Beyond the Pale

by Jennifer Millikin

  “Working.”

  “I didn’t know computers could give you such a workout.”

  “Very funny, Miss L.” He pauses again, and I imagine him gulping water from a bottle. “What’s up?”

  “My mom died, and I was wondering if you feel like coming to Arizona?”

  Finn’s quiet for a moment before he speaks. “You’re in luck, Lennon. I’m already in Arizona.”

  Surprise jerks my head back an inch. “You went home... without us?”

  “I’m in Arizona, but not in Agua Mesa.”

  Oh.

  This makes me feel better. On a realistic level, I know he can go wherever he damn well pleases. All three of us can. But that agreement we made is something I hold onto, a symbol of how much we all still matter to one another.

  “Why exactly are you in the great state of AZ?” I make my voice casual, trying to fight the feeling of longing that has sprung up in my belly. I feel the girlish urge to twist a phone cord around my fingers and bat my eyelashes. Of course, there is no phone cord to twist because this isn’t the nineties.

  “You might know if you visited me every once in a while.”

  Hurt trickles into the lightly admonishing tone he’s using. Finn doesn’t let anything slide. He’s not afraid to call me out. Or anyone else, for that matter. He once challenged my mother, adding another log to the fire of dislike she felt for him.

  “Finn—”

  “Do you think of me, Lennon?” His voice lowers, his tone husky.

  My belly swirls again. “Of course. Every day.”

  “You sure about that?”

  A lick of anger flickers in my core. It’s a common reaction around Finn. He has always possessed the ability to bring the emotion to the surface. Funny how I can’t remember a time when Brady has brought that out. Brady keeps me steady. With Brady, I know right where I am.

  If they were colors, Brady would be a calm, cool blue. Finn would be a fiery orange-red.

  “Don’t be dumb.” I say it cheekily, and Finn laughs, a deep, singular sound.

  Sass is my defense mechanism. It’s how I handle discomfort. And guilt. And just about anything unpleasant.

  Finn clears his throat. “I guess I’m supposed to say I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “You could.”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “That depends on whether you want to.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Despite the macabre topic of conversation, our banter has my lips curving upward.

  A sound comes through the phone, something like the crunching of gravel.

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Um hmm. Tomorrow. When I see you in Agua Mesa.” His voice slips over me, sliding into my heart, reassuring me.

  “Really?” Hope swells in my chest.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t come?”

  I blink at his words. They are the same words Brady used with me only minutes ago. For all their differences, their hearts are loyal as hell. It’s why I chose them, all those years ago. Or maybe they chose me. I’m not sure anymore.

  I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “It’s been a long time. Eight years.”

  “Eight years,” he echoes. “Are you ready to go home?”

  “Are you?”

  “Not even close.”

  Of the three of us, Finn will have the hardest time going back. He’s the one with the impressive juvenile rap sheet. I’ll be subject to the dubious glances from the congregation of Joyful Noise Bible, but I can handle it. My mom just died, so their sympathy will be automatic, if also a bit begrudging. And then there’s Brady. Nothing awaits him except for a bevy of middle-aged women hoping to set him up with their daughters. Who wouldn’t want their precious daughter with someone who’s not only a lawyer but the son of an esteemed federal judge?

  I blow out a hard breath. “Well, get ready. Because we’re going right into the belly of the beast.”

  “So dramatic.”

  I smile. “I’ve been called that once or twice.”

  “By me.”

  “True,” I agree, eyeing the gigantic suitcase Laine let me borrow. “I better go. I need to get packed and on the road.”

  “Drive safe, Miss L.”

  “Will do. Bye,” I say, then blurt, “Finn, wait!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell me something I’ll never believe.”

  The game started when we were young, and it stuck. Finn recites a fact, something so outlandish it sounds fake, and I decide whether or not I believe it. Usually I had to look on the internet to investigate its validity. My research always ended up pointless; Finn never told me anything that wasn’t true.

