Allegedly

by Tiffany D. Jackson

  Pajamas on and ready for sleep, I’m at ease for a change as I walk into my room. Until I see Kelly, sitting on my bed, my SAT book in her hands.

  “What’s up, psycho!”

  New Girl is a statue on her bed, hands folded in her lap like she is praying. Kelly smirks and throws the book on the floor. If she moves her hand a half an inch, she’ll feel my knife under the pillow. I shuffle over to my right, hoping to make it to the stick hiding behind the door first.

  “So, you’re still trying to take the SATs? You really think you’re going to college? With what money? And who is gonna hire you? They don’t hire people with records, dumb ass. Didn’t they tell you that?”

  I swallow, inching over slightly, unable to ignore the twitch of fear that she is right. Kelly stands up slow with a satisfied grin.

  “Good night, Sarah,” she says, all pleasant-like. “Nice talking to you.”

  She strolls out, our eyes locked on each other. As soon as she passes the threshold, I slam the door shut and whip around.

  “What the hell was she doing in here!”

  “Nothing,” New Girl stutters.

  “Then why’d you let her in?”

  “I didn’t! I came upstairs and she was sitting on your bed and—”

  “She was here by herself!”

  I run to my side of the room, shift the nightstand, and feel around back. The money is still there.

  The alarm doesn’t go off. I think Jesus woke me up instead, twenty-five minutes before the test. I jump, slip on my clothes and sneakers, barely tying them. I can’t believe New Girl is still asleep with me running around the room, bumping into furniture like a blind woman. Twenty minutes.

  It takes Ms. Reba five whole grumbling painful minutes to check me out and open the door. I have to run. Run with Bean in my belly. I run four blocks in the early morning frost, my lungs about to pop out my mouth. Panting, I hail a gypsy cab on the corner. I tell him the address. He tells me eighteen dollars. Now ten minutes.

  I eat an apple on the way, the tart juices drooling down my chin. I still can’t catch my breath. How did my alarm not go off? I know I set it. I know I did.

  With five minutes left, I get to the school and run to the end of the line, coughing and wheezing up air. I can’t catch my breath in the time it takes me to get to the front of the line. Everyone is staring, waiting for me to die instead of offering me some water. The old white lady at the registration table takes my ticket. I miss Ms. Claire.

  “Mary Addison?”

  I nod, swallowing air in gulps. I’m hungry, which means Bean is starving.

  “Mary Addison? Hmmm . . . why do I know that name?”

  The room goes black and silent.

  She knows!

  My knees collapse like a bridge and I hold the table to keep from falling. She flips through her papers, glaring up at me, trying to place my face and name in her memory like a puzzle piece. She finds my name on the list and gives me a fake smile.

  “Okay, can I see your ID?” she asks.

  It takes a moment for me to move before I rummage through my bag, looking twice, then again in all the pockets. Where’s my wallet?

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

  Old Lady pushes up her green glasses as I search again. My wallet . . . it’s gone.

  “I . . . I . . . can’t find it.”

  “Okay, well, I need you to step aside until you can find it. Quickly now, you only have a few minutes left before we start,” she says.

  I rush to the corner and dump my bag out on the floor, pencils and snacks scattering. Old Lady is whispering to her friend, pointing at me, and I try to ignore her.

  She knows. I know she knows. She read the book about me. She knows what I did.

  A fly buzzes near my ear. I shoo it away and keep digging, but there is no wallet anywhere. Did I leave it in the cab? No, I took the twenty dollars out of my hiding spot and had it in my hand the whole time, even when I was running. Did I forget to pack it? No, that was the first thing I packed. Did it fall out somewhere? If it did, it would be long gone. No wallet would live on the streets of Brooklyn for five minutes. But I know I didn’t drop it. I know it didn’t fall out. I don’t lose things. That is not something I do.

  Blackout? No, I’m not having blackouts anymore. I remember everything now. But what happened to my wallet?

  Kelly.

  She was in our room, alone.

  The lady looks dead faced with disgust as I return to the table.

