Destination Unknown Read online

  I squelched a rude reply as I stared at her. I’d heard this speech repeatedly since I was in middle school. It was my mother’s dream for me to go to her alma mater and join her sorority as a legacy. Note: her dream, not mine.

  “I’ll be fine, Mom. I only messed up one test. I’ll do better next time.” I sipped my iced tea and hoped my mother would drop the subject.

  “No, this won’t do. You could lose your admission, and I can’t stand for that. It’s unacceptable. I was able to get into KU due to my good grades and scholarships. I don’t want you to miss this chance, Whitney. I only want the best for you. Your father and I vowed to give you and Logan the best opportunities we could, and KU is one of them.” She studied the letter with renewed focus. “I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Jenkins about it.”

  “You called my guidance counselor?” I asked with disgust.

  “Yes, I did.” Mom sat up taller. “It’s my responsibility to make certain you do your best. Your guidance counselor and I agree that you need a tutor.”

  “No.” I enunciated the word. “I don’t need any help. I can figure it out myself.”

  “Don’t you talk back to me, Whitney Jean.” My mother pointed a well-manicured finger at me. “I know what’s best for you, and you need a tutor. Mrs. Jenkins is going to speak with your math teacher and set up something through the peer mentoring program. That’s the end of it.”

  “This is humiliating!” I stood and flailed my arms with renewed irritation. “I’m a part of the peer mentoring program. I’ve mentored kids in English and Spanish for four years. I can’t possibly have a tutor when I am a tutor.”

  My mother tilted her head and squinted, peering at me as if I’d just declared myself an alien visiting from the planet Jupiter. “Why can’t peer mentors tutor other mentors? Is that in the rule book somewhere?”

  “No,” I mumbled. I tossed my apple core into the trash, grabbed my backpack, and started toward the stairs. “I’m going to my room.” I pointed toward the box of candy on the table. “Logan can have that candy. I don’t want it.”

  “Wait a minute.” My mother stood. “Don’t think you’re going to get a progress report and not be punished for it.”

  I spun toward her. “Isn’t being forced to get a tutor punishment enough?”

  “Needing a tutor isn’t punishment. It’s a good idea to admit when you need help. Don’t act like it’s the end of the world.” Mom jammed her hand on her hip. “You’re grounded for two weeks. You’ll only leave this house to go to school and church. No social gatherings.”

  “But Tiffany’s throwing a party tomorrow night.”

  “I don’t care. You need to take your grades seriously, Whitney.”

  “I do take them seriously, Mom. You already know I do my best, which is why this is my first grade below a B.”

  “Graduation is coming fast.”

  “I know.” I started toward the stairs again. “Not fast enough,” I muttered while climbing to the second floor.

  I moved past my younger brother’s room and spotted him holding a video-game controller and wearing a headset while yelling at the television. I assumed he was playing an online video game with one of his Xbox buddies. I wondered how he’d managed to play video games instead of doing his homework. I pushed the thought away, knowing he was constantly in trouble with Mom about his grades. Perhaps it was my turn to carry the burden so he could enjoy a break from Mom today.

  My steps slowed as I approached the guest room where my cousin, Emily, had stayed when she and her father lived with us for eighteen months. Emily and Uncle Brad had moved to Castleton to rebuild their lives after my aunt Claire died of cancer and my uncle lost his business.

  I’d felt a mixture of happiness and regret when Emily moved out of our house shortly before Christmas. Although I was happy she and Uncle Brad were financially able to find a place to rent, I knew I’d miss our late-night girl talks. I could’ve used one of those girl talks today after breaking up with Brett and coming home to a mortifying progress report and subsequent lecture from my mom. Emily would’ve listened and understood, whereas my mother was so focused on my grades being perfect that she didn’t even ask how my day was. I didn’t get the opportunity to tell Mom about Brett and his lousy idea of Valentine’s Day.

  I stepped into my room, which still had the same light-pink walls and white furniture I’d begged for in elementary school. I dropped my backpack on the floor in front of my walk-in closet and then flopped onto my bed. The whole day felt like a dream that had gone from bad to worse. The rumor of my failed relationship with Brett would spread like wildfire at Tiffany’s party tomorrow night.

