Astray (Gated Sequel)

by Amy Christine Parker

  I land in a row that seems to be all fiction. We only had a few shelves of books in the clubhouse, and I’d read all of those enough times that I’d memorized entire chapters. I put a finger on one of the spines and slowly pull it out. It’s slightly tacky along the front and back cover, like it’s been handled often. Still, I flip it open and start looking at the first page or two. It’s by someone named Stephen King. There’s a picture of him on the back. He looks like Mr. Brown from the Community. The resemblance is almost eerie.

  “Do you like to read?” Mrs. Ward is beside me.

  “Yeah,” I say quietly. I flip the pages idly, forcing myself to be casual about it.

  “Well, why not take that one home today?” Mrs. Ward smiles at me, takes the book before I can decide either way, and walks it up to the front of the library and around the back of the long table there. She hands it to the lady sitting behind it.

  “Mrs. Connors, are the kids in the system yet? Lyla would like to check out this book.”

  I want to disagree. It was one thing to consider it on the shelf, but now I can feel the other kids staring at my back and the prospect of reading isn’t as appealing as before.

  Mrs. Connors shakes her head. “By tomorrow they will be.” She stares at her computer and types something. “She can check it out under my name for now.”

  She types some more and then hands the book back to me. She gives me the dreaded pity look that I hate. “Take as long as you like. Since it’s in my name, it won’t have to come back in the usual two weeks. But see that you take good care of it. No reading in the bathtub.”

  I take the book and hug it tightly to my chest. My face is on fire. “Um, thanks. I promise I’ll be careful.”

  Her face brightens. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  Mrs. Ward grins at both of us. I guess I’ve just given her her first breakthrough of the day. Behind me someone coughs and I hug the book even tighter. I have the strong urge to rush to my book bag and stuff the book inside it, but I stop myself. I don’t belong to the Community anymore and yet I can’t help feeling like I’m forcing myself to balance on a very thin beam all the time, trying not to lean too far in either direction: Mrs. Ward’s or theirs.

  I turn to go back to my spot on the floor. I tilt the book out in front of me so that I can see the title. The Stand. I don’t know what it means, but I’m suddenly dying to find out. It feels like this book could hold secrets about what I’ve been missing, about what Pioneer’s been keeping from us. It makes no sense, but I feel it anyway. I want to go through every row, stack book after book on this first one, and then sit down and read them all. There’s so much to discover. And this is only one tiny corner of such a large world.

  Principal Geddy comes back to the media center just as we’re tossing the remains of our lunches into large trash cans. His eyes dart around the floor and after a minute he stoops down and picks up a smallish crumb, sighs. A few kids are still huddled against the bookshelves, their uneaten sandwiches beside them. Principal Geddy’s face tightens and his mouth opens and closes, but ultimately he doesn’t say anything. Maybe he’s afraid to, afraid to have any of us react to his reprimand the way we did to the fire alarm. It makes for a weird sort of tension between him and us. It makes me wish someone would fake a hysterical fit just to get it out of the way, to stop him from wondering when it might happen and what he should do when it does.

  Mrs. Ward passes out a series of tests. We’re supposed to answer all of the questions on them to the best of our ability. They want to see what we already know so that they can put us in the right classes. I read over the questions. The English part is easy. I’m smiling by the time I finish it, but the history bits are … confusing. I recognize the dates of some of the historical stuff, but the possible answers we’re supposed to choose from don’t make sense. All of them are just wrong. And the math is like looking at another language entirely. After struggling through a few questions, I just randomly pick answers and hope for the best. Pioneer always chose what we studied. Some of us concentrated on the arts, others on math and science. By the looks of things, his lessons were very different than what the Outsiders were learning. I wonder if anyone else is realizing the same thing. I glance up at the others, but they’re intent on their papers. Will is tapping his pencil on the side of his head like maybe somehow he can hammer the correct answers into it. I see very few pencils actually touch paper.