  After a moment, Finn says, “Female elephants form a tight circle around another female when she’s giving birth. They do this because the birthing female is vulnerable to attack, so their circle is meant for protection.”

  Tears spring to my eyes. I believe him. And if it’s not true, I don’t want to know. It’s too beautiful.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Finn.”

  He pauses for so long I wonder if he has hung up, then softly he tells me goodbye.

  I hang up and stare at the suitcase. Those two phone calls, plus the fact that I’m headed to Agua Mesa as soon as I can gather my things, has left me emotionally exhausted. Too bad I don’t have time for exhaustion. Placing my palms on either side of me, I hoist myself off the bed and into action. Before long, I’m packed, and then I’m holding back tears as I hug Laine goodbye. It’s her fault. She’s the one who started crying, and I can‘t look at her tears without producing some of my own.

  It’s just for a week, I tell her. Two, tops. I can’t imagine it will take me any longer than that to make arrangements and go through my mother’s house.

  At least, I hope it doesn’t.

  3

  Then

  The old lady’s heels make a lot of noise. Click clack. Click clack. Her veiny hand presses into my shoulder, the cold from her fingers seeping through the thin fabric of my purple shirt. I didn’t want to wear this shirt today, but Mommy made me.

  My tummy feels sick, but I know better than to say anything. Besides, I don’t want them to call Mommy. I don’t want to be in our new house with her, even though it smells good and is so big I can stand in the kitchen and not also be in the living room, like in our old place.

  The old lady, whose name I can’t remember, stops in front of a door painted the same shade of blue as a robin’s egg.

  “Here you go,” she says kindly, opening the door and gently pushing me into the classroom ahead of her. I look down at my scuffed shoes but I can feel the curious gazes of the students. My cheeks warm. Lifting my head, I dare a quick glance, locking onto a set of eyes in the front corner. A small smile curls up one side of the boy’s mouth. A tiny fraction of my nerves fizzle out.

  “Class!” A warm, friendly voice draws his attention from me. I spend another second looking at him, then look at the speaker. The young woman, who must be Miss Landry, walks to the center of the whiteboard and motions me over. I hurry to her. I hope she likes me.

  She smiles as I approach, bending down and extending an open arm. She pulls me into her side and the first thing I notice is how sweet she smells, like sugar. The second thing I notice is her long, shiny brown hair. My hair used to look like that.

  “This is Lennon Davies,” Miss Landry says to the class, and she squeezes me with the arm she has wrapped around my shoulder. “She has just moved here from Verde Canyon. If you go to Joyful Noise Bible, you’ll be seeing her around, because she’s Pastor Ted’s stepdaughter.” She looks out across the sea of faces, most of them peering curiously at me. “I need someone to show her around today and make Lennon feel like she has found her new home at Agua Mesa Elementary. Who is responsible enough to do that for me?”

  Hands go up, but Miss Landr
y looks straight to the boy who smiled at me. “Brady?”

  His head bobs up and down and his eyes are bright. The other hands slide down, and one person groans at the unfairness of not being chosen.

  More of my nerves melt away. Brady. That’s a nice name. I say it in my head a few more times. Brady Brady Brady.

  Miss Landry turns to me. “You came in at just the right time. We’re about to go to recess.” She waves at someone over my shoulder, probably the old lady, and looks back to Brady. “Come say hi, Brady. Class, put your folders in your desks and line up by the door.” Miss Landry releases me and goes back to her desk.

  Brady comes to stand in the spot Miss Landry has left, but he doesn’t put his arm around me. I’m glad for that, because that would be weird, but I wouldn’t mind being hugged today. Today is hard. Being the new kid in school, and new to my own house, is hard.

  “Hi,” Brady says, sticking out his hand. I’ve only seen adults do that, and people in movies.

  I place my hand in his, and he shakes so strongly that I’m certain he’s shaking my hand for me.

