by Ann Aguirre
I lock my bike to the pole supporting the seedy MOTOR LODGE sign, then I head up the external stairs. My knees feel like jelly, but I push on. I tell myself it’s because I’m not used to riding so far, not because I’m nervous about confronting Shane’s dad. I don’t care if this seems like too much to other people; I’ll do anything to help Shane, anything at all.
Steeling myself, I bang on the door. At first I think he’s gone out because there’s no response, then I hear movement, shuffling toward me. He’s a tall, gaunt man with thinning gray hair and glasses, and he looks nothing like the handsome, hopeful young man in the picture with Jude. I’m not sure what I expected, but he doesn’t look like a degenerate asshole. Mostly he looks tired, squinting at me in the twilight. Behind him, there’s a TV playing, the sound muted, and the pictures cast flickering shadows in the dark room.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
I have to be sure, before I go into this. “Are you Henry Cavendish?”
His expression becomes wary. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m Sage Czinski. I go to school with your son.”
He actually takes a step back, like he’s about to slam the door in my face, and the old rage ignites. I stick my foot over the jamb, keeping him from a full retreat. “You’ve done enough running for one lifetime. He already told me what a worthless asshole you were, but I’m hoping he was wrong. See, Shane’s in trouble, and he needs your help.”
“Shane prefers that I don’t interfere—”
“Bullshit. He ended up in Ingram, defending me. And he needs you to be there for him for once in his life. He’ll have a court date and he needs an attorney. How long do you plan to pretend he’s not your responsibility? He’s your son.”
“You’ve said enough. You need to go.”
“So you’re going to act like this isn’t happening? Let him rot.” I shake my head, so disgusted that I don’t even have the words.
I want to scream; I want to punch him. I’d love to kick him as hard as I can, right in the nuts, and it’s a hot, glorious feeling. I haven’t let myself get angry in so long because I was afraid of what would happen, what I might do. But I’m standing here, furious as hell, and if rage was deadly, Cavendish would be dying at my feet. But it’s not; it’s just an emotion like any other, and I can be mad when the situation calls for it. I can feel this and not lose my shit; I’m damaged but not a monster. I didn’t murder my mother; I was just a terrified kid.
To prove it, I take a step back. “You really are worthless.”
Then I wheel and run down the steps. After dark, this place is spooky as hell, so I hurry through the gravel parking lot to the crappy restaurant that’s attached to the motel. I have enough money for a side salad and some fries, so I eat those while inwardly bolstering myself for the long ride back. I feel like such an idiot. Deep down, I hoped my begging for Shane would mean something, but his dad really has cut him loose.
Thanks for taking care of your mother, son. Good luck with life.
The waitress has been watching me for five minutes, looking like she might call somebody, so I pull it together and head into the bathroom to wash my face. I slip out the back when she’s not looking and get my bike. At least it’s still where I left it. No surprise, it’s not worth much to anyone but me.
It’s scary dark. I put on my reflective tape, hoping I’m not about to become a life lesson. Since I got myself into this mess, there’s nothing for me to do but go home. Shortly after I set out, my cell phone rings. A glance tells me it’s Aunt Gabby, and I don’t want to listen to a lecture while I’m trying to keep from being run over by semis, so I let it go to voice mail. Then I text her, I’m fine. Home late.
Hopefully that will keep her from losing her mind. After this, she’ll probably send me back to the group home, something I’ve tried so hard to avoid by being the best possible kid in the whole world. But now I just don’t care anymore.
My bike wobbles as cars zoom past me. I hope that nobody stops. And they don’t. People don’t care as much as they used to, or maybe they’re scared. I might be a lunatic or a lure, so when they pause to rescue a girl alone at night, six armed men will burst out of the bushes and mug them. Whatever. I wouldn’t get in a car unless they sedated me anyway. My principles feel like all I’ve got left.
