by C. B. Stagg
I didn’t have friends at school. I was smart, but quiet, and I kept to myself. Some called me a loner, others called me a bitch, but neither label was accurate. In truth, I was a shy, scared girl. Shy, because I’d never been taught to socialize, and scared because there were parts of my reality I wanted to keep hidden. So I let people judge me based on what they thought they knew about me.
The opinions of the mostly shallow teenagers at my high school meant very little to me, with the exception of Jase Pearson. His opinion mattered a great deal, because he was real. On more than one occasion, he had lent me pencil and paper when I had none. And last year in English, when we were required to get our own copy of “To Kill A Mockingbird,” he noticed that I kept coming to school without one. So after a few days, I sat down in my usual spot to find a brand-new copy of the book and inside was my name written in black Sharpie. Now, he never admitted he put that book there, but I know it was him. He was the only person who noticed me, so he was the one person in life that mattered to me.
He didn’t answer me as he shifted his weight from foot to foot and rubbed his arms for warmth. Surely I hadn’t been wrong about him.
“Why would you offer me food and heat? What’s in it for you? You think you can lure me in and then call the cops? Hand me over with a nice little bow, like a sitting duck? I don’t think so!”
I moved to push past him for a third time—backpack or no backpack—but he stopped me, grabbing my shoulders. He wasn’t huge, but he towered over me.
“Jeez, Reb–, um, Becky. I’m not going to call the cops.”
I looked up into his eyes. I wanted to believe him. I so wanted him to be the Jase Pearson I’d created in my mind after being in classes with him for so long.
“Look, my mom is next door, but she’ll be home soon. If you wanna stay out here and freeze your ass off, be my guest. I won’t give you up. But if you’re planning to take advantage of my generous offer, you need to let me know now, because we only have a small window of time for me to get you inside and upstairs without being discovered.”
My instincts told me to run, fast and far, but the pressure of his hands on my arms was such a comfort. He is messing with my head.
Wanted, welcomed physical contact was nonexistent in my life. While I’d always told myself I preferred it that way… this goofy, lanky white boy, with his red hair and his freckles, holding me with such care and steadying me in a way that told me he meant no harm… there was no way I could resist.
I nodded in defeated agreement, so he swung my backpack over his shoulder and motioned for me to follow him into his home.
And into his life.
Chapter 4
Jase
BECKY STOPPED JUST ON the threshold of the mudroom and kitchen, which gave a direct view into the main part of the house. She stared, taking it all in. At school, Rebecca was so quiet and reserved. She was very advanced, academically. That I knew from the classes we took together. But socially, I couldn’t read her at all. Not at school, and not as I followed her into my home.
“I didn’t realize people actually lived like this.” I wasn’t sure she meant her thought to be audible, but it was, and it gave me pause.
“Oh. Well, my mom and I do, I guess.” Smooth, Jase… not awkward at all. “Hey, speaking of my mom, let’s get you upstairs before I have a lot of explaining to do, hmm?”
I reached down for her hand to pull her toward the stairs, but when our fingers touched, her big, brown eyes popped up to mine. She looked from my face down to where my hand held onto hers, so I snatched it back. “I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… ” It was becoming clear I just might be getting in way over my head with this girl. “Just… follow me, okay?”
And she did. Thank God.
Opening my bedroom door, I found myself wishing for once I’d actually listened to my mother and made my bed or at least picked up my dirty clothes.
And what was that smell?
Becky silently followed me in, and I closed the door behind us and locked it, before closing the blinds and curtains on both windows. I hadn’t been granted the opportunity to sneak a girl into my bedroom before, and this wasn’t exactly the way I’d pictured it happening, but I knew enough to cover all my bases. Casey often called me to ask what I was reading or what I was watching on TV because he could see right into my room from across the cul-de-sac.
