But I’ve been doing so well.
“Stop!” I yell. Cam jumps. “Stop the truck. Now.” I reach for the door handle while the truck is still rolling. I don’t have control over my actions. I just have to get out. I jump onto the curb. The car that was behind us screeches into the other lane to pass.
“Jenny, what the hell?”
I hold my hand out, struggling to maintain my composure. “Just drive away and leave me alone.”
“But—”
“Just go!” I feel tears in my eyes. “I’ll tell Dad and Monica I had to stay late at school.”
Cam’s jaw clenches, and his face burns an angry red.
I stumble down the sidewalk. My scar itches, my fingers twitch, my head aches.
The truck slowly follows me. “Go!” I yell at it.
The passenger-side window rolls down, and Cam leans toward it. “Jenny…”
I glare a thousand daggers at him. A car honks. Cam glances in the rearview mirror and then back at me, like he can’t decide who he would rather tangle with.
The other driver slams his palm onto the horn.
“This is not worth the money,” Cam mumbles. The truck pulls forward, leaving me alone by the side of the road.
It’s a long way to the motel, and I have to cross under the interstate. The underpass is dark and cold and filled with graffiti, pigeon poop, and the remnants of people’s sleeping spaces.
There’s a slight movement in the shadows. I feel eyes on me. Someone is there. Hiding. I make a run for Henderson’s, which shines like a beacon of warmth and safety in the winter sun.
The doors swish open. I’m out of breath, but my heart starts to quiet down.
Until I see the display of plastic lighters on the counter.
I grab a basket and shove stuff into it. Toothpaste, shampoo, deodorant. I take it up to the counter and set it down. The usual clerk smiles. “Good afternoon,” she says, and starts ringing up my stuff. I try to smile back as I slip a cigarette lighter into the basket.
My heart thuds. I’ve lost all control.
I swipe my debit card, grab my bag, and leave without my receipt.
My scar itches with a ferocity that I’ve never felt before. I can’t go to the motel. There are too many people there. Someone would get hurt.
I force myself to stroll down the sidewalk. I’m just a girl heading for the cottonwoods to clear her head and commune with nature.
I hesitate for a second at the edge of the trees, but I can’t hold back this time.
Once I cross into the underbrush, I run, pushing through weeds and leaping over tangles of fallen branches until I get to the river—the farthest point from the motel. The farthest point from people.
I step back into the trees. As I drag my feet, it creates a pile of leaves and dry, crunchy plants. My breath catches in my chest. I claw at my scar.
I crouch down and reach into the Henderson’s bag. My hand closes around the lighter. My scar vibrates with delight.
I pull my hand from the bag.
A branch snaps. Footsteps.
I jump away from the pile of leaves and stumble to the fallen tree. I drop the bag at my feet and shove my hand into my coat pocket.
A figure comes through the brush toward me. I turn my head from side to side. There’s nowhere to go. The river is behind me, and I’m surrounded by the trees and thick underbrush. He’s coming straight for me. There’s no sneaking away.
I bite my lip and brace myself. I’m alone and completely vulnerable right now.
“Hello.” The figure waves. He steps out into the open. “I thought I saw someone come through here.”
My knees almost give out on me. The guy I saw before—the one picking up trash for his police internship—stands in front of me. His blue eyes shine.
I glance around, waiting for the officer he was riding with to appear. “Am I not allowed to be here?” I try to smile, but my breath coming in short little gasps betrays how I’m really feeling.
“You’re fine. You can be here until dark. As long as you’re not up to no good.” He winks.
I display my empty hands in front of me. “Not up to anything. Just watching the birds.”
“I’m Allen,” he says.
“Jenny.” I point at his empty hands. “Is it trash day again?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Uh…no.”
He has a police radio on his hip. It crackles to life. He slaps his hand on it and turns the volume down.
“They give interns radios?”
“Uh…no.” He turns red. “I borrowed this one. I thought if I saw anything criminal happening out here, I could call it in. It would be faster than using my phone.” The way he avoids my eyes makes me think that that’s a half-truth.
“It’s not like I really need to be in this internship program. I already know all the stuff they’re teaching us. I knew all the ten codes before I was nine. They should use me for something real.”
The lighter in my pocket throbs at my side. He has no idea how close he came to seeing something real, something criminal.
I pick up my Henderson’s bag. “I have to get home. My dad is waiting for me. He’s probably already worried.” I pass Allen, but then I turn around.
“You said I could be here until dark. What happens after dark?”
He shrugs and gives me a grin. “I don’t know. The forest is closed.”
* * *
—
I get back to the motel, and as I stick my key in the door, I hear noise on the other side. My hand freezes. Someone is in my room.
I slowly turn the key. If it’s Cam, I’ll scream, and every construction worker here will come running. He’ll be caught red-handed.
The door pops open, and I’m greeted with a blast of steam. The shower is running. The ultradown coat and Ro’s jeans are shucked off on the floor.
My lungs remember how to work and take in a big breath of the moist air.