  By the time we complete all of the tests—or at least pretend to—the school day is over and my head is pounding. As soon as the last bell for the day chimes, the hallway outside the library fills with students. A few students knock on the library’s glass window and make faces at us as they pass. Others walk by without looking in at all. A very few smile shyly. I try not to watch them, but I can’t help myself. According to Principal Geddy, tomorrow we’ll be out there. With them.

  I want to go back to Cody’s house and shut myself up in his sister’s room and try to make sense of this day, but I can’t. I have a counseling session with my parents in less than an hour. My headache goes from bad to almost unbearable.

  Mrs. Ward gathers up the last of our tests and we start collecting our coats and lining up by the double doors.

  “What do you think about this place? About today?” Will says as he comes up beside me. He has his coat on. His hands are in his pockets like they’re already cold.

  “I have no idea,” I say honestly, and his mouth turns up a little.

  “I think it sucked … truly.” He makes a face and I can’t help smiling back at him.

  Heather and Julie are watching us from the front of the line. Heather raises an eyebrow and the side of her mouth curves up. She whispers in Julie’s ear. They both stare at us with unmistakable approval. Julie starts humming that creepy song again, loudly enough for me to hear; this time the tune is extra cheery. There’s an unspoken “I knew it was only a matter of time” to the tone.

  “So how’s your new place?” I ask Will in a voice loud enough to drown out her humming.

  “Not like home,” he says.

  Will and I squeeze through one side of the library’s double doors. We haven’t been this close since the night we snuck out of the Community and danced together down by the river. My nose bumps his chest, right above his heart. I breathe in sharply. It only takes a second to realize that Will doesn’t smell like summertime or the fields beyond Mandrodage Meadows the way he used to. He just smells like soap and boy. That familiar scent is gone—like so many other things. Out of nowhere my eyes fill with tears. They fill up so unexpectedly and fast that I can’t keep the tears from spilling out and running down my cheeks.

  There goes Taylor’s carefully applied makeup and my vow to never cry here, is all I can think as the tears run off my face and onto my shirt. My nose starts to run and my chest aches and then all of it—this day, this moment, all that I’ve lost—overwhelms me. I can’t move.

  Will’s already through the door, but when I don’t keep up, he turns back toward me. He notices that I’m crying right away. I open my mouth to explain, but he shushes me. “It’s okay, I get it. Man, do I get it,” he says softly, his hand coming up to touch my cheek. His eyes are rimmed in red and he swallows hard. “This … it’s not easy.”

  I nod. He will always get me in a way that no one else can. It’s sad and somehow comforting all at the same time.

  Will’s hand lingers for a moment on my cheek.

  “Lyla?” It’s Cody. He’s walking up the hallway, his eyes on Will’s hand and my face, still wet with tears. “What happened?”

  Will lets his hand drop. His eyes grow distant. He rounds on Cody. “I don’t know, maybe it’s the weird way your friends welcomed us or maybe it’s having to start her whole life over from scratch. What did you expect, for her to just blend right in?”

  I don’t want Will to speak for me, especially not to Cody. “I’m fine, I just had a moment there,” I say, and stand between them. Neither boy looks convinced. I wipe my face
. “I’m fine, really, it’s just the day was … weird.”

  I want to explain, to help Cody understand, but I can’t and so I have to hope that he’ll get it enough to not be mad that I was so close to Will a second ago. Besides, how do I explain that Will’s lack of summertime smell felt like one more death in a long line of them and it was just more than I could take? Cody wants me to be happy here with him. And I want to be that. Happy. I need to be. Otherwise, all that’s happened was for nothing.

  Cody steps closer to me. His hands are in his pockets, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He stares at Will. Will stares right back. I can feel the tension building between them. I clear my throat and they both turn in my direction. It’s like they’re both expecting me to do something. Choose between them, maybe? I don’t want to have to. I mean, strictly speaking, I have. I chose Cody … and I’d do it again, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to have Will around anymore.

