The Big Picture Read online

  “Fresh, relevant, and snappy, The Big Picture deals with tough real-life issues. Jones beautifully balances the serious with witty humor and some of the most memorable characters in fiction today. By the book’s end, you’ll be clamoring for more Jenny B. Jones. I certainly am!”

  — C. J. DARLINGTON, cofounder and book editor; TitleTrakk.com

  Also by Jenny B. Jones:

  A KATIE PARKER PRODUCTION (NavPress)

  In Between (Act 1)

  On the Loose (Act 2)

  the big picture

  jenney b. jones

  For free catalog

  of NavPress books & Bible studies call

  1-800-366-7788 (USA) or 1-800-839-4769 (Canada).

  www.NavPress.com

  © 2008 by Jennifer Jones

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without written permission from NavPress, P.O. Box 35001, Colorado Springs, CO 80935. www.navpress.com

  NAVPRESS and the NAVPRESS logo are registered trademarks of NavPress. Absence of ® in connection with marks of NavPress or other parties does not indicate an absence of registration of those marks.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-60006-208-7

  ISBN-10: 1-60006-208-3

  Cover design by Kirk DouPonce, www.DogEared Design.com

  Cover images by SuperStock and Stephen Gardner, www.ShootPW.com

  Author photo by Leslie Zachry

  Creative Team: Rebekah Guzman, Jamie Chavez, Reagen Reed, Darla Hightower, Arvid Wallen,

  Kathy Guist

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Jones, Jenny B., 1975-

  The big picture / Jenny B. Jones.

  p. cm. -- (A Katie Parker Production ; act 3)

  Summary: Dumped by her possible boyfriend at a drive-in theater, Katie returns home to find that her mother, a former convict and current addict, wants to take her away from her foster family, friends, and church, and Katie must make important decisions as she considers what family and home really mean.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-60006-208-7

  ISBN-10: 1-60006-208-3

  [1. Mothers and daughters--Fiction. 2. Foster home care--Fiction. 3. Family life--Texas--Fiction. 4. Motion picture theaters--Fiction. 5. Christian life--Fiction. 6. Texas--Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.J720313Big 2008

  [Fic]--dc22

  2007045177

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 / 12 11 10 09 08

  This book is lovingly dedicated to Edith “Ninny” Hardy, my totally awesome grandmother. Thank you for all the stories you used to tell me and for always naming the main character “Jennifer.” Though the best stories were the real ones from your life . . . like the one about unknowingly camping out on an airport runway during your honeymoon. Thank you for all you’ve done for me and your family. You’ve created an amazing legacy.

  Acknowledgments

  THANK YOU, GOD, FOR BLESSING me with this series. That you chose me to write it still astounds me and makes me tear up. I have learned a lot on this journey as a writer, as a person, and as a Christian. Thank you for your mercy, your grace, and the opportunity to tell people about Jesus Christ in a way that wouldn’t make me totally freak out (well, okay, occasionally I might have). I’m grateful for direction, creativity, and for discouraging me from driving down the highway at maximum speed and chucking all my pages out of the car.

  I’m very appreciative to NavPress for the opportunity to bring Katie, Maxine, and all the crew to life. You opened doors I didn’t even know existed. You’re the Narnia to my . . . oh, never mind. Thank you.

  I wouldn’t be in this business today without the divine intervention of an organization called American Christian Writers Association. Thank you for all you’ve taught me and for willing helpers who supplied information needed to write this novel.

  C. J. Darlington of TitleTrakk.com, you are the best. I can never repay you for your enthusiasm and encouragement and for getting behind this series in such a big way.

  Jamie Chavez, my editor, you are one in a million. Though your knack for realistic details is absolutely punishing (Do you realize your character has three arms here? You have Katie swimming in February. You can’t just make up a comet! Why would anyone go to bed at five thirty?), I know the story is all the better for it. Thank you for your friendship, your supportive e-mails, and for “getting” Katie. And me. And if I ever decide to write sci-fi, where time and space do not matter, I’m probably not calling you.

  My career got an extreme makeover when agent Chip MacGregor said, “Let’s work together.” Thank you for taking me on, for being willing to handle me and my neurotic self, for your witty banter, and your instant friendship. I will always be proud to stand beside you and your kilt.

  To my family, thank you, as always, for your support, love, and encouragement. Though this is my third novel. I think maybe it’s time we (as in you) started treating me with a new level of respect. Who wants to volunteer to clean out the litter box? Anybody? . . . Hello?*

  As with every book, I must express my deep appreciation to Erin Valentine and Erin Keeley Marshall. You’re the best critique group ever, and I am so grateful for all your help, generous spirits, and the time you’ve invested in this series. Thank you for being there from the beginning. I could break out into song every time I think about all you’ve done for me.

  I would also like to thank my readers, from strangers to students, who have picked up a copy of the KATIE PARKER PRODUCTION series and spent a little time in In Between, Texas. It thrills my heart to hear feedback. We authors tend to think only our mothers will like what we write. Thank you to everyone who put Katie Parker in schools and libraries. She has a message to bring, and I thank you for being a vital part of that ministry. I couldn’t do it without you.

