Like No Other

by Una LaMarche

  “I couldn’t find anything,” I say, my eyes flashing with real anger. “Go ahead and look around if you’d like.” I may be guilty of keeping secrets from my family, but I don’t deserve to be treated like a criminal.

  Jacob pushes past me and strips my bed, shaking the pillow out of its case, lifting the mattress to examine the wooden slats underneath.

  “I just cleaned,” my mother says sharply. “You’ll be making that bed when you’re done.” She crosses her arms and sighs.

  “It’s in here somewhere, I know it,” Jacob mutters, moving to my dresser. He opens my top drawer and starts rifling through my underwear.

  “Jacob!” my mother shouts, horrified. “Stop it right now!”

  Jacob calmly closes the drawer and looks at us defiantly. “Ayelet,” he says, “she’s pulling the wool over your eyes.” I can tell he wants to say more, but I also know that Jacob is too concerned with his place in my father’s estimation to reveal what he knows without any supporting evidence. He wipes his hands on his trousers and stalks out of the room.

  “Mama,” I say, not sure how to undo this damage. “I—” But she doesn’t let me finish.

  “Please,” she says, holding up her hands. “I don’t know what you’ve done to set Jacob off, but make it right before dinnertime. I’ve had my fill of drama for the morning.” She turns to leave but then pauses in the doorway, looking around my room as if seeing it for the first time.

  “Devorah,” she says slowly, “if you were hiding something, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?” I nod mutely.

  As soon as she’s gone, tears (of shame? relief?) flood my eyes, and I shut the door softly, leaning against it just in case anyone tries to ambush me again. I take my phone out of its hiding place and press the power button.

  Can u get away & talk? About to spend whole day @ library with the sisters . . . missing u :)

  A knock on the door behind me gives me my second near–heart attack of the morning.

  “Don’t worry, it’s only me,” Hanna whispers from the hallway. “But we have to leave for school. So, whatever you’re doing . . . you should probably finish up.”

  I shut off the phone again and wipe my eyes. I know Jax was trying to help, but now I feel like I have a grenade that could explode at any second. I have to get it back to him, and I have to do it without getting caught, expelled from school, or disowned by my family.

  You know, just your normal weekend plans.

  • • •

  The Brooklyn Public Library looks like some grand Egyptian temple rising up out of the intersection of Flatbush Avenue and Eastern Parkway. I could stare at it for hours, studying the brilliant gold figurines inscribed on its massive front columns, but seeing as I’m limited to my thirty-five-minute lunch period (ten minutes of which I’ve already squandered taking a car service to get here), I don’t have time on my side. In fact, right now it doesn’t feel like I have much of anything, or anyone, on my side. Except, of course, for Jax. Knowing I’m standing within yards of him instantly calms my nerves, although my bones still ache under the weight of the message I know I have to deliver.

  Since it’s a gorgeous weekend day for the secular masses, I counted on the library being empty, but instead it’s teeming with people—kids in grass-stained shorts slapping their way across the marble floors in candy-colored Crocs; skinny-jeaned hipster twenty-somethings clutching sweaty cups of iced coffee; elderly ladies in modest church wear tottering on pastel high heels. I scan the crowds for Jaxon, but it’s impossible to know where to start looking. The only clue I have is that he’s here with his sisters, so I head left into the children’s section, dodging unsteady toddlers and moms pushing strollers the size of tractors.

  I walk along the rows of stacks feeling my heart beat wildly in my chest. Any second could bring us face-to-face, in full view of his unsuspecting family, and the buildup is almost unbearable. Is this how Jaxon felt crouched in my backyard? This hunger tinged with terror? I slip between two rows of chapter books to catch my breath. On one side the books have slid over into a haphazard avalanche, opening up a crooked window in the middle of the shelf that looks out onto the bright children’s play space in the center of the room. And that’s when I see him.

  He’s sitting in a child-sized chair next to a big, low wooden table, his lanky frame folded awkwardly, adorably into the tiny piece of furniture. Next to him, a coltish young girl in braids and a floral sundress—that must be Tricia, the eight-year-old—sits with rapt attention as Jax reads to her from The Princess Bride, his hands waving animatedly, making her giggle. Two taller preteen girls—these must be the twins—sidle up wearing matching cutoff shorts, each holding an armful of paperbacks.

  “Can’t you read it yourself?” I hear one of them ask Tricia, and the little girl shoots back a saucy look.

  “I like the way he does the voices,” she says, and my heart melts a little.

  “All right, Trish, we’re almost done with this chapter anyway. Let’s check it out and finish at home,” Jax says, easing out of the chair. I know I have to get to him soon, before they leave. And as I’m agonizing over how to make him see me without drawing the attention of his sisters, it suddenly occurs to me that they don’t know who I am, and they certainly don’t know what I look like. So with a deep breath, I simply step out of my hiding place and into sight.