Four hours later, I’ve never been in so much pain. My thighs burn, my arms ache, my back, too. Hell, even my ass hurts. It’s close to midnight now. I’ve got twelve messages and twenty texts from Aunt Gabby. I answer periodically so she knows I’m not dead in a ditch. That’s all I can manage at the moment, as the drainage area beside the road is starting to look inviting.
Eventually, I pass a green sign that tells me I’m ten miles from town. That’s an hour if I can pick up the pace. I’ll be home by 1:00 a.m. Jesus. I’m so cold I can’t feel my fingers anymore; it’s like they’re frozen to the handlebars. Seems like it’s almost chilly enough to snow, but lucky me, I get rain instead. The clouds open up as I pedal on, leaving me soaked and shivering.
I can’t do this. I can’t.
But somehow, pressing on has become the only thing in the world that matters anymore, like I’ll be giving up on myself and Shane if I stop moving. So I move my numb feet on the pedals, round and round. I haven’t seen any cars for a while, so I’m startled when a truck swerves off the road and stops on the shoulder in front of me. The rain pounds the pavement, glimmering red in the taillights.
If this is Dylan, I think I have to kill him. As I consider whether I can strangle him with my bike lock, my aunt jumps out of the passenger seat. I realize this one is silver, not black. Right. This is Joe’s truck.
I can hardly process what Gabby’s saying, my mind is working so slow. She’s yelling at me and hugging me, and saying stuff like Do you know how long we looked for you? We’ve been driving up and down between here and the motel all night.
I just stare at her and she sighs. “Get in the truck, Sage.”
She’s soaking wet too now. My teeth are chattering with cold. Joe swings down from the driver’s seat and I back up. If she lets him manhandle me, if he puts me bodily in the cab, I will never forgive either of them. This is the only choice I have left, and I’ll break into a million pieces if they take it away from me. I don’t care that it’s stupid. I started this journey for Shane, my way, and I’ll finish it for him, even if they think I’m insane.
“What do you want to do?” Joe asks my aunt.
“Get my bike out of the back.”
What? She’s gonna ride with me? No.
“You can go home. I’m okay.” I’m not. I’m freezing and drowning and sadder than I’ve ever been in my life, because my mom didn’t care, and Shane’s dad doesn’t, and I’m hurting Gabby, the only person who’s cared about me in years.
Aunt Gabby grabs my shoulders as Joe lifts her bike from the back of his truck. “I don’t know how much you’re hearing right now, but understand this: I love you. And I will never, ever leave you. No matter what you do or where you go, I’m there for you. If you need to ride a bike home in the pouring rain, I’ll be right behind you.” Then she’s hugging me so hard that it hurts.
But it’s a good hurt because when did anyone ever say that to me? I’ll never, ever leave you. The sob explodes out of me and I grab on to her, my feet slipping on the wet asphalt until we reel against Joe’s truck. I’m sure he thinks we’re both crazy, but it doesn’t matter. Aunt Gabby runs her hands through my sodden hair, and I cling. I cling.
“I never knew about you, Sage. I wish I had, but I didn’t grow up with your father. By the time the state told me about you, you had already been through so much. I’ve tried so hard to show you—”
“I was always afraid you took me in because you felt sorry for me. And that if I did anything wrong, you’d get fed up and send me back.”
“Forget that shit,” she snaps. “You’re my daughter in all ways but biology, and I will never give you up … or give up on you. Now … are you ready to
go home?”
I swipe rain and tears out of my eyes, then step back and swing onto my bike. Gabby tells Joe, “Meet us at the house, okay? Run a hot bath and make some tea.”
“You got it,” he replies.
I kind of love him right then because most men would try to assert their will, convince me how stupid I’m being. And I know that I am. I know. But the heart isn’t logical. You can’t force it to make sense all the time. Sometimes only the dumbest thing in the world can give you any peace.
He kisses Gabby and climbs back into the truck. Then I push off on the wet road and pedal hard into the wind. That rush propels me to the top of a small rise, and when I sail down it, I lift my palms to the night sky, remembering that Shane thought I was fearless, instead of a girl governed by silent dread.
“Be careful,” my aunt shouts.