  I am very appreciative of Erin Blaylock and all the students and staff at Washington Junior High School. I appreciate all you’ve done to encourage and support Katie Parker.

  Sheila Hall, thank you for being willing to brainstorm on command and share your brilliant ideas. And for remaining unfazed by e-mails at midnight that go a little something like this, “I need help now! E-mail me back in thirty seconds or our friendship is over and I will tell everyone about band camp in the eighties!”

  I appreciate Kylan Savage, lead singer of The Truth About Movie Stars, for stepping off the stage long enough to mow my yard. You’re a huge help. When you teach and write, some things have to go . . . like mowing your own yard, reading the Wall Street Journal, the daily pursuit of clean underwear.*

  My last offer of gratitude is for Brian Armas of Armas Photography and Angry Designs. Thank you for my new website, for Photo Botox, and for putting up with me during the photo shoot. (“You want me to smile? Again? Can’t you just take a picture of my elbow or something?”) I invite everyone to check out my new space at jennybjones.com and behold his brilliance.

  Finally, let me depart from the norm and get a tiny bit serious. The Big Picture puts Katie right in the middle of her mother’s addiction. A student, who didn’t even know I was writing this book, recently asked me, “If your parent is an addict, are you destined to become one too?” The short answer is no. But is your road going to be harder? Yes. Anytime there’s dysfunction in your home, in any form, your road is harder. If you find yourself in this situation, please, please find a trustworthy adult to confide in and talk to — a school counselor, a family
member, a friend’s parent, someone from a church. Don’t suffer in silence. There are people out there who want to help you.

  *I’m totally kidding.

  *I’m mostly kidding.

  Chapter one

  “IF I EAT ANY MORE popcorn, I’m gonna hurl.”

  I shove the bucket away, and Charlie Benson, my date for the evening, takes it and peers inside.

  “In other words, you ate the top layer where the butter was, and now you’re done?”

  I lean back in my chair and smile up at him. Smart boy.

  The town of In Between doesn’t have much to offer, but I will give it points for a cool hangout spot for warm Friday nights. The drive-in. There are very few left in the country, but In Between hangs onto its classics, including the rusty water tower, the home-grown shops downtown, and Bubba’s Big Picture Cinema.

  Slurping sounds come from Frances’s direction.

  “Nash,” I call to her boyfriend. “Get her another root beer so I can hear the previews.”

  Charlie’s fingers intertwine with mine, and he whispers close to my ear. “The previews are twenty years old.”

  And that’s what makes them perfect.

  The four of us sit beneath a sky crowded with stars and watch the screen pop and crackle to life. Bubba’s only shows old movies, and tonight is eighties night. And with our chairs arranged in the back of Charlie’s truck, we settle in for the first flick of the evening, Sixteen Candles.

  Frances spouts off some useless facts about Molly Ringwald, and while my ears are trained on my best friend, my eyes are totally glued to Charlie.

  Charlie Benson, Mr. Four-Point-Oh and quarterback for the In Between Chihuahuas, is some pretty fine stuff. He and I have been spending a lot of time together lately. And you’d think that would be great. I mean, he’s hot, he’s brilliant, and he has some well-defined, ’roid-free muscles that make a girl want to just drool.

  Sometimes I wonder if we’re just friends.

  Who occasionally hold hands.

  “Actually” — I bat my eyes at the boy beside me — “I could use another drink myself.”

  Charlie steps toward the cab and digs into the cooler until he finds a Diet Dr Pepper. He pops the top then places it in my waiting hand.

  Aww, he’s sweet like that. All the time. Except when he avoids me at school. Like he has this past week.

  Did I mention he’s not my boyfriend? But I want to rectify that tonight. You know, make him define what exactly we are. Maybe he thinks we’re exclusively dating and assumes I think the same? Or what if he thinks we’re just really close friends and is under the impression that I know that’s all we are? But let me tell you, Frances and I are close friends, and she doesn’t open my cans and hold my hand.

  As Charlie sits down, my green eyes lock onto his gray peepers. My expression says, Thanks for the drink. You’re so thoughtful. By the way, do you plan on kissing me anytime this century?

  Behind us Frances and Nash break out the cookies as Frances continues her list of everything she knows about the movie. Which is too much.

  “Did you know the cake at the end of this movie is actually made of cardboard? And it’s interesting to note that when the girls are in the lunch line . . .”

  Charlie looks back at the two of them then leans closer to me. “Frances still gets a little nervous around Nash, doesn’t she?”

  I inhale his light scent and smile. “At least she no longer requires a paper bag every time he’s around. I’d say that’s progress. We did pretty well hooking those two up.”

  His brown hair blows in the evening breeze. “Yeah, we’re a good team.”

  See? He’s always saying things like that. We’re a good team? What does that mean? A good team as in Bert and Ernie? Or as in Spider-Man and Mary Jane?

  Like I said, the last few weeks Charlie and I have been hanging out. A lot. We’re at that point where we call each other every night. And my foster mom told me if I didn’t cut down on the texting, I was going to have to sell an organ to pay for the next bill. I love a good text message — but maybe not enough to sacrifice a kidney.