  “Did you find your ID?” she asks. Her entire tone and body language has changed.

  She knows. And she hates me.

  “No.”

  “Then I’m afraid you can’t take the exam.”

  I don’t attempt to beg. I just walk out.

  A quarter after five, I walk in the group home, soaking from freezing rain, the mirror greeting me. The top of my ponytail looks like a coconut-shaved icy. I’m so tired that just the thought of stairs makes me want to sleep on the floor in front of them. Bean is making me weaker, my muscles turning into jelly. With every step I can feel the extra weight slowing me down. It’ll make running from Kelly much harder.

  Pots and pans clash in the kitchen.

  “I told you to turn the chicken over! What are you, stupid? You’re gonna burn my dinner! Put the cheese sauce on. Reby, why didn’t you tell her to put the sauce on?”

  My wet sneakers squeak on the floor as I slip them off. My ankle bracelet is a tight rubber band, pinching my skin. The first time Ted and I did it, our ankle bracelets clicked and clacked under the sheets like fighting Legos. I laughed the same time Ted did. I miss his laugh.

  Maybe if I run away, I would be free. Free to live with Ted and Bean. The only life I really wanted. It’s what I’ve been fighting for, trying to do the right thing for once. But every step forward I take is another two steps back. Today is a perfect example of that. Maybe if I just do wrong, I can actually get what I want.

  “Damn it, Reba! You forgot my damn donuts! And where’s Mary? Did she clean them bathrooms yet? I need to go!”

  How did I wind up here? Why didn’t I just tell the truth from the start? But if I told the truth, Momma would be in jail. She’d forget to take her pills, hang herself or something. She tried it before. How could I live with myself if she did that?

  But how can I live here?

  My eye is twitching. Maybe I should start taking my pills again. No, that won’t do me any good. And I got Bean, can’t take pills with a Bean in my belly.

  Joi strolls in with empty plates for the dinner table.

  “We’re having chicken and beans tonight.”

  I nod, wringing the water out of my socks. This is her version of small talk. This is what she starts with, meaningless information before she gets to what she really wants to say.

  “Oh yeah! And New Girl’s mom died,” she adds with a grin, continuing her stroll to the dining room. I take a deep breath, looking up the stairs.

  Damn.

  My bare feet touch the top of the first landing. What am I supposed to say to her? She must be devastated and “I’m sorry” doesn’t seem like enough. Not when you lose a parent. A mother. Maybe I shouldn’t say nothing, just leave her to be in her feelings. Like I do best, mind my business. But New Girl is the only person in the house who believes me. If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve never met Ms. Cora. They would have just taken Bean away. I owe her.

  I make my footsteps loud so she knows I’m coming, giving her time. That’s what I would’ve wanted. A moment to prepare myself. To pretend I’m okay when I’m really not, inhale that last real breath before holding it all in, a pipe ready to explode.

  The bedroom door is wide open. New Girl sits in a chair in the middle of the room, facing the window, stiff as stone. I stand in the doorway without a clue of what to say. I want to sound real and sincere, like Benson would, but the words are stuck in my throat like a mouse on a glue trap. I clear my throat and ask something basic.

  “You ok
ay?”

  New Girl’s wavy hair covers her like a blanket. I never noticed how long it was before. It reaches her lower back, coils and curls at the tips like snakes. She stares out into the gray sky, the rain hitting the window with a soft patter, her left knee jittering.

  “Sarah?”

  She’s playing with something in her hands I can’t see, twirling it around over and over. I close the door behind me and keep my distance, this time not out of habit, but instincts. The room feels strange, off somehow. Something’s not right.

  “Sarah?”

  New Girl is breathing funny, like she just finished running twenty miles. Then her slumped shoulders straighten. She stands real slow, turning with the biggest grin spread across her face.

  Satan’s grin.

  “I did it. I finally did it. I finally killed her!”

  New Girl giggled all through dinner, quietly to herself, and only I noticed. Drunk on happiness, she inhaled her food, even licking the fork and asking for seconds. My stomach, filled with fear, had no room for food.

