Copyright © 2018 Jocelyn Shippley
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Shipley, Jocelyn, author
Impossible / Jocelyn Shipley.
(Orca soundings)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4598-1556-8 (softcover).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1557-5 (PDF).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1558-2 (EPUB)
I. Title. II. Series: Orca soundings
PS8587.H563I47 2018 jC813'.6 C2017-904497-4
C2017-904498-2
First published in the United States, 2018
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017949679
Summary: In this high-interest novel for teen readers, Jemma witnesses a drive-by shooting but is afraid to speak up.
Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Edited by Tanya Trafford
Cover images by iStock.com and Shutterstock.com
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.
21 20 19 18 • 4 3 2 1
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For my readers
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Acknowledgments
An Excerpt from Another Miserable Love Song
Chapter One
Chapter One
“Hey there,” I say as Violet wriggles and coos on her colorful playmat. It has lots of shiny squeaky toys attached. Got it free at Swap Day in our building. “Look what Mama has for you.” Violet kicks her chubby little legs and flails her arms when she sees her bottle.
I wasn’t planning to be a teen mom. But now that I am, I can’t imagine my life without my baby. Sometimes she’s all that keeps me going.
It’s a humid August night, but I lift Violet and hold her close anyway. I love the feel of her soft, smooth skin and the smell of her hair. I love how she smiles up at me, her big blue eyes full of trust.
Violet grabs at her bottle and gulps her milk down. I miss breastfeeding, but since I switched her to formula, it’s way easier for Wade to babysit when I go to work. I burp her, wipe spit-up from my jean shorts and get her ready for bed.
I rock her in my arms a while before settling her into her crib beside her fluffy pink blanket and stuffed white bunny. I wind up her mobile and listen while it plays “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
Finally I turn out the light and say, “Good night, best little girl in the world.” Just like my mom used to say to me. Back when she still thought I was, that is.
I push guilt from my mind and head to the fridge for a cold drink. But we’re out of soda. We’re also out of milk and bread for breakfast. Why the hell didn’t I go to the store earlier?
I really meant to. But I’m sooo tired. This afternoon was so hot and muggy, I could barely move.
I fill my glass with tap water. Of course we’re also out of ice cubes, because I forgot to refill the tray. I take my drink and stand by our sixth-floor window.
There’s a party down in the park outside our building. People are talking and laughing, having a great time. Bringing back memories I’d rather forget.
I’d like to shut the windows to keep the sound out. But the city is stuck in a heat wave, and our air conditioner is broken. As usual.
If Wade was here, he’d help me through. He’s my half brother, ten years older than me and a million years wiser. He took me in when I was pregnant and had nowhere else to go.
He’s been like a father to Violet. Which is good, because her actual father doesn’t know she exists. And no way will I ever tell him about her.
Because of Wade, I have a future again. He’s the manager at the Bean Leaf Café, and he got me a job. Now I’m saving every penny, trying to be a good mom. When Violet is older, I’ll go back to school to get my diploma.
But Wade is bartending at a friend’s stag tonight, then staying over. I guess I should text him. He would probably even find somebody in the building to go to the store for me. He’s on the co-op board. He knows everybody, and they all like him.
But I don’t want to bother my big brother. Much as I love him, sometimes our relationship is just too parental. I’m deeply grateful for everything he’s done. But I need to learn to cope by myself.
I pace the apartment, even though that makes me sweat. Our two floor fans are running full blast, but still the humidity is sickening. I feel all sticky and gross, and the air reeks of dirty diapers.
The party in the park ramps up. More people, more drinks. I step away from the window and take another look in the fridge. Wade has some beer. A cold one would taste great right now.
I open a can and chug it down. I so want another. But Wade will freak if I drink all his beer, and I can’t afford to replace it.
If only it wasn’t so sweltering in here. This heat’s giving me brain fog. And that party in the park is making me crazy.
I pace around some more. It would be so easy to slip out for groceries. There’s a 24/7 convenience store, the Ready Go, right on our corner.
Violet doesn’t sleep through the night, but she never wakes up before two or three AM. I could be back in fifteen minutes max. That’s no longer than I leave her alone when I go down to the laundry room.
So what’s the difference if I head to the store instead?
No, no, no. Can’t do that.
I am not going out and leaving my kid alone. It’s illegal and dangerous. What if there’s a fire?
I try to distract myself by cleaning up the kitchen.
But then the mad cravings start. I want chocolate. I want ice cream. I want cigarettes. Yeah, I know I shouldn’t smoke. And I did quit when I got pregnant. But it was easy then. Smoking made me puke. Tonight I have this strong desire to light up again.