“Ro?” I call. The shower turns off. A few seconds later, she comes out of the bathroom wrapped in one of the person-sized fluffy towels. She holds my shampoo bottle under her nose.
“This is nice. It smells like strawberries.”
Relief floods through me. “How did you get in here?”
She points over her shoulder. “You left the bathroom window open.” Her eyes widen. “Are you mad? My aunt knows about my bedroom window. It was locked and barred last night. I didn’t have anywhere to go, and I didn’t want to break into some stranger’s house.” She gathers her things up off the floor.
I turn my back to her and blink hard. Our situations are very different, but I know what it feels like to be unwelcome in your own home. I turn around and smile. “No, I’m not mad. Come over anytime.”
She heads back to the bathroom, clutching her dirty jeans. “Wait,” I say, and open the wardrobe. “Wear these.” I hand her the clothes I bought a size too big at the mall. She hesitates, but then she reaches out and takes them.
When she comes out clean and dressed, she flops down on my bed.
I pull out my box of granola bars, take one, and then toss one at Ro before she can protest. I point at my laptop. “Do you want to watch a movie?” I know she doesn’t want to go back out into the cold.
She smiles broadly. “Okay.” She picks a movie, tears open her granola bar, and lies down on the bed. Soon she’s fast asleep.
I look at her still, peaceful figure. My scar calms down. It’s happy that I’m helping her. I think we’re starting to become real friends now. And maybe I’m making her life a little better, too.
Kara crunches down on a broccoli tree.
She has a container of bland-looking healthy food in front of her, but she doesn’t chuck it and buy something from the cafeteria like a normal person.
She looks
over at my lunch again. I rip off a piece of my PB and J.
“Please. Take it. I can’t stand it anymore.”
She grabs it and takes a big bite. “So good,” she mumbles with peanut butter mouth. She swallows. “Sugar, fat, refined carbs.” She takes another bite.
I laugh, but then realize that her parents are so strict that they won’t even let her choose what she eats. I don’t know what that’s like. Brian sent me a thousand miles away once he found out what I’d done. And Dad’s so preoccupied with Monica and the Los Ranchitos that I could get away with murder—or setting fires.
“Let me see it again,” she says, and points to my bag. I pull out the motel brochure—the one of what the Los Ranchitos is supposed to look like in a few short months. Kara oohs and aahs over it—especially the infinity pool that will go in the back.
“Do you want to come over?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “My parents…” She trails off.
The first time we had lunch together, Kara mentioned that her parents work in Albuquerque and don’t get home until late, so it’s not like they would ever know.
I try one more time. “Are you sure you don’t want to drive by? It’s not too far. You don’t even have to get out. You can pull your car up in front of my room, and I’ll open the door.”
She looks around like her parents might be standing over her shoulder. “Okay,” she whispers.
“Really?”
She flinches.
I lean in and whisper, “I won’t tell anyone.”
* * *
—
After school, we laugh as we walk out the main doors to get Kara’s car. She seems freer, like this little rebellion has made her happier than she’s been in a long time.
I stop. Cam’s truck is parked along the street facing us. Why is he here? I took the bus this morning, and I haven’t seen him since I flipped out in the truck yesterday. You would think me diving into traffic would be enough to convince him not to come back.
He’s not alone. Ro sits next to him, throwing her arms around as she talks. Ben is seated on the other side of her, gazing out the window. What are they here for? To be human shields? Witnesses so I’ll behave?
Kara steps out behind me into the winter sunlight and gasps. Her body goes rigid. Ben smiles and waves to us.
“What?” I ask.
“I have to go,” she says.
“Wait. I’ll tell them you’re giving me a ride home. You can still come to the motel.”
“No.” Kara shakes her head furiously. “I have to go.” She turns quickly and jogs to her car.
She drops her keys twice as she tries to unlock the door. I look around again. Whatever spell her parents have cast over her can’t be broken by me. I wonder if there’s a reason her parents are so strict.
I’m here because I got caught. Maybe Kara got caught too. But caught doing what?
Ro spots me and waves. I walk over to the truck, examining both Ben and Cam for some hint of what scared Kara.
Ben opens the door. Ro points at Cam. “Mr. Sleepyhead is taking us for coffee. He’s buying.”
Cam puts his phone in one of the cup holders. The lighter is still in the other.
I hesitate.
“Why aren’t you getting in?” Ro asks. All three of them stare at me.
“Uh…” I don’t have an answer—not one I can tell her, anyway.
Ben scooches over as far as he can, pressing Ro into Cam’s puffy coat. I get in and balance on the edge of the seat with my knees against the glove box.
My shoulder knocks into Ben’s.
“Sorry,” he says. In the tight space, we can’t avoid touching. Heat radiates off him. He smiles apologetically.
The image of him hugging Cam in the alley flashes into my mind. For a brief, strange second, I feel disappointed that Ben doesn’t put his arm around my shoulders and hold me next to him. I turn to look out the window.
