by K Larsen
The doorbell startles me out of my fictional escape and I let out a small yelp. My empty plate falls off my knee onto the floor. I curse under my breath, while stepping over it. I swing the door open, ready to tell who ever it is to just go away and see Aubry.
“Dude. Really?”
I wrinkle my face. “Sorry. I was . . .”
“Reading. Yeah? I know. I’ve heard it a hundred times,” she says. Her hands are on her hips and she looks annoyed.
“I’ll grab my bag and we can go,” I say.
She shakes her head no, sighs and marches past me into the house. “No. Nope. No can do. You need to change,” she says.
I cock my head right and widen my eyes.
Aubry crosses her arms over her chest and with a smug expression says, “I’ll wait.”
When I wake the next morning, I am left with a feeling of disorganized nostalgia and terror that stays with me all day, like a vice grip around my ribcage. I’m a wreck. Aubry calls multiple times and I send each one to voicemail. I shower three times and wish I had a mother to talk to, to hold me, to tell me what I should do, but I don’t. I feel dirty and used. I’ve been betrayed.
I grab the paper from the front porch that the paperboy tosses every Sunday morning, despite my not having a subscription, close the door and lock it behind me. Skipping my morning coffee, I grab a yogurt and open the classifieds. As I pour over them, one jumps out at me.
OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS
Seeking live in summer tutor
for 11-yr old girl. Great pay.
Room & board included. Interested
women leave message at 555–774–0854
Pocketville
I could tutor. And I most certainly could stand to get out of town for the summer. I don’t think I could stomach seeing Anton any time soon and Aubry will wonder what’s up if I just stop coming over. I pick up my cell and dial the number. It rings once and goes straight to voicemail.
“This is Nora Robertson. Um, I’m interested in learning more about the tutoring position in the classifieds, if it’s still available.” I leave my number and email address and hang up. The rap, rap, rap at the front door startles me and I fling yogurt on my pajama pants. Muttering curses, I peek out the kitchen window. Aubry. Tears prick my eyes. I want nothing more than to let her in, but I can’t. I can’t face her. Not yet. She will know something is wrong and there is no way in hell I’m telling her what happened last night. I duck down before she sees me and head to my room.
I huddle in the corner, knees pulled up under my chin, eyes closed, holding a picture of my parents to my chest as I let out my hurt and disgust in silent sobs.
Monday morning, I have twenty-six unread texts, four voicemails and six missed calls, all from Aubry. I blow out a breath and force myself out of bed. I pick up the plates and cups scattered by my bed and drop them in the kitchen sink. Today I have to function. I gave myself twenty-four hours. I gave him twenty-four hours. Now it’s time to dust my shoulders off and move forward as best I can.
The Girl
The excitement I feel is inexplicable as I come to. It’s more like hysteria. I push my emotions back, until they are as small as possible. I blink stars away until I see Nora. I beg her not to leave me alone out here, but she only lies there in the broken glass and metal of the truck. A stiff wind whistles through the pines and kicks up dead leaves.
“Nora,” I whine and jostle her again. Guilt eats at me for lying to her, but the threat of what he would do to me if I told her the truth, was enough to keep me quiet.
There is a crunching in the snow near me. I turn my head too fast and a wave of dizziness claims me. I clutch Nora’s shirt and tug at it urgently. “Wake up. Wake up.”
She doesn’t move. I look up and try to wiggle from the wreckage. I hurt everywhere. A boot lands in front of my hand. My eyes bug out. When I look up, I want to die. Holden reaches down for me. The sound that follows is like the sky being torn in two. It ends with a soul-deep scream that rattles bones. His eyes darken; his scowl grows more intense as he yanks me from the totaled truck.
It is my scream.
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