I tidy Violet’s toys, fold her laundry and set out a clean onesie in case she’s wet in the night. I used up the last of a package of diapers after her bath, so I look in the closet for a new one. And don’t find any.
Oh shit! I mean, like, literally, right? I was sure we had lots on hand. Now I really do need to go to the store, even though diapers are ridiculously expensive at t
he Ready Go.
But still, I shouldn’t leave Violet alone.
Maybe I could call Big Bad Betty. She’s this old Korean lady down on the fourth floor. Her real name is Kim Soon-hee. Besides Wade and Dekker, the building manager’s assistant, she’s my only actual friend here.
Betty sometimes watches Violet for me. But nah. It’s too late. Almost midnight. I’ll just have to take my chances.
My shorts look okay where I wiped off the spit-up, but now I notice some on my shirt. Don’t have anything else clean, so I pull on a new tank top I was saving for special, lime green with a shiny silver butterfly on the front.
I check to see that Violet’s sleeping soundly before throwing my keys, phone and wallet into a cloth shopping bag.
Then I lock the door and run.
Chapter Two
I take the stairs, not the elevator, so there’s less chance of being noticed. I can’t risk anyone telling Wade they saw me leaving without Violet.
What a relief the cooler night air is. I glance around as I cross the street to be sure nobody’s hiding in the shadows. This area is pretty safe, but I always check, even in broad daylight. Have to watch out for a certain guy I never want to see again.
It’s been over a year since I escaped, and he hasn’t shown up. But what if he’s not the kind of guy to just let me go?
I don’t see anyone lurking, so I cut across the park, keeping clear of the party. Wouldn’t want to be tempted to join in. I focus on reaching the Ready Go.
Luckily, the store isn’t busy. I resist the cigarettes but break down and buy a carton of chocolate-fudge ice cream along with the diapers. When the cashier checks me through, she says, “Love that top. Where’d you get it?”
“Thanks. Old Navy, final sale.” I don’t make eye contact, just hurry from the store. So far I haven’t been gone longer than it would take to load three washing machines and put in the coins. But what if Violet wakes up? What was I thinking, leaving her alone?
Back out on the sidewalk, I spot a kid from our building, Kwame Mensah, riding his bike. Hope he doesn’t see me and stop to say hey, like he does when I have Violet with me. That’s all I need.
I flatten myself into the doorway of a building to hide. I’m not completely out of sight, but it works. Kwame rides right on by.
Whoa! That was close.
I step back onto the sidewalk.
And then, out of nowhere, a black SUV with its windows wide-open blasts past. I catch a glimpse of the driver as the vehicle squeals around the corner.
Just as Kwame reaches the intersection, a guy leans out the passenger window.
He’s got a gun.
He fires.
Kwame and his bike go flying. The bike crashes into the curb. Kwame lands on the pavement with a sickening thud.
His crumpled body lies still.
Dead still.
Omigod, omigod, omigod!
I’m paralyzed with shock as the SUV disappears down the street. I try to scream, but no sound comes out.
I grab my phone to call 9-1-1.
But my hands are shaking so hard, I can’t dial.
The driver. Those eyes. I recognized him!
Staff from the store rush out to where Kwame is lying in a pool of blood. I know I should stick around, but I break into a run. I have to get back to Violet.
Racing home, I lose one of my flip-flops. Almost without stopping, I pull off the other, toss both into my shopping bag and keep going. I make it to the building and dash up the stairs in my bare feet.
When I reach our apartment, I think I’m going to faint. Or barf. Or both.
But everything’s okay. My baby is still there. She’s sleeping soundly, arms holding her bunny close.
I gulp down a glass of water and collapse on my bed, soaked with sweat, trembling with fear.
Did I just witness a drive-by shooting?
Is Kwame really dead?
And was the driver really who I think it was?
But everything happened so fast. When I try to recall the details, it’s all gone fuzzy.
Could I have imagined it was him?
I do tend to be paranoid. Maybe it was just somebody who looks like him. Lots of guys have big muscles from working out. Lots of guys have shaved heads and arms covered in ink.
But I saw his eyes.
Sure, it was dark out. But under the streetlight I saw his eyes.
It was Razor.
I always knew he was a criminal. But this is beyond bad. This makes him an accomplice to murder.
I want my big brother Wade to come home and look after me. I want him to make this all go away.
But I can’t tell him what I saw. Ever. Because he’d insist I go to the police, which isn’t an option. And he’d find out I left Violet home alone.
He’d be so pissed off. Drinking one of his beers was bad enough. But being irresponsible with Violet is way worse. He wouldn’t care that we were out of diapers. He’d rather Violet be soaked and stinking than have me leave her. He doesn’t even approve of me going down to the laundry room without her.