  Jax looks up, and I let our eyes meet for a fraction of a second, just long enough for the air to stop between us, sending that invisible electric current I’m almost used to now—almost. I turn as a familiar tingle travels down my spine, and pretend to leaf through a dog-eared copy of something called Twilight.

  “I forgot,” Jax says loudly. “I have to find a book for school up in the history section. Can you guys hang here for a few minutes?”

  “Whatever,” one of the twins replies in a bored tone, and then I feel him brush by me. I count out ten long seconds before I follow him, out into the din of the cavernous lobby, up a creaky escalator, and into a long room lined with rows and rows of towering bookcases, each identified by a series of letters and decimals. There are a few people in between Jax and me, and so I’m not quite sure which row he’s ducked into until I feel his hand close around my upper arm and pull me in to the historical biographies, letters G through I.

  “What are you doing here?” His warm, deep voice is hushed and excited, his broad shoulders filling the aisle, blocking out the light like some kind of human eclipse. Without even thinking, I stand up on tiptoe and press my lips against his. Someone passing by us snickers, and I pull back abruptly. I can’t let myself get swept up. I have to remember the reason I came here.

  “Jax—” I start, but he interrupts me.

  “Don’t you have school?” he asks, his arms still wrapped around my waist.

  “Yes,” I say, signaling for him to let go. “But I had to see you.”

  “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

  “That’s what I need to tell you—” I say.

  “That you’re obsessed with me?” Jax winks, and I laugh in spite of myself.

  “No. About the phone.” I press it into his hand. “You have to take it back. Jacob knows.” Just saying his name makes me cringe and look behind me, half expecting to see him standing there in his dark suit, his forehead dotted with sweat, his eyes narrowed, his lips twisted in a self-satisfied smirk.

  “Shit,” Jax says, his smile fading rapidly. “Did he find it?”

  “No,” I say. “But it went off this morning, and everybody heard it, and I know he knows I have it—and I think my parents are starting to suspect, too.”

  “Shit,” he murmurs again. He slips the phone into his back pocket with a crestfallen look.

  “It’s just getting too risky,” I say. “He’s getting too close, and I’m afraid that he’s really going to go digging now for something he can use to catch us.”

&
nbsp; “Like what?” Jax’s face is tense, his normally warm eyes dark with worry.

  “He’s seen you,” I say, fear flooding my chest. “He knows what you look like, and I’m pretty sure he knows where you work.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Jax says firmly. “I can handle that guy.”

  “But I can’t not worry!” I say, my voice rising in panic. “There’s too much at stake. That’s why . . .” I swallow, hard. “I think we should take some time. Apart.” I’ve been rehearsing saying it for hours, but it doesn’t hurt any less this time.

  “No,” he says, looking crushed. My heart breaks into a million tiny shards.

  “Just for a few weeks,” I say. “Until it’s safe again.”

  Jax frowns. “It’s never been safe. It’s never going to be safe, Devorah. Not if we stay here, anyway.” I know he’s right. There aren’t enough stacks in this library to hide us for another hour, let alone forever.

  “I just . . . I’m getting really scared,” I sputter, and he pulls me in close.

  “I love you,” he whispers into the top of my head. “Do you know that?”

  I nod, holding my breath, feeling his pulse race under the smooth skin of his neck.

  “What about you?” he asks, tipping my face up to his. “Do you . . .”

  “Yes,” I whisper, trying to quell the fireworks display that has suddenly been set off in my stomach. “I love you, too.”

  He laughs with relief and lifts me up, twirling me in a tight circle to avoid bashing me into the stacks. “Good,” he says as he sets me down. “Good. And then, no.”

  “No what?”

  “No to taking some time,” he says. “We do need time, Devorah, but not apart. We need time together, away from all this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That weekend trip we talked about? Let’s do it now,” he says. “Tonight.” I study his face for signs that he’s kidding, but if he is, he’s playing it really straight.

  “Jax, no,” I whisper, hoping that his sisters have kept their word to stay downstairs. “We can’t.”

  “Yes, we can!” he says. “Like you said, that day on the bridge. Let’s run away.”

  “That was a daydream, not a suggestion.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” He frowns. “You said it yourself, they’re gonna find out anyway. At least this way we’re in control.”

  “I can’t,” I say. “It’s one thing to go behind my parents’ back, but it’s another thing to disappear completely.”

  “We’re not talking forever,” he says. “One night, maybe two. And by the time we come back, everyone will have had a chance to recover from the initial shock.”

