by Emma Scott
I toyed with my pen. “You might like her more than me.”
“Then I won’t meet her.”
“That’s…dumb.”
“Yeah, it is,” he said, watching me with the intent way he had. Like he was absorbing me somehow, in all my geeky glory. “Because there’s no way I’m going to like her more than you.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.” Miller’s eyes darkened. “Besides, what do you care? You like River What’s His Name.”
“True, but that’s just a pipe dream. I may as well have a crush on Justin Trudeau since it’s never going to happen. And anyway, I’m not worried about you liking Shiloh. She says she’ll never date a boy ever, though she won’t tell me why. I’m worried you guys will hit it off and be BFFs.” I shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t want to be left out.”
“I won’t ever leave you out.”
Irritation scratched at me for being so self-conscious. “Ugh, forget it. I was friends with her first and I was friends with you first, so why am I the one worried about being left out?”
“Because you overthink everything.” Miller gave me one of his rare smiles. “I don’t even want to meet her. I hate her already.”
I smirked. “You’re not allowed to hate her. Just ignore me. I’m being silly.”
“Paranoid, maybe…” he teased and then yawned.
Dark circles ringed his eyes lately, and his face was pale in the light of my desk lamp. Miller always seemed kind of sad, but the sadness had worsened over the last few days. Sunken into him deeper, somehow. I’d tried to ask him about it several times—about being tired and the headaches he seemed to have a lot. But he always shut me down and assured me he was fine.
But it’s obvious, he’s not fine.
I bit my lip. “Can I be honest?”
“When are you not?”
“You don’t look so good. Are you okay? Don’t mess around. Tell me for real.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look like you’ve lost weight—”
“I’m fine, Doctor McNamara. It’s just a headache.”
“You keep saying that but you’re not getting better. Is it because school is almost starting? Are you nervous about that?”
Miller said nothing. I moved from my desk chair to sit beside him, but he jumped to his feet. “I need to use your bathroom.”
He went and closed the door. I heard him pee and then run the faucet.
“That’s another thing,” I said when he came back out. “You’re always thirsty, always peeing.”
“Jesus, Vi.”
“It’s true. So, it makes me wonder.” I swallowed hard. “Do you not have…plumbing at your house? Running water?”
“Leave it alone.”
“You can tell me, Miller. You know you can.”
“I can’t.”
“You can, and I—”
“Forget it. You wouldn’t look at me the same way.” He slung his ratty backpack on his shoulder. “I gotta go.”
“Fine,” I said, pretending to be mad. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Vi…don’t be like that,” he said tiredly. “There’s not anything you can do, so don’t worry about it.”
“I said fine. You don’t want to talk about it, so I won’t.” I made a big show of stretching and yawning. “I’m going to bed.”
He studied me a moment longer, then nodded. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”
“Yep.”
Miller climbed out the window. When he was below my line of vision, I threw on my shoes and grabbed my sweatshirt, then peeked over the ledge. He had just reached the ground and was heading back to the woods. I counted to ten in my head, then climbed out as quietly as I could and ducked into the woods after him.
He was a dark, indistinct shape moving in the shadows, weaving between the looming trees, blocking out the moonlight. It was so dark, I could hardly see where to put my feet. I nearly had to give up and turn around. Then Miller turned on the mini flashlight he kept strapped to his backpack, and I followed his light deeper into the woods.
He took the access road that the park rangers had probably used a long time ago. It was overgrown now with greenery and potholes. Miller kept to the edge, heading northwest, deeper into the forest. I wondered if there were cabins this far in. The Golf Club was on the other side of the Pogonip. Maybe his mom worked there at night and they had housing for their employees…?
Wrong. So, so wrong.
Just off the old access road sat a station wagon. Old, olive green with wood panels. Rusted. Dented. T-shirts were tucked into the windows to make curtains. A woman’s T-shirt lay rumpled on the dash, along with fast food wrappers and empty drink cups. The car was sunken into the ground, like it hadn’t moved in so long, it was becoming part of the forest. My heart clenched as if I’d been punched in the chest. There was no destination this car would take them to. It was the destination.
I peeked from behind a tree as Miller unlocked the back hatch on the station wagon. He dragged a cooler out onto the ground, opened it, grabbed a water bottle. He sank on the closed cooler and drank the entire bottle down, then his shoulders slumped. Defeated.
My eyes filled with tears. I stepped out of the woods and onto the access road where the moonlight shone brightest.
“Hi.”
His head shot up in alarm, then he hung his head again.
“Hello, Vi,” he said dully.
“You’re not surprised to see me?”
“I’m more surprised you haven’t followed me sooner. Have you?”
“No,” I said. I was in front of him now, the two of us standing in the dark and my voice cracking. “Miller…”
“Don’t do that,” he said, jabbing a finger at me. “Don’t fucking cry for me, Vi. Don’t feel sorry for me.”
“I can’t help it. I care about you. And you never said… You never told me…”
“Why would I?”
