost me the election.” He cut off a large chunk of ham and shoved it in his mouth. ”Maybe I should've sent you to live with Aunt Grace. Or even to a boarding school.”

I looked away.

”Mrs. Ellingson is on her way over.”

”Okay.” Time to pee in a cup. At least I knew I couldn't mess that up.

The next week pa.s.sed in the flap of a bird's wing. Jack was avoiding me, I still hadn't seen Mary, and I'd damaged my dad's bid for reelection. All in all, not what I'd intended for my Return.

The chance to make things right with my dad came the last week of Christmas vacation, when his latest campaign flyers arrived. I promised him I would help distribute them. The volunteers were to meet at campaign headquarters on Apple Blossom Road.

Today the sun was reflecting off the latest layer of snow in the town, making it seem a lot warmer than it actually was. When I got to the office, my dad was at a desk near the back, talking to a tall man with thick dark hair. He motioned me back.

I walked toward them and stood awkwardly while my dad finished his conversation. The man was talking about labor unions. He had an accent. I hoped my dad wouldn't include me in the conversation, because he had a tendency to provide English-to-English translation for me. As if I were too young to understand someone with an accent. It was always embarra.s.sing.

Before my dad could speak to me, however, the front door rattled, and Jack and Jules walked in. Jack shoved his hands deep in his jacket pockets, as if to warm them. He kept his eyes down. My breath stopped in my chest. We hadn't spoken since that night in his room.

What are you, Nikki?

I shook my head, trying to clear the memory. Jules spotted me and waved.

I'd started to walk toward them when Percy Jones, my dad's campaign manager, called everyone to attention near the front door to organize the distribution of flyers and maps.

Jack grabbed a stack and Jules picked a route map, and then they came to me in the back.

”Hey,” Jules said.

Jack kept his gaze on the wall with the posters and didn't look up when I said hi. ”Percy called me,” Jules said. ”I guess I signed the volunteer list ... a while ago.”

”Oh. That's nice of you.”

We stood silent for a moment before Jules held up the map she had gotten from Percy. ”We have the block north of Maplehurst. It's big. You want to come with us?”

I glanced at my dad, who was still talking to the man with the accent. He caught my eye and waved me away.

”Sure,” I said, turning back to them.

Jules tilted her head toward the exit. ”Great. Let's go. Jack, give us a few of those.”

Jack divvied up the pile. His fingers brushed mine as he handed me several flyers, and then he handed Jules the rest and shoved his hands in his pockets again.

We walked out into the cold, and I remembered something in my bag. I reached inside and pulled out a pair of gloves I had knitted-with Jack's hands in mind-days ago, and held them out to him without a word.

Jack stopped. He looked at the gloves in my hand, then at my face, and his lips twitched a little bit before he reached out to take them. He put them on. They were a little big. The fingertips of the one on his left hand flopped around a bit. He looked like he was wearing two doilies.

I shrugged.

Jules turned away and pretended to study the map. She pointed up a hill. ”We're supposed to start this way.”

The three of us started walking the map, Jules in the middle. After a few failed attempts at conversation, we stopped trying to talk altogether. Our route took us near the soup kitchen, and as we went by, the side door opened and Christopher appeared. He spotted me and waved, and I stopped.

”Hey, Nikki. How's it going?” He turned a key in the door to lock it, and then walked toward us.

Jules and Jack stopped too.

”Hi,” I said. ”We're just delivering stuff. For my dad.”

Christopher glanced at Jules and Jack and stuck his hand out toward Jack. ”I'm Christopher. I work with Nikki at the kitchen.”

Jack took his hand. Christopher stared at the homemade glove.

”I'm Jack. I didn't know she worked there.”

Christopher shook Jules's hand next. ”Yeah. Every Sat.u.r.day. You know, we're always looking for more help if either of you would like to do some good.”