Glancing around, I noticed an enormous pile of my dirty practice clothes, cleats, and shin guards in a pile at the foot of my bed. Oh, that’s the smell. I tried to kick them under nonchalantly, but failed when they made a clunking sound as they hit something else I’d already shoved under there. Again, smooth. I put her backpack on the bed and started to open drawers from my dresser, grabbing her a T-shirt and some… boxers?
“You go in there and take a hot shower. It’ll warm you up. I’ll go grab us some food. Try to be quick, though. It’ll be hard for me to explain why I’m down in the kitchen getting enough food for two when the shower is running full blast upstairs if my mom comes home, you know?”
She smiled and nodded, looked at the stack of clothes, then back at me, biting the inside of her cheek. She was clearly scared, and I had no idea how to convince her no harm would come to her with me.
“Oh, you can wear those tonight. I’ll run a load of laundry later, so if you set what you’re wearing outside of the bathroom, I’ll add them to mine.”
She nodded before taking the clothes and slinking into the bathroom. When she left the door cracked, I moved to close it, but instantly she caught the doorknob and pulled it back open.
“Please don’t close it. I can’t… I don’t… ” Her eyes stayed locked on her hand, white-knuckling the door. “Please leave it open, just a little, okay?” She was shaking, but this time I knew it wasn’t because she was cold. She was terrified.
“Sure, okay, no problem. I’ll just go. Can I close the bedroom door?” Her quick, slight nod made her reluctance crystal clear. “Okay, I’ll be right back, but I won’t look in there. I swear.” I held my hand up, scout’s honor, and she half-smiled before disappearing into the bathroom.
I tore down the steps, taking two at a time. With one eye on the back door and one eye on what I was doing, I prepared two plates of leftovers. Hearing the shower stop, I waited an additional few minutes, then took the food up to my room.
“Knock, knock,” I sang, before pushing through the bedroom door I’d left cracked open a few minutes before. Becky was sitting on the edge of my bed, dressed in my clothes and staring at the bulletin board above my computer. “Hope you’re hungry. I heated up leftover lasagna.”
My approach was slow, not wanting to catch her off guard. She reminded me of an animal in the wild. You know, the ones they warn you not to approach, or they’ll claw your eyes out or go straight for your jugular? I felt fairly safe taking my chances with Becky, but it made me wonder if she viewed me as friend or foe. My instincts told me she’d spent her fair share of time in the wild and had a lot of experience with predators in her life.
I set the dinner tray down on my desk and went to her, gently sitting beside her on the bed. “Hey… ” I slowly put my arm around her and found she was trembling. “Hey, you’re all right now, okay? You’re here, and you’re safe. I’ve got you now so you can relax. Nothing bad will happen to you here.”
At those words, she wrapped her arms around me, burying her head in my chest as sobs wracked her body, soaking the front of my shirt.
“Shhhhh,” I whispered over and over again as I rocked her in my arms. This girl was almost a complete stranger to me. The only thing I really knew about Rebecca Johns was actually pinned up on the bulletin board she’d been staring at. About six months ago, at the end of our sophomore year, a personal narrative essay she’d written was up for some national award, and it ended up being published in the school newspaper. I’d saved it and found myself reading it often.
If Wishes Were Horses
By Rebecca Johns May, 1999
> ‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride… ’
I heard that phrase grace my momma’s lips more times than my own name. It was her backup, her fail-safe… words she used when she felt like I’d heard the word ‘no’ one too many times. The funny thing was, it meant the exact same thing.
But wishes were free, a price I could afford. I could wish all I wanted, free of judgment or ridicule, and I did. It was the asking part that was harder. Once, I asked for new shoes because the ones we’d gotten at Goodwill a few months earlier were too tight even before we left the store.
“Girl, if wishes were horses—”
“Yeah, Momma,” I sighed. “Beggars would ride.” That day, I started wearing my old shoes just without socks so they’d make it a little longer.