  Although I knew in my heart that Brett wasn’t the right guy for me, I felt as if he and I were friends. We hung out with the same people, and we spent time together both at school and on weekends. I’d hoped that maybe someday we’d feel more like a couple. We weren’t the best match, but it made sense that we would date, since Tiffany and Kristin were dating his two best friends, Spencer and Doug. Now our friend group wouldn’t be the same. Things would be awkward when the six of us were together. I imagined the dream of the six of us heading to prom together in a limousine disappearing in a puff of smoke. After all, Brett certainly wouldn’t be my prom date if we were no longer a couple, and I knew I’d rather go alone than with him.

  Prom, however, wasn’t the only issue haunting my thoughts. Deep down it hurt that he’d broken up with me. I’d never imagined that he’d reject me, especially in the parking lot after school on Valentine’s Day. Brett rejected me, and then I arrived home only to find out my grade point average was shot. And now I was destined to miss Tiffany’s party. It seemed things couldn’t possibly get any worse.

  I groaned when I thought of the party. I rolled to my side and spotted my iPhone peeking out from the side pocket of my powder-blue backpack across the room. I needed to text Tiffany and Kristin to tell them I wouldn’t make it to the party tomorrow night, but I needed to first come up with a good excuse for not attending. How could I admit that I, Whitney Richards, aka Miss Straight As, needed help with calculus?

  A number of fibs rolled through my mind as I fetched my phone. I could tell my friends I had to babysit my brother while my parents went out, but my brother was eleven and hadn’t required a babysitter for a couple of years now. I considered inventing a fake church or family event, but both would require colorful backstories and details. Finally, I decided to feign a twenty-four-hour stomach flu, which would begin tomorrow morning and end Sunday night. That seemed the easiest and less embarrassing excuse for missing the party.

  I placed the phone on the bedside table and stared up at the white ceiling as humiliation coursed through me. I’d been certain I understood the calculus concepts prior to the test, and seeing the D on my test paper last week had knocked the wind out of me. I never imagined Mr. Turner would send out a progress report to my parents and completely crush both my confidence and self-esteem. I thought I’d have a chance to rebound and bring my grade up to at least a B-plus without my parents ever knowing about my flubbed test.

  An idea hit me, and I sat up straight on the bed. If I studied all weekend, I could ask Mr. Turner to give me a retest. And if all went as planned, I would bring up my grade, which would make my mother happy and prevent the embarrassment of having a tutor.

  I popped up from the bed, grabbed my book, and then sat at my desk. As I turned to the current chapter in the book, I closed my eyes and sent up a quick prayer, begging God to help me understand calculus. I then set about proving I didn’t need anyone to help me pass calculus. I could do it on my own.

  chapter two

  Kristin climbed into my Jeep Monday morning and slammed the door with emphasis. “What’s going on with you? I’ve been worried about you. You never answered my texts all weekend.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I was really sick until last night, and I didn’t look at my phone after I texted you and Tiff.” I backed out of her driveway and steered through
the neighborhood, hoping I sounded convincing. I’d texted Kristin and Tiffany Saturday afternoon and told them I was suffering from stomach flu, and then I’d avoided their text messages the rest of the weekend. While pretending to be sick, I’d spent all weekend studying calculus and trying my hardest to make sense out of the confusing concepts.

  “How are you feeling now?” She turned to me looking concerned.

  “Fine.” I kept my eyes on the road ahead. Avoiding eye contact was my best option for seeming genuine. “It was a twenty-four-hour thing, so I’m all better now. Tell me about the party.”

  “You missed the most awesome party Saturday night.” She sat up straight in the seat as if to brace herself for quite a story. “It turns out Monica Barnes and Paul Jefferson have been cheating on each other. It all came to a head in the middle of Tiffany’s family room around midnight.”

  Kristin launched into a complicated story I didn’t really care to hear while we drove through Castleton and merged onto the main road.