  But lately Charlie’s been acting strangely. I’ve barely seen him at all this week at school. A suspicious girl would wonder if he’s avoiding her. But then tonight he acts like there’s no place he’d rather be than out here with me, watching a girl from the eighties try to figure out her life while wearing hideous blue eye shadow.

  “Um . . . Charlie?” That’s it. I’m just going to put it out there. Lay it on the line.

  “Yeah?” His eyes never leave the screen.

  “I was wondering if maybe — ”

  He shifts in his seat. “Are you hungry?”

  Hungry for us to move on to the next level? Why, yes, I am!

  “I packed some sandwiches for us. Er, for all of us.”

  I lay my hand on his arm and scoot closer. “I don’t want a sandwich.” I want you telling the world I’m your girlfriend. I want to scribble your name on my notebook and have other girls look on with envy.

  “I know we just had popcorn, but I thought maybe . . .”

  “Charlie, I think we should talk.” I look behind us to make sure Frances and Nash aren’t listening in. “I was wondering if you and I — ”

  The trill of my phone cuts off my big moment.

  I hold up a finger, silently telling Charlie to wait. I’m not through with you.

  I check the number as I flip the phone open. “Hi, Millie.”

  “Hi, sweetie. Are you having a good time?”

  Oh, yeah, sure. I was just about to break out into a Céline Dion song and declare my undying devotion to Charlie. Great timing.

  “Hon, I know you’ve looked forward to tonight all week, but I need you to have Charlie bring you home.” My foster mother pauses. “Now.”

  The heart I was about to hand over to Charlie triples in speed. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” My foster mom has been doing intense chemo treatments in the last month for breast cancer. It kinda freaks me out.

  “Nothing’s wrong. No emergency. James and I just need you to come home. We’ll explain when you get here.”

  I end the call and relay the message to my friends.

  “Hop in the truck.” Charlie’s hand rubs my upper arm. “I’ll take you home and come back for Nash and Frances later.”

  He opens my door as my best friend and her date set up their chairs on the ground. I wave good-bye and promise to call Frances later. Charlie pulls his Ford out of the drive-in lot, and we head toward home.

  “Sorry you’re having to miss the movie.” I tap my fingers on my knees. “You can just drop me off.”

  Charlie pins me with an intense look. “Katie, I’m staying with you. I want to make sure everything’s all right.”

  “Oh . . . um.” Now is so not a good time for this, but I blurt it out anyway. “Charlie, what are we?”

  He frowns. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . are we friends?”

  “Of course we’re friends. You’re a good friend.”

  “No.” Boys are dumb. Boys are stupid. “I mean is that all we are? I don’t know how to read you lately. Are we going out?” I feel my face flame.

  He stares straight ahead at the road. Speechless. I feel my stomach sink to the floorboards.

  “I think we’re probably heading in that direction,” he finally says. “What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is at school you’ve been pretty distant lately. But then we’ll spend two hours on the phone and hang out on the weekends. Are you embarrassed by me at school?” It’s not like I wear blue eye shadow.

  “No. Of course not.” His face clouds. “I like hanging out with you.”

  And here’s where he sticks in the big but.

  “But I just don’t want anybody to get hurt.”

  “Who’s going to get hurt?”

  He turns on his blinker and navigates a turn. “I don’t want to lose this — us. But you probably need to kn
ow something.”

  For the second time tonight, my body floods with panic. “Oh, my gosh, do you wear women’s underwear?”

  “No.”

  “You like boys too?”

  “No!”

  “You secretly listen to Clay Aiken and make up your own dance moves?”

  “Katie, I’ve started spending time with Chelsea again.”

  Like Voldemort to Harry Potter, I suck in my breath at the mere mention of this name. Chelsea Blake — his ex-girlfriend. A girl born with a silver spoon in her mouth and pompoms between her ears.

  He reaches for my hand, but I move toward the door. “Why?”

  “She’s been going through some pretty tough times lately.”

  “Who hasn’t?” Plus, all she has to do is shop her troubles away. I feel blue! Come to me, oh, MasterCard and Visa! “Why does Chelsea need you?”

  “I’m practically all she’s got. She doesn’t really have many friends.”

  “Because she eats them for dinner,” I hiss.

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Need I remind you I was with you the day you saw Chelsea lip-locked with Trevor Jackson last month? She cheated on you. You don’t owe her anything. Let Trevor help her.”

  “They were over before they started. She’s just so alone. You don’t know all the dysfunction she’s got going on.”

  “Oh, what, did Mommy buy her a Dooney and Bourke instead of a Coach?”

  “There’s more to Chelsea than that.”

  Yeah, a couple hundred dollars’ worth of highlights. “What does she have to do with us anyway?”

  “I need you to be okay with me hanging out with her. It’s the right thing to do.”

  I study his face, honing in on his nose and considering tweaking it off his pretty face. “So we are just friends then. Because what you’re not saying is that you’re not sure your feelings for her are totally dead, am I right?”

  I count the fence posts we pass until he answers.

  “I’m not dating Chelsea.”