I put my icy hands back on the handlebars. There’s eight miles to go. And like she promised, Aunt Gabby is behind me every step of the way.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Joe is waiting for us with hot tea, soft blankets, and a tub full of warm water. He doesn’t yell at me. He just says, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t worry your aunt like that again.”
“I’ll try not to,” I say.
I take my mug to the bathroom, undress, and climb into the water. For what seems like an hour, I soak, then I remember that Gabby is cold, too. But when I hurry out, wrapped in my robe, I find that she’s already changed clothes.
“We need to talk,” she says.
“I know.” I sit down on the sofa.
There’s no avoiding this lecture. I deserve it. So I listen to everything she says about how scared they were, how she never wants to feel that way again. And she ends with, “You know, I always wanted kids. But I didn’t have any with my ex, so I thought it was too late. Then I found out about you, and it’s the best of both worlds. I get to watch you turn into a wonderful woman, and I’ll get all of the grandchildren, none of the potty training.”
This surprises a watery laugh out of me. “Don’t count on them too soon.”
“Ten to fifteen years?” she suggests.
“Sounds about right.”
Then my aunt sobers. “Obviously, you’re grounded. Two weeks, nothing but school and work.”
“What about Green World?”
“I can’t say no to community service. But no sleepovers, no visitors, no movies out, no hanging in the square, and I want your phone.”
Jesus. She’s really mad. But I don’t argue; I just hand over my cell. “I’m sorry.”
“Did it help? Did Shane’s dad listen?”
I sigh. “Doubt it.”
Joe comes out of the kitchen and sits down next to my aunt. Around me, he’s pretty quiet, letting her do most of the talking. I appreciate that because I wouldn’t be amused if he suddenly started acting like my dad. “I think it’s time, Gabby.”
“Tonight? Really?”
“She’s stronger than you give her credit for,” he says. “The girl rode a hundred miles today. She can handle it.”
It’s true; I did. I can barely walk, barely sit, actually. The cushions help. “Whatever it is, just tell me. I heard you talking on the phone before, anyway.”
“Okay.” My aunt gets up and goes to her room. When she comes back, she’s wearing a diamond ring on her left hand. “Joe proposed.”
“Congratulations.” Yeah, I was scared he might ruin my life before, but it’s already screwed up and he hasn’t made it worse tonight. “When?”
“We were thinking after you graduate. You’re okay with this?” she asks.
“Of course. You deserve to be happy. Both of you,” I add, including Joe in my smile. “I’d be more enthusiastic, but I’m really tired.”
“I know you are, baby. Get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”
Gratefully, I say good night to both of them, after thanking Joe for the tea and the bath, then I stumble to my room and pass out. I dream of cold instead of fire and I wake with my fists balled up so tight that my hands hurt.
* * *
The next two weeks are boring and lonely, but I survive them. I don’t write again; I’m waiting for Shane to reply. That’s how snail mail works, right? Ryan and Lila talk to me on Facebook, at least. At last, my punishment ends, and we’re into March when I get the first letter from Shane. I wasn’t sure if he’d be allowed to write back. I’m glad that he is. I open the letter with trembling fingers.
Sage,
I don’t know what to say. Obviously I messed up. He was hurting you and I couldn’t let him get away with it. People like him have everything, and we’re just supposed to let them do whatever they want? I probably should be sorry, and I am a little sometimes, but only because I’m locked up away from you. I’ll never be sorry for kicking Dylan Smith’s ass. He had it coming.
That part makes me laugh. I read on.
I’m waiting for my court appearance. If my dad had come for me, they might’ve released me into his custody. With my record, though, it’s hard to be sure. I’m sorry I never told you. I mean, I hinted, but that’s not the same. In the end, you were so honest, even though it was hard.
It sucks here. I don’t know what else to tell you. Part of me can’t believe I’m here when I was so sure I could handle myself. But like I said before, I never expected you.
I miss you, too. Don’t know when I’m getting out and I refuse to write something stupid like wait for me, but I can’t help hoping you will, even though I flushed my last chance. Write back, okay?