  “It was quite a scene,” Kristin said, concluding the story. “Monica left in a huff, and Paul tried to stop her.”

  “Wow.” I felt her eyes studying me, and I cleared my throat. “It sounds like they put on a show.”

  “Were you really sick?”

  I gave her a sideways glance. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Well …” Kristin touched my shoulder. “Brett told us you broke up on Friday. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve been there for you.”

  “Oh. That.” I shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I think it was sort of a mutual thing even though he initiated it.” And I was telling her the truth. I’d awakened Saturday completely fine. The hurt was gone and replaced with relief. I no longer felt obligated to be his girlfriend, and I wasn’t worried about how the breakup would affect our clique. Instead, I was more focused on calculus and worried about ruining my nearly-perfect GPA.

  Kristin looked unconvinced. “I thought you guys were happy.”

  Is she serious? I bit back a sarcastic remark. “I think we were just sort of biding our time until graduation.”

  “I just wish you’d told me. You didn’t have to stay home from the party because of being embarrassed. I mean, everyone goes through a breakup now and then. We could’ve drowned your sorrows in chocolate together.”

  “I’m doing okay. Really, I am.”

  She studied me again. “So you really were sick over the weekend?”

  “Yeah.” Sick of calculus. “But I’m fine now.”

  “Oh, good. Well, let me tell you more about the party. Tiffany looked spectacular. She and Spencer are so happy.” Her expression transformed into a scowl. “But things won’t be the same now that you and Brett broke up. We won’t be able to do things together as couples. Tiffany and I were talking about that Saturday night. We’re going to really miss that.”

  “It’s okay. Really, it is.” I found myself consoling her over my breakup, and it was weird. It was even stranger that I was over the heartbreak. Yet my friends seemed more upset about the fact that Brett and I seemed like the perfect couple than the fact that my heart was supposedly crushed. I pondered that notion while Kristin kept talking.

  “I wish the three of us could be happy with our boyfriends again, but you’ll find someone before prom, Whitney. I’m sure of it.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure of it too.” I shook my head, thinking that there was definitely more to life than finding my true love at the age of eighteen.

  Kristin talked on about the party while I drove the rest of the way to school. I parked in my usual spot near the front of the lot, and then we made our way toward a group of friends waiting by the door. I greeted my friends and made small talk about the weekend. When the bell rang, I went over the speech I’d prepared for calculus class. I was determined to prove to Mr. Turner and my mom that I didn’t need a tutor. I could pass calculus with flying colors on my own.

  Mr. Turner was in the middle of explaining our homework when the bell rang at the end of calculus. “Whitney,” he said, making eye contact with me. “Please stay so I can talk to you for a few minutes.”

  I nodded, trying to ignore the curious stares around me.

  While the other students filed out of the classroom, I lingered behind, pretending to organize my books in my backpack. After the last student left, I made my way through the sea of desks to Mr. Turner’s at the front of the room.

  “You wanted to talk to me.” I fingered the zipper on my CHS cheer Windbreaker, hoping to appear more confident than I felt.

  “Whitney.” Mr. Turner pulled off his glasses and gave me an overly sweet and encouraging expression. “Your mother called Mrs. Jenkins to say she was very upset when she received your progress report.”

  “I know.” I closed my hand around the strap on my backpack. “Believe me, I know.”

  “Mrs. Jenkins asked that we find you a tutor.” He pointed at me with his glasses. “I have a fantastic tutor in mind. He’s all but taught my classes. I’m certain the kid is a genius. I know he can—”

  “Wait.” I held up my hand. “Excuse me for interrupting, but I have a better idea. I studied all weekend long, and I think I can retake the test and do better. You know I always work hard. If you just let me retake the unit test and do some extra credit, I’m certain I can get at least a B.”

  Mr. Turner’s expression clouded, and my hope sank. “Whitney, I’m sorry. There are plenty of kids struggling, and I can’t give you any special privileges.”