“For help. You never asked for help.”
“There is no help. What can you do?”
I shook my head helplessly. “I don’t know. Something. Anything.”
“You give me food. That’s enough. It’s too much.”
“No…” I glanced around, trying to comprehend how two people’s lives could fit in one car. How they had to cram their entire selves into that small space.
How could Miller fit when he’s so much?
“Where…?” I swallowed, tried again. “Where do you shower?”
“Friendship Park, at the clubhouse.”
“That’s for members only.”
“I sneak in. You don’t want to hear this, Vi.”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
Tears were streaming now.
He’s so brave.
I didn’t know what I meant by that, but it felt true. Brave that he lived this way, never complaining, never stealing. Doing odd jobs to help his mom out.
“It’s not because of drugs, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Miller said, darkly. “My dad left and took all the money.”
“You said he died.”
“Because I wish he were dead. But he left and we were evicted from our apartment in Los Banos. My mom thought we’d get a fresh start here. Lots of jobs. But it’s too expensive and the car fucking broke down, so we can’t leave. But she got a job at a café, and at night…”
He shook his head, his blue eyes glittering in the dark. I waited, my breath held.
“Sometimes does stuff with men for money. How’s that? Heard enough yet? Want to know what it’s like to wash your hair in a Costco bathroom? Or listen to your mom come back to this fucking car, smelling like strange men and smiling at you with smeared lipstick, telling you everything’s going to be okay?”
I sucked in a shaking breath. “Where is she now?”
“Where do you think?”
“Will she be back tonight?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes they let her stay over at the motel to shower and stuff. If they do, she stays and sleeps
in a real bed. I don’t blame her. Then she’ll go right to her job at the café in the morning.”
I wiped my nose. “Leave her a note and get your stuff.”
“Where am I going?”
“With me, Miller. You’re coming with me.”
He looked too tired, too damn defeated to argue. He put the cooler away and grabbed his ratty old backpack.
“You have laundry?”
He nodded.
“Get it.”
I waited a respectful distance away while he reemerged from the back of the station wagon with a trash bag, half-full. We walked in silence back to my house, Miller leading, since he knew the way best. Instead of going around the back, up the trellis, I took us through the side door to the garage and led us straight into the laundry room.
“Your parents?”
“If they see us, I’ll say you got grass stains working on the garden. You’re here because your mom’s working late, and you got locked out of your…house.” My throat tightened. “You have to spend the night.”
Miller nodded listlessly.
I opened the lid, and he poured his clothes—and a few items of his mom’s—into the huge washer. Then I took him by the hand and led him through the house, upstairs to my bedroom, stopping at the linen closet on the way. I grabbed a towel, and inside my room, pointed him toward the bathroom.
“Take a shower if you want. Or a bath. Take as long as you want but toss your clothes out, and I’ll add them to the wash.”
“You want me to give you my underwear?”
“Wrap them in the jeans. I don’t care. I won’t look anyway.”
Miller did as he was told, and I took the bundle of his clothes downstairs. They didn’t smell bad. They smelled of the forest and leathery car interior and him.
When the washing machine was churning, I headed to the kitchen and grabbed a shopping bag. I took two bottles of Mom’s favorite water and dumped them in.
No running water. No toilet. No sink. No shower.
Tears filled my eyes again, but I blinked them away and grabbed two more water bottles. I was determined to change Miller’s reality somehow, but the guilt that I hadn’t followed him sooner was hot and sharp in my chest.
Mom must’ve gone to the grocery store that day; the fridge and pantry were stocked. I made two ham and cheese sandwiches and wrapped them in tinfoil, then grabbed a bag of Doritos and a package of chocolate chip cookies and headed upstairs.
Miller was just turning off the shower when I arrived back in my room. I set the bag down and rummaged through my drawers for the least girly things I owned: a pair of black and white plaid flannel pants and a white UCSC sweatshirt with the yellow banana slug mascot on the front.
The bathroom door cracked open, steam seeping out.
“Uh, Vi…?”
“Here.” I put the clothes in his hand.
He came out of the bathroom a few minutes later. The flannels were too short for him but fit around his narrow waist. He eyed the grocery bag.
“You can eat now or take it with you,” I said.
“I’m tired.”
“Then sleep.”
In a real bed.
I pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. Miller hesitated, then climbed in beside me. We lay on our sides, facing each other. His head sunk into the pillow and he sighed with relief so deep I nearly cried.
“How long?” I asked.
“Eleven weeks, three days, twenty-one hours.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “You can’t stay there anymore.”
“I know. When school starts…I don’t know what the hell to do. They’ll crucify me.”
“They don’t have to know. But you have to get out. To a shelter, at least.”
Miller shook his head against the pillow. “Mom refuses. She says they’ll take me away from her. She says that at least the car is something that’s still ours. And everyone would find out for sure. No one sees me hiding in the woods. I have a shot.”
“And if a ranger kicks you out?”
“Mom’s getting the money together for a deposit and I’m helping.”