  I squirm for a moment before I spot my salvation across the hall. The girls’ restroom. Sweet escape. “I, um, need a second,” I mumble while managing not to look at either of them. I put my head down and rush past them and straight for the door with the girl silhouette on it. I try not to let it remind me of the cardboard cutouts that we used for target practice back at Mandrodage Meadows. It’s starting to feel like no matter where I go, something from my past will be waiting to blindside me. It’s exhausting. I throw myself into the nearest stall and lean against the wall. I let my book bag and coat drop to the floor.

  There were two girls by the mirror when I walked in. I can hear them giggling now.

  “Okaaay,” one girl says, her voice drawing out the word. There’s another giggle from the other girl, then a brief silence. I have an overwhelming urge to peek over the top of the bathroom stall to see what they’re doing out there. Instead I try to look through the narrow crack between the door and the stall. I think they’re putting on makeup.

  “The Winter Festival should be a blast. Kevin asked me to go with him to Ted’s party after. He’s having a bonfire behind his house. You’re going, right?” The other girl glances at the stall I’m in and I duck out of the way, but I think she saw me anyway. I must look like a total crazy person for spying on them.

  “Hey … everything all right in there?” The girl’s voice is just outside the stall.

  I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling. I study the brown watermark there, trace its shape with my eyes and try to make myself relax. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Look, what the guys did today with the fire alarm … wasn’t cool. Sorry if it made your first day bad and all,” she says. Is she being sincere or putting me on? I can’t tell.

  The girls begin to whisper. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but then one of the girls’ voices gets louder. “Uh, I’ve got to get my bio homework before we go. I’ll wait for you by the trophy case … but don’t take too long.”

  I can hear the girl’s shoes click across the floor, then there’s a brief burst of hallway noise before the bathroom goes quiet again. One of the girls is still in here with me.

  “So, um, you’re not peeing in there, are you? ’Cause if you are, I won’t try to talk to you until you’re, uh, done. But if you’re not peeing, maybe you could come out? I just want to introduce myself.”

  I unlatch the door and open it, feeling a little silly for hiding.

  The girl holds out her hand. “My name’s Jaclyn, but most people just call me Jack.”

  She’s got these multicolored braids scattered all around her face like Medusa’s snakes. They’re sparkly too. Somehow she’s managed to weave a healthy dose of glitter into each braid, but not get any on her face or clothes. She’s delicate and elf-like—except for her enormous boobs—which stick out of the black sweater/tank top combo she’s wearing like, well, outrageously oversized boobs. I can’t even come up with a delicate description, because I can’t stop staring. Her boobs are bigger than mine. This makes me strangely happy. I’ve never known another girl my age who was more endowed in that department. I have to work not to crack up laughing about it.

  “Lyla,” I say once I snap out of my boob shock and we shake hands. It seems like a ridiculous thing to do in the middle of a bathroom, and I smile.

  “You’re the girl living with Cody. Wait, that just came out all wrong. Living with the Crowleys.” She smiles. “I’d ask you how your first day went, but considering the way you stormed in here, I’m pretty sure I know. Can’t say it’ll get better, but you probably already know that. It is survivable, though. I moved here at the beginning of last year.” She says this last bit like it makes her situation and mine similar, when I’m pretty sure it doesn’t. Still, it’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t in Cody’s family or part of the Community.

  “And you like it here?” I ask.

  “No, I like it back in Boston. I tolerate here. My mom got remarried and I don’t exactly get along with the guy, so she sent me to hang out with my dad for a while, but he’s not exactly much better. He’s Principal Geddy,” she says, and rolls her eyes.

  Her dad is the principal. Weird. I nod and smile again. I probably seem like an idiot, but I don’t know what to say to her.

  “So, what was it like in your … neighborhood? I mean, during that raid you must have been pretty scared, right?” Her question is so direct that my mouth drops open.

  I shake my head. “Yeah, I guess.” I walk around her and start to wash my hands. I look into the mirror. She’s behind me, watching.