  “Oh, no, no. I didn’t mean I wanted special privileges or an advantage.” Heat crept up from the base of my neck, and my mind raced. Why couldn’t I remember the speech I’d prepared? I babbled, saying anything that came to mind. “I know I can do better. I just need more time. I promise I’ll study extra hard. I know I can do this on my own, Mr. Turner. I know I can.”

  “I think the tutor will give you the extra help you need. He’s good. I’ve recommended him to a few of my other students, and they quickly brought failing grades up to a C.”

  “A C?” Panic surged through me. He had to be kidding me. I couldn’t bear the thought of not getting at least a B-plus!

  Mr. Turner chuckled. “Not everyone gets As all the time, Whitney. Every once in a while you might struggle a bit, but that’s a part of life.” He put his glasses back on and picked up a notepad and pen. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Jenkins today and arrange for a tutor to start this week. I think a session once a week would work for you. Once you get the concepts down, you’ll be fine. I’ll have it all set up by tomorrow, and the tutor will contact you.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I started toward the door, and my shoulders hunched as I accepted my fate. Maybe just one session would work for me. I’d pass the next test, and everything would be just fine.

  After school I stood in the parking lot flanked by Tiffany, Kristin, Doug, and Spencer. I greeted a few students who walked by, and they responded with waves. Although I was standing with my best friends, I felt out of place without Brett by my side until I remembered I wasn’t dating him anymore. I didn’t exactly miss being his girlfriend, but I suddenly felt like I didn’t belong.

  “So, how about a movie tonight, Kristin?” Tiffany elbowed Kristin in her side. “Spencer and I are going, and we’d love you and Doug to join us.” She glanced toward me. “Oh, and you can come too, Whitney.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t. I have a ton of homework.” Not only did I dread being a fifth wheel, but I also could never admit I was grounded for a bad grade. My friends used to call me Whitney “Ruin the Curve” Richards. I couldn’t stand the humiliation if they started calling me Whitney “Progress Report” Richards instead.

  “You study too much.” Spencer stood behind Tiffany, wound his arms around her waist, and pulled her to his chest. “All work and no play makes Whitney a dull girl.”

  I glared at him. “You expect me to listen to advice from a straight-C student?”

  “Burn!” Doug laughed and punched Spencer
in the shoulder. “She got you, Spence!”

  Brett jogged up to the group and grinned at his fellow football players. “What’s so funny?”

  Although I felt like a fifth wheel without Brett, I didn’t want to hang out with him either. I waved and stepped away from the group. “I have to go. See you all tomorrow.”

  “Wait.” Brett jammed his hands in his pockets. “You don’t need to go because of me. We’re still friends, right?”

  I forced my sweetest smile. “Don’t flatter yourself, Brett. I’m leaving because I have to go, not because of you.”

  “Wow. She’s on a roll, huh? She told Spencer off, and now Brett.” Doug looped his arm around Kristin’s shoulders. “You’re getting mouthy, Whitney. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” I adjusted my backpack on my shoulder. “I just need to get home. That’s all. I have to study for a …”

  “Whitney!” a voice called from behind me.

  I turned and spotted Taylor Martinez waving toward me as he stood near the bike rack.

  “Is Martinez talking to you?” Kristin asked.

  “I don’t know.” I studied Taylor, and he waved again.

  “Yes, I’m calling you, Whitney Richards,” Taylor said. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “What does Taylor Martinez want with you?” Brett sneered. “Charity?”

  “Hey,” I snapped at Brett. “That’s not funny and not cool.”

  Doug snickered, and I swallowed the urge to yell at him as I walked toward Taylor, who was dressed in tight blue jeans and a faded-green army jacket that reminded me of one my uncle Brad said he bought at Goodwill. Taylor lifted a helmet off the motorcycle behind him.

  As I approached him, I wondered how he had gotten so tall. I’d know Taylor since kindergarten when I was the tallest kid in the class. In fact, I was the tallest student until middle school. However, I hadn’t noticed that Taylor had shot up in height and was now a few inches taller than I was. My eyes were drawn to his face, which had transformed from a chubby elementary student’s face to a thin young man’s face. I’d never before noted that he had a pouty mouth, with full lips, or that his hair was so thick, dark, and curly.