“How long will that take? You both should move in here. We have more than enough room.”
“No, Vi.”
“Why not? Don’t you think your mom would want to…not do what she does?”
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “But she doesn’t trust anyone. And neither do I.”
“You can trust me, Miller.”
His hard expression softened, and he started to answer, but the timer on my phone went off.
“That’s the wash. Be right back.”
I hurried downstairs, past the den where I could hear the TV droning and see its blue-ish light spill out from under the door. Dad, still exiled out of the master bedroom to the foldout couch, while Mom was ensconced in their king-sized bed.
I stopped outside the den door. I could ask my dad for help. For advice.
Then I thought about him waking Mom because Miller was in my room—my bed. They’d freak out, humiliating us both.
In the morning then.
In the laundry room, I switched the clothes to the dryer, and when I came back up, Miller looked to be asleep.
I propped my desk chair under the doorknob just in case my parents remembered I existed and turned out the light. I lay down beside him and pulled the covers up around us. My head nestled against my pillow and he opened his eyes.
“Vi…” he whispered.
“I’m here.”
“What am I going to do?” His voice was thick, and my heart felt like it was cracking into a thousand little pieces.
“Sleep,” I said, trying to sound brave. Like he told me I was. “We’ll figure it out.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ve been in that car for weeks, but it feels like I was born there. Sometimes, I just want the earth to open and swallow me up.”
“I won’t let it. I need you.”
“You can’t tell anyone. Swear to me you won’t.”
“Miller…”
“Swear it, or I’ll leave right now and never come back.”
He seemed too exhausted to move, but I knew he’d haul himself up and crawl out my window if I didn’t promise. I squeezed my eyes shut, hot tears leaking out.
“I swear.”
“Thank you, Vi.”
I bit back a sob and snuggled up close to him and put my arms around him. He smelled so clean and warm, but thin. Too thin.
He’s lost weight since we met. It’s making him sick, living in a car
Miller stiffened for a second and then pulled me in close, and I tucked my head under his chin, and we fit together so perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.
His chest pushed against my cheek in a deep sigh, and I listened to his heartbeat—a little too fast, I thought. If I were a doctor already, I’d be able to help him instead of feeling so helpless. The beats were like seconds, counting down to something, though I didn’t know what. Something bad, maybe. I drifted to sleep, the fear sinking down with me.
iii
The next day, we walked downtown Santa Cruz, along tree-lined sidewalks, past cute little shops, restaurants, and art galleries. We were headed to the Brewery Café to meet Shiloh. I watched Miller closely, noting how his face still looked pale. I’d found two empty water bottles in my bedroom trash when I woke up, and he’d complained of being tired, even after sleeping in my bed.
“I hardly remember a real bed,” he’d said that morning. “I forgot what it felt like.”
My stomach tightened. “You can sleep in it every night.”
I’d said it like an offer, but it was a command. If his mom got to sleep at motels, then I’d make him sleep in my bed and drink all the water he needed. I watched Miller walking beside me, stoic and uncomplaining. We took so much for granted every day: heat, toilets, water at the touch of a tap. Privacy, space, a bed. Miller had none of that and yet he’d kept it all inside, faced it alone.
On the
sidewalk outside a pawnshop, Miller stopped and peered in. A beautiful acoustic guitar sat front and center on a stand. Scratches marred its pale wood but the deeper brown on the neck was rich and gleaming.
“That’s beautiful,” I said.
“It’s mine,” Miller said softly, to himself.
I swiveled to look at him. “What?”
His eyes widened and then he scowled. “Shit, nothing, never mind.” He started walking fast down the sidewalk, and I hurried to catch up.
“It’s yours? I didn’t know you played.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I guess so,” I said, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. “Are you good? Have you been playing a long time?”
“Since I was ten. I taught myself how to play watching YouTube when we had a computer.”
“Can you sing?”
He nodded. “Mostly covers, but I write my own stuff too.”
I blinked at this new facet of himself unfolding in front of me. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is that what you’ve been doing in your notebook every night? Writing songs? You could’ve played for me—”
Miller stopped and whirled on me. “Well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it? Jesus, Vi. Do you ever stop asking questions and helping and…meddling in my shit?”
I recoiled as if slapped. “I don’t…I thought…”
He carved a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have told you about the guitar.”
“Why not?”
“Because now you’re just going to go take your rich-girl allowance and buy it back for me. You’ve helped enough. You’ve done enough. I can’t take anymore.”
I stared at the intensity in his eyes that were miles deep and sucking me into him, where the pain was deep and dark. Where want and sacrifice and going without lived. Things that sleeping in a real bed after a hot shower and a meal had woken in him.
“I won’t buy it back,” I said.
“Promise me.”
I bit my lip, shuffled my feet.
Miller set his jaw. “It’s something I have to do for myself. Promise me, Violet.”
“I will if you answer one question. Is not having your guitar what’s made you sad lately?”
“I’m not sad…”
“It was a week ago, right? That you sold it?”