  “Let’s go play.” He pulls me to the back of the line and releases me once we get there. In front of us, a boy with blondish-brown hair steps out of line and looks back at us. He puts his fisted hands on his hips and shakes his head at me. The nerves rush back, but then I realize he’s looking at Brady, not me.

  Behind me, Brady says, “That’s Finn. He’s not mean, but he acts like it sometimes.”

  I nod, but Brady’s words don’t make me feel any better. I don’t think Finn likes that Brady has volunteered to be my friend.

  We march through the halls to the playground, and when the concrete becomes grass, everyone scatters. Brady takes my hand again.

  “Come on,” he says, leading the way to the monkey bars. Finn sits on the top rung of the ladder, watching us approach.

  “Hi,” I say when we get there. Brady drops my hand again.

  Finn eyes me from his perch but doesn’t say anything.

  “Say hi, Finn.” Brady’s voice sounds like an adult.

  “Hi,” Finn says in a bored tone, and something tells me that although he did what Brady said, he doesn’t usually listen when people tell him what to do.

  Finn hops off the ladder and drops down onto his knees. He paws through the sand, pushing it right and left, lifting his fingers and letting the grains slip through like one of those things people use to look for gold.

  Brady does the same, so I do too.

  “Why are we doing this?” I ask, watching as the sand I’ve gathered falls through my fingers.

  Finn glances at me like I’m hopeless, the stupidest girl he has ever met. Brady says, “The teachers bury treasure in the sand. Gems and pirate coins. Sometimes little toys.”

  Finn looks up. His hair is tan like the sand we’re digging in and his eyes are dark, like the bark of the rain-soaked mesquite tree in front of my old apartment. He looks hard at Brady. “Violet says there’s money buried here too.”

  Brady shakes his head. “My mom says the teachers don’t make enough to offer their money for us to find.”

  Finn ignores this and keeps sifting. “If there’s money, I’m going to find it.”

  Brady looks at me and rolls his eyes, and I giggle. Finn looks up sharply, and I know immediately that was the wrong thing to do.

  “We need to have a meeting,” Finn announces to Brady. He stands and strides off to the boy’s bathroom.

  Brady looks at me and I can tell he feels bad. “I’ll be right back.”

  I watch him go. I like the way he walks slowly, like he’s not in a hurry to hear whatever it is Finn has to say.

  Looking around, I see girls climbing on the play area, flying down slides, and some older kids playing tetherball. Nobody looks my way. I get up, brush off my knees, and walk with my head down to the girl’s bathroom. I don’t want to keep sitting alone in the sand, and I don’t know what else to do. When I get closer, I hear voices, so I pause with my palms flattened on the bathroom door, then slide against the brick wall until I’m closer to the corner where the voices are coming from.

  “Why are you inviting a girl to play with us?”

  “It’s her first day. And she looked scared.”

  “She’s a girl.”

  If there’s a response, I can’t hear it. Suddenly they appear around the corner. Brady looks surprised to see me, and Finn’s face hardens, like he’s mad. I hurry into the girl’s bathroom, and I stay there until I hear a whistle. Brady is waiting for me when I emerge, and silently I join him in line.

  Today, I’m ready. I have a plan.

  I glance at Finn’s desk as I take a seat at my own. I sit behind a girl with a big, red braid and a lime green bow at the end. My heart lurches when I see how thick and pretty her hair is. The girl sitting beside her leans over, glancing at me as she passes a folded piece of paper to the red-haired girl.

  The girl reads the note, peeking back at me and snickering. My eyes fall to my lap and my behind slides down the seat of my plastic chair as I try to make myself smaller. What are they talking about?

  The re-folded note lands on my desk. I don’t know which girl tossed it there, because their backs are turned now. I don’t want to know what it says, but I also really, really do.

  Grabbing the note, I open it and read, my cheeks reddening.

  You have boy hair.

  My hand flies to my horrible hair cut, the one my mom forced me to get. She was sick of dealing with my hair, hated the time it took to brush out the tangles, and so she told the hairdresser to cut it off. After, it wasn’t even long enough to tuck behind my ears. I cried. I still cry at each trim.