I’d heard that phrase my whole life, but when I was little, all it meant to me was my momma had no idea what wishes truly were... because they certainly had nothing to do with horses and beggars. It wasn’t until sophomore English I learned it was a Mother Goose rhyme and not something she’d just made up. But even knowing the meaning behind the familiar nursery rhyme, I still didn’t believe my momma knew what wishes really were. But I did.
Wishing, for me, was what most kids called praying. Only I didn’t know what praying was, so I’d just wish. Sometimes I’d wish for silly things, like a baby doll that looked like me, with skin the color of a chocolate bar, not the color of lightly buttered toast. Sometimes I’d wish for long, smooth hair that would fly in the wind. Hair I could brush and style like the synthetic strands on my Barbie doll instead of the unruly crown of curly frizz surrounding my head like a halo. And sometimes I’d wish for a momma who loved me enough to braid those lovely strands so I could wear those little bows the other girls in my class had. After that, I’d wish for a closet full of beautiful outfits with hair bows in every color that could be found in a candy shop, to match each one.
When I got a little older and became more socially aware, my wishes matured, becoming more practical. I often wished my lunch card was the same color as the white kids in my class. Their blue lunch cards allowed them to buy ice cream on Fridays and an extra carton of strawberry milk any day of the week. My yellow one did not. I also wished my teachers understood that, in my neighborhood, a full night of sleep was a privilege, not a basic human right. And that I’d surpassed my mother’s education level by the time I was ten, therefore writing ‘Check math with a parent before turning in,’ meant nothing to me. Sometimes I wished for a dad to keep me safe. But most of all, I wished for the impossible: to be someone different. What I truly wanted growing up was to either be black, like the girls from my neighborhood, or white, like the ones who lived in the brick houses we passed on the bus twice a day. The challenges of being visually caught between the haves and the have-nots were the worst sort of social purgatory.
So I spent my childhood wishing for things that would never be—because for little mixed-race girls from the projects—hopes and dreams were completely out of reach. For us, wishes don’t come true. And for me, unless I learn to love myself for who I am, life will never be a fairy tale with a ‘happily ever after.’
She won the contest and my utmost respect.
My experience with girls could have been written in wide-tip marker on a postage stamp with room to spare. It was limited to generic classroom interactions and the ten-year-old dirty magazine Casey had hidden in his tree house, so I was in no way equipped to console a crying teenage girl. But comforting Becky, while her fears and insecurities tore through her thin body like a wrecking ball, felt like the most natural thing in the world. Human nature kicks in when you least expect it, and holding this fragile being against my chest came as easily and automatic to me as breathing. It didn’t hurt that she fit perfectly against my frame, like a puzzle piece sliding into place.
“Lie your head here, over my heart.” I felt the rhythm of my heart, patting it out on her back and within minutes, hers had slowed, matching mine. Her breaths slowed with it. Crisis averted, for now.
But the spell was broken when we both heard the back door slam. I jumped, but Becky froze, her jagged breathing coming in spurts every few seconds.
“Jase? I’m home,” my mother’s tired voice drifted up the stairs. “I can help you with your English report now.”
Is she serious? NOW she wants to help? I knew if I didn’t answer, she’d come find me. So I pulled away from Becky and held my finger up, signaling I’d just be a minute. Reaching the edge of the bannister, I leaned over and called down to her, “Hey, I have a headache. I think I’m just gonna go to bed. Can we do it tomorrow?” My voice was shaky and high-pitched, anything but normal. I thought for sure she’d take one look at me and know I was hiding a girl in my room. So I waved and headed back down the hall before she could respond.
“Okay, babe. You need me to bring you some Tylenol? Advil?” she called after me.
I jogged back to the railing. “Nah, I’m good. Night, Mom.” Once I reached my room, I closed the door quickly behind me, locking it for good measure. Then I propped my desk chair under the doorknob like people always did in the movies, not sure if that even really worked, but it was worth a shot.
My mom lived on the first floor, and her office was also downstairs, so the second story was practically mine. She almost never came up here, but if I wasn’t careful, it would be just my luck that this would be the night.
