He shook his head.
“Good. I want that picture back.” Guess I’d decided to take the direct route.
He leaned against the railing, his face mostly in shadow. “Which one?”
I charged up the porch stairs and shoved him so hard he fell back a few steps. “You know which one. The one you took at the cabin. Of me in my bra.”
He caught his balance and came at me, thrusting his face in mine, his breath smelling eggy. “That’s my picture. I ain’t giving it back.”
“But it’s of me!”
“You said I could have it.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Too bad.”
White-hot rage washed over me. I glanced at his front door, preparing to run through it and charge into his room and turn everything upside down and inside out until I located that photo. My body must have telegraphed my intentions because Ant darted in front of me, leaning against the door, arms crossed. His wide mouth was set in an angry line below his Mr. Potato Head nose.
“You told Nillson that I had something to do with Brenda being gone,” he said, his tone accusatory.
I considered denying it but couldn’t see the point. “Did you?”
“No.”
My shoulder jerked. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
He watched me for a few beats, his blinks twitchy. “You remember how much we used to play? Like, we hung out all the time.”
“Yeah, and then you stopped coming by.” After we heard his dad yelling at him.
He shrugged, but the motion looked painful. “Things got tough at home. Didn’t mean I didn’t want to be friends anymore.”
“You didn’t tell us any of that.”
“How could I? You were all ignoring me.”
I thought back to Ant on the sidelines, lurking, weird all of a sudden, me or Claude or Brenda asking him to join us, Maureen teasing him good-naturedly. None of it worked. He just slipped further away, until it was like he’d never been part of our circle.
“Nobody ignored you, Ant.”
“You ain’t gonna ignore me now,” he said, rushing at me before I could put up my hands, his mouth on mine, hungry, chewing more than kissing me.
I drove my knee into his plums. When he doubled over, I jumped back and off the porch. “I want that photo, Anton Dehnke,” I yelled. “It’s not yours to keep.”
I ran home, tears cooling my cheeks.
CHAPTER 41
Dad called, said he’d be at the hospital awhile longer because there were currently no beds for Mom.
“I can come wait so you don’t have to,” I said. I was still furious at him for telling Sheriff Nillson that Brenda and I had seen Maureen in his basement, and I didn’t know if I could ever forgive him for cheating on Mom, but we were family.
“Thanks, sweetheart, but I think it’s best if I stay here.” I heard a muffled sound, like a woman was talking to him on the other end of the line. A nurse with an update on Mom? He came back on the phone after a few seconds. “I have to go. Don’t wait up for me.”
He didn’t mention Junie. He knew I’d take care of her.
She was sitting on the sofa, paging through a copy of Tiger Beat, a soft-looking Shaun Cassidy on the cover. Maureen had had the fiercest crush on Shaun Cassidy. Said it wasn’t even that he was cute, it was that he seemed honest-to-goodness nice. Like, for real nice, the kind where he didn’t need to tell other people about it.
“Did you get that from Libby?” I asked, indicating the magazine.
“Mm-hmm.”
I made a mental note to tell Dad Junie liked Tiger Beat. We could buy her a subscription for her next birthday. “I’m going to my room.”
Her brow furrowed like I was annoying her, but she didn’t respond.
On my way to the stairs, I found myself drawn to Dad’s office at the end of the hall. It wasn’t like we were living in Bluebeard’s castle. I could enter it even though he’d told me not to. Junie had, for gosh sakes. It was that I had no reason to. That’s what I told myself, and it made sense. Besides, opening one door had already gotten us all in enough trouble.
I hurried upstairs, tugging my journal from beneath my mattress. The envelope of photos I’d taken from Sheriff Nillson bit the soft pad between my thumb and pointer finger, quick like a spider. I sucked on the sore spot and hopped on my bed, legs crossed.
Dear Diary:
You know that night I let Ant take a picture of me in my bra? Well, that was stupid. He better give it back, or I’ll break into his house and take it. That’s what I do now, a regular Charlie’s Angel. Once I get that Polaroid in my grubby little hands, I’ll burn it, and I’ll never do something that dumb again. You have my word.