  After an “emergency” therapy session, Ms. Veronica holds her back so they can talk alone. As soon as I see them together, I run up to our room. I need to prepare for my first night with this new New Girl. Maybe she isn’t new. Maybe I never knew her at all and she’s always been this way. How could I’ve been so stupid to let someone in so deep?

  I switch the hiding spot for my money, then move all my secret weapons for easy access. All the plans I had in place for Kelly I now have to use on New Girl. It seems wrong, and not enough. She can kill me in my sleep without anyone knowing. I’ve got to stay awake because I finally realize what that feeling was when I first walked in the room and found New Girl in that chair. It’s the same feeling I have whenever I’m alone with Momma. It’s the feeling of danger.

  New Girl opens the door as I shove the mattress back in place. Even with my knife snug in my pajama pants, I still don’t feel safe. She stares at me, almost a glare, then takes in the room, her eyes falling back on me.

  “What are you doing?”

  Her voice is so innocent and childlike. Doesn’t make sense with what I know is lurking inside her. Blackness, every organ in her body covered with it, running through her veins, seeping out her pores, suffocating us in this room.

  “Nothing,” I mumble, fluffing my pillow. I slip under the covers, pulling them up to my chin, wishing I could go back in my old room with Tara. It’d be safer than in here.

  She gives me an uneasy stare then dresses for bed. I move my pillow in front of Bean, keeping my hand wrapped around my knife under the covers. Twenty minutes later, lights-out, the house quiets down. The moon glows through the window, turning the room navy blue. High on fear, my head throbs, drumming on my temples. I’m thirsty and hungry, but I can’t move because New Girl is still up too. I can feel her eyes on me.

  “You think I’m going to hurt you, don’t you?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I think,” I say.

  She sits up, hugging her knees to her chest.

  “You’re afraid of me.”

  She said it as a statement so I don’t respond, because she’s right. I’m scared as hell. And I have so many questions. I want to know how and why, but questions get you into trouble. Questions make you involved, and I don’t want to be involved with her.

  Suddenly, she springs up from the bed and begins to pace around the room. Every time she comes close, my heart skips into my throat. I sit up and switch on the lamp so I can really see. The light bounces off her pale skin, eyes like firecrackers, smile so wide it takes up her whole face.

  “I can’t believe it,” she says excitedly. “I did it! Took a little longer than I thought, but I did it! Ha!”

  Is anyone listening to this? And if they are, would they help if she attacks? I doubt it. I don’t have a friend left in this house. I clutch the knife under my pillow tighter.

  “She was in a coma for so damn long! I thought she’d wake up or something. But she didn’t.”

  New Girl is pacing fast now, bare feet slapping against the wood floor, chewing on her nails. I brace myself, imagining her lunging at any moment. She is playing with something in her hand again; it looks small and shiny, but I can’t tell what it is. She notices me staring and opens her palm. It’s a ring, with three big diamonds.

  “Look! This was hers! I took it from her before . . . well . . . doesn’t matter. She doesn’t need it anymore.”

  Numbness comes over me quick. Did she steal it before she pushed her down the stairs or after?

  “I . . . I gotta call my lawyer tomorrow,” she says, mad giddy. “Oh, I can pay for him with this! I’m free now! Isn’t this great?”

  “Free?”

  She cocks her head to the side and smiles at me, like parents do when their child asks dumb questions. It’s a look I’ve been getting all my life.

  “Mary, you got to believe me. She wouldn’t leave me alone. Kept making me do all their chores, go to church EVERY Sunday. Ballet lessons, music lessons, on and on. I NEVER got a break. I NEVER got to do anything I wanted!”

  “Did she . . . beat you?”

  New Girl stops pacing.

  “Well, no. But it’s just like abuse. That’s what my lawyer says. Mental abuse. She called me names! She controlled me! I know about it. I’ve studied it.”

  I don’t know anything about mental abuse, but I do know New Girl is definitely insane.

  “Oh,” I mumble.

  New Girl gasps, looking like another SAT word: incredulous.