* * *
—
We drive for a couple of blocks to a place called the Java Shop. It’s on the ground floor of a three-story stuccoed building. Ben hops out and jogs inside. We follow at Cam’s slower pace.
The coffee shop is a surprise. The outside looks like every other old crumbly building in this town, but the inside is brand-new. The walls are painted in muted orange and green. Lavender trim lines the windows. Tall, un-nicked wooden café tables fill up the center space. There’s another door on one side. Two emergency exits, plus stairs that lead down from the upper floors.
When we walk up to the counter, I expect to be met by a perky girl with a ponytail or a hipster wearing an ironic visor, but instead, a woman who looks like she could be in her fifties greets us. Her face is marked with deep lines, but it’s lit up with a smile.
Ro launches into her complicated—and expensive—drink order. She glances over her shoulder at Cam, who’s got his wallet out to pay, and smirks.
The woman is obviously not accustomed to using the register. She holds her finger up high, like the register is going to bite her before every tap.
Ro leans forward to look. “And whipped cream.”
The woman shakes her head in frustration. Ben steps out from the back, tying on an apron. The relief the woman feels at seeing him is palpable.
Ben finishes punching Ro’s order into the register, and then he looks up at me. “What can I get you?”
“You work here?” I ask, and immediately feel stupid.
Ben laughs and points to his apron. “Yep.” His eyes meet mine. I feel flustered—and I can’t remember how to order coffee.
Cam sighs behind me. I snap out of it. “Vanilla latte.”
I join Ro at a table by the window. Cam lingers at the front. When Ben and the woman have their backs turned making our drinks, Cam quickly stuffs a bill into the tip jar.
Our names are called. As Ro bounces up to her massive concoction on the counter, I glance over at the tip jar. A hundred-dollar bill is pressed up against the side.
“What is that?” I whisper to Ro, and point at the jar.
Ro whistles through her teeth. “A lot of money.”
“Cam slipped it in there when no one was looking. Where’s he getting that kind of money? And why would he put it into a tip jar for his cousin?”
Ro turns her head and examines Cam sitting with his plain black coffee. He clasps it between both hands and blows over the top.
She laughs. “Do you think your dad would give me a job?”
I smile weakly at her. I can’t believe Dad is paying Cam much. Maybe it’s from Mr. Vargas? But after the show he put on when we got back from the mall, I doubt he’s handing Cam hundred-dollar bills—especially not ones to put into tip jars.
“What?” Cam asks as we approach the table.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, and give Ro a warning glance.
Cam gazes up at me through the steam. His eyes are round and wide, like a confused child’s. That’s what he looks like right now. A child. My mind can’t wrap around it. Is he following me? Has he been outside my window at night?
Ro bounces back to the counter for a straw.
I look away from Cam. “Why isn’t Ben working for my dad like you?” I glance at the tip jar. “The money would be better.”
Cam doesn’t take my bait. “They don’t talk. Ben and my father.”
“Why?” It’s the wrong question to ask. Cam’s whole body clenches. I see the tension in his neck and jaw. He suddenly looks like someone worthy of being afraid of. I check that the side exit is clear.
Ro hops back to the table. She has whipped cream on her face. I focus on the counter and sip my latte. Ben is patiently walking the woman through the register. He looks like a younger version of Mike Vargas. They both project the same restless energy. But Ben has a crease in his forehead and an aura abo
ut him that doesn’t shine. It’s duller, like it’s been roughed up with sandpaper.
Ben sees me watching him. He smiles.
My cheeks go red. Ro notices and giggles before licking the last of the whipped cream out of her cup.
* * *
—
At lunch the next day, Kara is distant. Her face is pale. She looks like she didn’t sleep.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She blinks hard, like she’s trying to hold back tears. “I think I’m getting a cold.” She fake clears her throat.
“So…you know Ben? I’ve seen him wave to you a couple times.” I try to sound light, like I’m making conversation—not like I’m trying to pump her for information, which I am.
Kara’s head snaps up at his name. Her eyes are wide.
“It’s none of my business,” I mumble.
“It was a long time ago,” Kara whispers. “I was like another person then.”
“Oh…did something happen?”
She shakes her head. “I’m glad he’s doing better.”
And that’s it. She stuffs a forkful of quinoa into her mouth and looks down at her lap as she chews.
I start to sigh, but then catch myself before Kara hears. I have learned exactly nothing.
I guess we both have secrets.
* * *
—
After school, Cam doesn’t show. When the bus pulls up to Henderson’s, flashing lights line the street in front of the Los Ranchitos. I jog over to them. Two police cars and an ambulance are blocking the right lane. Suds sits on the curb with a team of paramedics surrounding him.
I dash behind them through the open gate and into the office. I freeze in the doorway. Dad, Mike Vargas, and another man in an expensive suit are huddled around the table. Dad has an ice pack on his hand.
Mike Vargas snaps his head around. “Where’s Cam?”
I shrug. I can’t speak. My eyes are focused on the ice pack. Dad looks up at me and then turns away. “Jenny, go to your room, please,” he says too calmly.
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