  “Sorry—I didn’t mean to overstep, but you guys are front-page news. And when I heard about it, I just couldn’t even imagine what it might be like to be there.” She looks at me hopefully.

  For a second I consider letting my guard down and telling her, but at the last minute I change my mind. After the fire drill I’m not sure I can trust anybody in this school.

  “I was thinking … maybe we can hang out sometime? I can show you around a little and stuff?” Jack asks.

  This is what I was hoping for when I woke up and got dressed, to make new friends. My heart leaps a little, I try to be nonchalant, but I’m probably failing miserably. I don’t care. “Sure.”

  She nods. “Good, so I’ll look for you tomorrow, then. Gotta go. Aubrey’s waiting for me.”

  I dry my hands and nod and she waves before ducking out of the bathroom. The noises from the hallway outside have dropped off. Everyone has to be headed home by now. I’m pretty sure that Will left with the others. I should be okay to go back out there.

  I pull on my coat and button it, then grab my bag. My hand grazes a piece of card stock as I try to zip it closed. The note from my dad is still in the front pocket.

  Be strong. Don’t lose yourself.

  I pull it out now and look at his message one more time before I crumple it up and throw it into the trash can. Losing myself is exactly what I need to do.

  I believe he holds the answers to everything. Of course I do. I have to.

  —Will Richardson, member of the Community

  SEVEN

  By the time I leave the bathroom, the hallways are completely deserted and Cody is all alone. He’s sitting on the floor, his back to the wall, legs crossed out in front of him. Spread across his legs is a sketchpad. He’s so engrossed in his drawing that he doesn’t even see me coming at first.

  I get closer and crane my neck to see. He’s drawn something that looks a little like a gargoyle with a dozen spikes running the length of its head in a deadly Mohawk. The eyes are narrowed and completely black. It’s ugly and awful-looking, but I like it. I like all of his monsters—the ones on paper and the ones he molds and makes at home. I find them kind of comforting in a weird way. At least their evil is obvious. If Pioneer had looked like what he actually is deep down inside, none of us would have followed him in the first place.

  I crouch down to take a closer look at his sketch.

  “Hey, what do you think?” He leans the sketchpad in my direction a little.
>
  “I like it, but I’d maybe put a little cross-hatching in here.” I point to the curved underside of the creature’s neck. “Add a little more texture. And his head needs more spikes.”

  “You think?”

  “Definitely.”

  Drawing is one passion that we share. Granted, I mostly sketch animals, people, and landscapes, while he sketches ghouls, gargoyles, and werewolves, but still, we both get all excited about making something pop off the page.

  It’s nice to have someone else to draw with. Back at Mandrodage Meadows we each had something that we were good at, but once we found it, we didn’t go looking for anything else—unless one of the others had the same talent and ours wasn’t better. Then Pioneer would make us choose again, even if we didn’t want to. He thought that when we began the New Earth with the Brethren, our Community should be as well rounded as possible. Sometimes I wonder if I’d been given the chance whether I would have found something else to love, like piano playing or singing or something. It’s weird to think that I can now if I want to. But what do I try first? Instead of having too few choices, I have too many.

  Cody’s filling in the creature’s bottom jaw, taking my suggestion and adding the extra spikes. I smile; it already looks better. Cody’s pencil moves deftly across the page. “You ready to bust out of here?”

  I nod. “More than ready.”

  “Before … with Will? Did he say something that got you upset?” His voice is carefully neutral, but I can feel the anger underneath. He’s never liked Will. I guess there’s no way he could, considering our history.

  “No, actually, he was the only one who was nice to me today,” I say slowly.

  Cody flips his sketchpad closed and begins stuffing his art supplies into the raggedy blue backpack beside him. We walk outside. The parking lot is mostly empty. I wasn’t in the bathroom all that long, but his car is one of the only ones still in the lot. Everyone must have been in a giant hurry to leave. Makes me wonder how great school can really be if everyone leaves it like the building’s caught on fire. Ha! Fire. I’d almost forgotten about the fire alarm.