  “After everything that’s happened, don’t you want your mother dead too? Look where you are! Look what she’s done to you!”

  Words fall dead in my mouth. She’s right, why wouldn’t I want Momma dead? It’s her fault I’m in this mess to begin with. But wanting Momma dead and actually doing it . . . two totally different things.

  “See, Mary,” she says with a smirk. “You of all people should understand. You’re just like me! And now we’ll both be free! Together! Just you and me.”

  Yes, I’m an idiot for trusting anyone in this house, even innocent mousy-looking white girls like New Girl, but I’m far from her.

  “I’m nothing like you,” I hiss, eyes narrowing.

  Her smile drops. She looks me up and down, then coughs up a gasp.

  “Wow. You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “Okay, Mary, remember what I said. No beating around the bush. I want you to tell this woman everything you’ve told me. Matter of fact, more than you’ve told me,” Ms. Cora says.

  She walks fast through the halls of a plain office building somewhere downtown, her heels mute against the carpet, carrying her briefcase. I waddle fast, trying to keep up. She seems mad edgy and impatient today.

  “Just be calm and tell her the truth.”

  The truth, the truth, the truth . . .

  “And I mean it, Mary! Don’t leave anything out.”

  “Have I before?”

  “Well, you weren’t exactly forthcoming about your medication, now were you?”

  Damn, is that what this is all about? She stops midstride with a grimace, shaking her head.

  “Sorry, Mary. I didn’t mean that,” she says. “Stress is getting to me. I just . . . hate surprises, that’s all.”

  She gives me a fake smile that I don’t return and continues down the hall while I follow, shaking off the sting of her words.

  “Okay,” she says as we reach the end of the hall. “Here we go. Suite 1603.”

  She pushes the heavy metal door and we step into warm golden light. This office is not like a regular psychiatrist’s office, or at least, not any I’ve been to. Cream walls with black Chinese symbols in thin frames, tan chairs with green leafy plants scattered around. On the coffee table, a waterfall pours over moss-covered rocks. It’s beautiful and peaceful, like we’re in the middle of a rain forest.

  “Nice,” Ms. Cora mutters, just as a side door opens.

  A white lady with short silver
hair and a long burgundy dress comes out, smiling. Her teeth perfect and bright.

  “Hi, Mary,” she says. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Ms. Cora does a double take as the woman extends her wrinkly hand. I want to slap it away. Who the hell is this and what does she mean by “again”?

  “Wait a minute, are you saying you’ve met with Mary before?”

  She frowns, staring as if she expects me to back her up. I don’t say nothing.

  “Yes. Twice, actually. And hello, by the way. I’m Dr. Cross.”

  Ms. Cora and I exchange the same shocked look.

  What! She’s lying! I’ve never seen this lady a day in my life!

  The smoke from her incense floats into the room. Ms. Cora flusters, failing to contain her fury.

  “Then . . . why was it never reported? I’ve never seen your name in any of her files!”

  Dr. Cross frowns, glancing at me then back at Ms. Cora. I struggle, but can’t place her face anywhere. This is a trick, set up by Mr. Jerk Face, I bet. We should go.

  “I’ve submitted reports about Mary, on both occasions,” she says defensively. “I have no idea why they wouldn’t be in her files.”

  “Well, do you have a copy of the reports?”

  She sighs. “Unfortunately, my older case files were all lost in a basement flood during the storm.”

  Ms. Cora snorts, crossing her arms. “How convenient.”

  Dr. Cross’s eyebrow arches, her lips in a tight line. She glares at Ms. Cora before nodding in my direction.

  “The color of the belt that made the scar on the back of your neck . . . it was brown, right?”

  My mouth drops and I almost faint on the spot.

  How did she know that!

  Ms. Cora is motionless, eyes wide. Dr. Cross smirks.

  “Some things you can’t forget. Why don’t we talk inside my office?”

  She gestures to the door and I step back. No goddamn way I’m going with this mind reader anywhere! Ms. Cora touches my arm, her fingertips cold.

  “Go,” she croaks. With a gulp, I follow Dr. Cross into her office.