I found Becky right where I left her, staring at me. “I can close the door as long as I’m in here with you, right?” She nodded as she chewed on her bottom lip, but never broke eye contact.
She was so pretty, and I was becoming a little too familiar with the stirring I felt deep in my gut when I was around her. She’d used some sort of elastic band to pull her wild hair back from her face, and her freshly washed chestnut skin glowed. Her eyes took up half her face, with these big, round pupils that matched her hair color exactly and her cheeks were still pink from the hot water. I’d never actually seen her genuinely smile, so I made it my personal mission in life. I just wanted to bring her joy.
“Well… you eat and I’ll just go grab a shower.”
She sucked in a breath and her eyes got even wider, looking between the door and me.
“Oh… What if I leave the bathroom door open just a crack so you’re not really alone?”
Nodding, she audibly exhaled in relief. I did as well. I’d been gifted the opportunity to help this girl. She was my responsibility now, and she was starting to feel safe with me. Earning Becky’s trust had become top priority for me and I wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that, so I went into the bathroom, leaving a sizable gap between the door and the jamb.
When I returned, just a few minutes later, Becky was gone. Or that’s what I thought at first. In a panic-induced frenzy, I walked around the bed searching and found her curled up in the corner against the walls, knees pulled in tight, with her head buried in her arms. She appeared to be fast asleep, so I sat for a moment, just watching her breathe. How had I gotten into this situation, where I found myself as guardian and savior of Becky Johns, the shy, quiet girl from my algebra class? I may never know for sure, but now that I had, I wasn’t backing down until I’d helped this girl find the peace she deserved.
Chapter 5
Becky
I’D ALWAYS STRUGGLED TO recognize kindness for what it was, because altruism and unicorns were similar in their appearances in my world. Where I came from, every seemingly decent act came with a stiff price. So I naturally questioned the motivation behind Jase Pearson—rich, redheaded, super smart white boy, with a dorky haircut and invisible eyelashes—helping me. Someone so clearly below his station in life. Despite the fact he'd been nothing but kind and gentle so far, one troubling thought continued to niggle at my mind. What payout would he be expecting sooner or later?
While he showered, I ate some of the food he had brought up. It was cold, but it was delicious. I was scared to eat too much, though. I hadn’t had a full stomach i
n months, so filling up could prove to be a mistake. And really, what I needed most was sleep.
But I had no idea how to make that happen. There was one bed, full-sized, along with a desk and a chest of drawers. Obviously, I wasn’t going to sleep in the bed. I checked the closet, but the floor was covered in shoes and cleats, and it smelled like a zoo. I usually preferred a small room, like a closet, where I could park myself in a corner and keep eyes on all the space around me. I only truly felt safe if I was encapsulated, facing any dangers that may come. So I settled for the next best thing. Assuming my usual position, I curled up in the corner, between the bed and the wall, and breathed a sigh of relief. One more day down.
I was jostled awake as strong arms wrapped around me. It was Jase. I could smell him, all clean soap and fresh toothpaste. He picked me up, cradling me like a baby as he lifted me out of my hole and placed me onto his bed. As I stretched out, he lifted the covers and tucked me in tight.
“It’s okay. I was fine where I was… ”
I was trying to move back, but the boy was strong. In any other situation, if a man were holding me down on a bed, I would have gone full-blown crazy on his ass, but this was Jase. We’d been in classes together for years. He wasn’t exactly a friend, but he also wasn’t a stranger. From what little I did know of him, he was harmless. I hadn’t slept in a real bed in almost a year, and even then, it was never a clean one. So I surrendered without much of a struggle and fell back onto the pillows.
I opened my eyes to the darkness, but the sirens and red and blue lights strobing under the door revealed my unfamiliar surroundings. I stood on sleepy, wobbly legs, shaking off the coats and blankets that had been hiding my sleeping body, and heard the crying. I always heard the crying. Wanting to investigate, I reached for the doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn. I twisted it both ways and rattled it with such force it popped off in my hand.