  Tears burn my eyes right now, too, but I refuse to let those girls see me cry. I capture the tip of my tongue between my front teeth and bite down, waiting until the burning feeling in my eyes disappears.

  Miss Landry calls the students to order and starts class. I have no trouble keeping up. It’s the same work as my old school. New school, same third grade.

  When it’s time for recess, we stand as one and file out the door the same way we did yesterday. Brady walks beside me. I guess he doesn’t think his duties from yesterday are finished. After I’d spent the rest of the school day hardly saying a word, I thought he’d be more than ready to get rid of me.

  My hand slips into my pocket, curling around what’s inside. Last night I’d waited until I was certain my mom was sucked into her soap opera, then I snuck into her purse.

  Today, Brady doesn’t ask if I want to play with him. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll say no. He takes my hand and pulls me along with him to the sand in front of the monkey bars. Finn is already there, on his knees and digging through the sand. He looks up when we sit down, holding out an open hand into the space between us.

  “A ruby,” he announces, the dark red jewel shimmering in the sunlight.

  I wonder if he knows it’s fake?

  Without saying anything, I join in the sifting. When Finn says he’s thirsty and stands up, I realize this is my chance. The second he’s gone I reach into my pocket, grabbing the five-dollar bill and shoving it into the sand where Finn had been digging. I meet Brady’s eyes. He says nothing, just looks away and keeps digging. I go back to my little square of sand, waiting with an excited feeling in my tummy. Will Finn find it? Will he know it was me?

  Finn comes back, plops back down onto the sand, and starts digging. It doesn’t take long for him to find the money. He snatches it and lets out a loud yell. It gets the attention of other kids, who come running.

  “I knew it,” he says, looking around at our classmates. He looks so satisfied, I almost feel bad for putting the money there. What if I’ve done something wrong again?

  Soon all the kids are on their knees, digging through the sand. Nobody else finds any money. I fake my disappointment so that my expression resembles theirs.

  On the way back into class, Finn walks beside me. He holds out a palm, the ruby dull in the shadows
of the hallway. “Want this?”

  I look from his palm to his eyes, which are sparkling with his excitement. I nod and slip it into my pocket.

  4

  Now

  It turns out I’m not riding into town on a black sheep. I’ve borrowed Laine’s shiny white Mercedes SUV, because my old clunker probably wouldn’t make the trip, and being stuck on the side of the road in the middle of the hot, dusty desert between Texas and Arizona doesn’t sound like my idea of fun.

  Laine handed me her fancy keys, with the little black key fob, and I handed her back a single car key for which she’ll have to use to get in the door and drive the car. I asked her if she knew how to use a key like that, and though I was joking, she replied seriously, “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  After I crossed the Arizona-New Mexico border I called my boss and left her a message, telling her about a family emergency and my plans to use bereavement leave. I didn’t tell her when I’d be back, because I have no idea what I’m getting into and I don’t want to set up an unrealistic expectation.

  After my phone call to her, I drove on, stopping once for gas and then continuing until the mountains gave way to flat desert.

  Agua Mesa is a suburb of Phoenix. Ninety percent of it belongs to the elite, to golf-club-swinging retirees, and stay-at-home moms shopping at Whole Foods in their yoga pants while they sip post-workout smoothies.

  I’m not knocking them. If somebody offered me that role, I’d snatch it up in a heartbeat. My days are spent trying desperately to place innocent children into homes where I hope and pray they will be loved. It pains me to say it often doesn’t work out that way. So, yeah, I wouldn’t mind going to yoga and drinking expensive smoothies.

  Laine’s car glides smoothly over the road. Native American symbols decorate the walls of the freeway, and big green signs hang from the overpasses, warning me of my upcoming exit. This place doesn’t appear to have changed in the time I’ve been gone. The same landmarks, the same relentlessly sunny sky.