Love, Shane.
I fold the plain notebook paper and slip it back into the envelope, then it goes into my underwear drawer. Things have gotten better with Gabby. Now that I know even my worst behavior won’t scare my aunt away, I feel safer, more at home. I still pitch in around the house, because I love her and want to help, not because I’m afraid if I slip an inch, I’ll be out the door.
Friday night, later that week, I’m sitting in my room, aching for the sound of Shane’s voice. Then I remember—I recorded him on my phone. I pull up the video and tap the screen to play. His music fills the room, making me feel closer to him. The idea bulb flickers over my head. This isn’t great quality, but it’s not like I have anything else to do tonight. So I connect my phone to my laptop and import the file. I’ve done video projects for school before, so I know a little bit about this sort of thing. I can do basic cuts and edits and pretty soon I’ve assembled a decent music video from the raw stuff.
I play it a couple times, then I upload the file to YouTube. After a few seconds of thought, I type into the description: This is my boyfriend, Shane. He’s incredibly talented. And right now, he’s in trouble for standing up for me. If you knew the whole story, you wouldn’t blame him. If people watch this, they’ll see his heart in his music … and they’ll understand that he’s not bad.
Then I record my own video, explaining the entire story. I make sure to mention that Shane got in no trouble at all before his mom died, so clearly these are extenuating circumstances. I don’t omit anything; I put it all out there, including how I blackmailed Dylan with a secret about his mom, how my tires were slashed, how he started picking on Shane again, and I escalated the conflict, and how he retaliated by telling the whole school about my past. I end with, “If you’re punishing people, you need to include Dylan Smith … and me. Because we started this, and Shane is paying for it.”
This is the only move I can make because I can’t let Shane suffer for something I dragged him into. He’s only locked up because he cares about me. So whatever the consequences of telling the truth, I’m ready for them. Aunt Gabby has some contact information for the people handling Shane’s case, so I dig those cards out of the file box. There’s a public defender and a social worker. It won’t hurt to send links to their e-mail. It might not help, but I can’t rest until I put this right. Shane doesn’t belong there. He won’t go on a crime spree if they release him just like I won’t burn anything d
own.
Like my aunt says, everyone deserves a second chance.
When I send out my e-mail, I also copy the principal and the office staff. Maybe it’s petty of me, but I want Dylan’s mom to know exactly what he’s been doing. Possibly she won’t care, or she’ll even think it’s sweet of him. From her perspective it is, but it’s also mean and destructive.
Before I can reconsider, I hit send. Then I message Ryan. Can u get a couple of videos on the school blog and Facebook page for me?
Right away, he answers, Absolutely. Send them to me?
I forward the e-mail. This way, the school officials can’t keep this quiet. People will be talking about it, at least. It’s possible that they’ll ignore everything I have to say. I’m still the crazy girl who burned a house down, once upon a time. But I refuse to let that moment define me. Aunt Gabby has been telling me for three years that I’ll be okay, that I can do more, be more. And I believe her.
I don’t have to scream to be heard. I just need to believe what I say matters.
Holy shit, Ryan sends back. Coach will have a field day with this. He’s all about ethics and honor. This is a serious violation of his moral code.
I reply, exactly.
The rest of the weekend, I watch the hit counter go up slowly, each time the site updates. The video of Shane singing has more hits than the one of me explaining, but they’re both climbing upward. I’m almost too nervous to go to school, but I opened this can of whoop-ass. Time to see how it smells.
As I walk to my locker, Alex of the awesome Chucks says to me, “It’s so shitty, what Dylan Smith did to you. I hope they expel his ass.”
“That should count as bullying or harassment or something,” a girl adds.
I nod in acknowledgment, moving past them to where Lila’s waiting. “You went for it, huh? I hear they called an emergency staff meeting this morning.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. They’re worried about enabling a ‘toxic learning environment.’ If your videos go viral, the school board will have a shit storm on their hands.”