I can’t believe I left her. How stupid was that? And I can’t stop seeing Kwame’s body lying in a pool of blood in the street.
Then I’m bawling. I sob and sob and sob.
I know I should call the cops. But I’m too scared. If I admit to being a witness, I’ll have to testify in court. And I could never testify against Razor.
And omigod, what if he recognized me too? Or what if the actual shooter saw me? Because if either of them did, it won’t matter if I never tell a soul. They’ll find me.
If only I hadn’t gone out.
If only I’d never met Razor in the first place.
But I was fifteen, and nothing could keep me from a fun summer in the big city. Wade said I could stay at his place and work at the café.
When I arrived at the bus station downtown and was trying to figure out the way to the subway, this older guy asked if I needed help.
He told me his name was Ralph Stanislav but everybody called him Razor. He said he was twenty-one, but he wouldn’t tell me anything else. He said it was more interesting to talk about me. That should have been a red flag, and I knew it wasn’t smart to go off with a stranger.
But he was so hot. And he had such a cool car. And I’d never had a boyfriend.
I wanted adventure.
Right. I’ve spent the past sixteen months trying to forget Razor and everything that happened since that day at the bus station.
And now I keep seeing his ice-blue eyes as he drove by.
Such hateful, scary eyes.
Chapter Three
I wake up bathed in sweat. At first I think I had a bad dream. Then I realize I’m remembering last night. It all comes rushing back, filling me with guilt and fear.
Up until now, my biggest worry was that Razor would find out Violet is his kid. And then people would find out about my past with him. But now I’ve got way bigger things to obsess over. I witnessed a murder and didn’t do anything.
I didn’t help the victim. I didn’t call the cops. I just ran home and hid.
I’m a terrible person!
But no. I did the right thing. Well, the right thing for me and Violet. I have to protect her, no matter what. It’s not like I meant to witness a murder. I know I made a mistake leaving her alone, but it was just a little one.
So why are the consequences so huge?
Since I don’t work today, I’d like to take Violet for a walk. We could go down to the lake to cool off. But when I look out the window to check the weather, I see cop cars and news vans everywhere.
Probably the back exit is swarmed too. Nobody’s getting in or out of the building without being interviewed. And I bet the lobby’s full of people talking about the shooting.
I can’t face that. No way can I be interviewed or talk to anybody. I’d break down for sure. I’d tell everything, and my life would be over.
So I’m trapped inside. I have to stay calm and not
make anyone suspicious. I have to look after Violet.
As if she knows what I’m thinking, she wakes up. Smiles and reaches her little arms out to me. Makes these mmmmm sounds that could be words, not just baby talk. I’m pretty sure she’s trying to say “mama.” I concentrate on that rather than on how much her eyes look like her father’s.
And how in love with his eyes I once was.
When Violet’s bottle is ready, I turn on the TV. The shooting is all over the news. I hate watching, but I can’t not watch. I have to know what they’re saying.
First there’s an interview with the cashier from Ready Go. She says there was a young woman in the store just before it happened. Holy shit! But all she remembers is my lime-green tank top with the butterfly, and that I bought diapers. Then she shakes her head and starts to cry, hiding her face in her hands.
Lucky for me, the security cameras weren’t working. I never even thought about video evidence. But there is none, so I can’t be identified that way.
The reporter says that homicide detectives are asking the young woman who was shopping in Ready Go just before the shooting to contact them. Omigod! Never! And I’m pitching that tank top.
They’re also asking anyone who witnessed the brutal murder of a thirteen-year-old boy to come forward. Anyone with any information at all.
Then there’s an interview with Kwame’s father. Mr. Mensah is devastated but dignified. He speaks of Kwame with so much love. He begs for someone to explain what happened. He and his family need to know who did it and why.
I start to sob again. I remember Kwame finding a rattle for Violet at Swap Day. And I’ve met his mom, Amadi, at co-op meetings. She’s lovely. I can’t imagine what she’s going through right now.
I hold Violet so tight, she squirms and whimpers.
I set her down on her playmat. I feel sick. I know what happened, but I just can’t tell Kwame’s parents. I’m too terrified of Razor.
My phone rings, and I panic. But it’s not him. It’s Wade.
“You see the news?” he says. “That kid from our building who got shot?”
“Yeah, I have it on right now.” Violet tries to crawl off her playmat. She’ll be mobile soon and getting into everything. We’ve already made the apartment child friendly, but she’s going to be so much harder to watch. How am I ever going to keep her safe? “It’s horrible,” I say. “Kwame was such a sweet kid.”
Impossible Page 1