  One or two days won’t be enough, I think. I try to picture my parents’ reaction to this kind of betrayal, but apart from the time Amos accidentally threw a dart into Hanna’s shin, I’ve never seen them really lose it. And this would be so much worse. But I also know Jax is right: Everything is coming to a head, and I’m kidding myself if I think Jacob is just going to forget about it. Somehow, he’s going to find a way to catch us, and soon. Unless we stop seeing each other completely. Which, at this point, would be a fate worse than anything my parents could come up with.

  “Okay,” I say. “But I need a little time.”

  “Tomorrow?” he asks, a smile peeking out from between his lips. “After school?”

  I nod, scarcely able to believe this is actually happening. “How will we—”

  “Train,” he says. “I already checked online; there’s a five fifty-one and a seven thirty-one every day out of Penn.”

  “Seven thirty,” I say quickly, thinking on my feet. “It will be easier if we wait until after dark.”

  “I’ll book the tickets,” Jax says, and I nod again, trying to picture myself somewhere far away from Brooklyn, away from the noise and the smells and the heat. Away from everyone who knows me and everyone trying to drag me down. Someplace where I can hear the ocean. Someplace where I can feel the wind.

  “What about school?” I ask. School is the farthest thing from my mind right now, but I can’t afford to get expelled if I want to hold on to any hope of going to college someday.

  “Like I said,” Jax continues, “it’s only a day or two. We can make up the time.” He smiles hopefully. “So are you with me?”

  “Yes,” I hear myself say.

  “Okay, all right,” he says, looking just as shocked as I am. “You go home and pack. I’ll get the tickets. Where should we meet?”

  My mind is racing. I can pack tonight, smooth things over with my parents. Then tomorrow, I can leave a letter; that’s probably the best plan. I’ll leave a letter for my family explaining everything, and once I’m back we can all sit down and discuss it like adults.

  “There’s a bus stop on Kingston and Montgomery,” I say.

  “Great.” Jaxon squeezes my hands. “I’ll pick you up in a car.”

  “After sundown,” I say.

  “At six forty-five,” he says.

  “Six forty-five,” I repeat in a daze.

  “Promise you won’t change your mind on me,” he says, and laughs, and I shake my head, thinking, I have just changed everything. The books packed in all around us are full of stories of people who made decisions that changed history. Of course, not all of them ended well. But luckily I don’t have time to dwell on that. I have to go home and get ready to say goodbye to life as I know it.

  Chapter 20

  Jaxon

  SEPTEMBER 15, 10 AM

  I didn’t sleep last night. Not a single second. I was too wound up. I couldn’t believe it was actually going to happen, and I kept having to reread the e-mail confirmation from Long Island Rail Road: two round-trip, off-peak tickets, Penn Station to Westhampton. For twenty-one hours and thirty-one minutes, it will be just the two of us.

  I feel a lot of guilt, though, about not telling my parents, which is why I showered and dressed at 5 AM and made a preemptive secret apology breakfast: scrambled eggs and Vienna sausages—Mom’s favorite, the one she always asks for on Mother’s Day—and Dad’s preferred brand of toaster waffles. The eggs came out a little weird and brown, but no one seemed to care; I think they were all just in shock that I’d cooked.

  “What’s this about?” Mom asked, giving me a sleepy kiss.

  “Nothing, I was just up early,” I said, digging in the fridge for the creamer.

  “Got a test today?” Edna asked, plucking a sausage from the pan with her fingers.

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, whatever it is, keep doing it,” my father said with a laugh, helping himself to a plate. “I could get used to this.”

  I slapped on a smile and tried not to think about what the scene in that kitchen would be like twenty-four hours later.

  • • •

  Sometimes when I’m nervous I’ll ask the universe for little random signs that everything’s going to work out. Like, if the subway comes right as I get to the platform, that’s a sign; or if I hit shuffle on my iPod and the first song that comes up is one I really love, like “So What” by Miles Davis or some pre-Kardashian Kanye. Today, not only was the subway pulling in right when I got there, but the doors stopped smack in front of me and there was a seat. And then the first song on shuffle was “Love Train” by the O’Jays, which normally I’m embarrassed to even have (I copied all my mom’s old CDs onto my hard drive the summer I turned twelve, which I blame for my predilection for all things old-school) but which is just about the most perfect sign you can get if you’re about to hop a flight to follow your heart.

  And then I got to school—early, since I have Mr. Misery first thing this morning, good times—and took the back entrance up to the freak hallway and was about to open my locker when my eyes fell on the little number plate up at the top: 915. My locker number. Today’s date. Now, i
f that isn’t some kind of big-ass neon sign from the universe, then I don’t know what is.

  “Hey, man.” Ryan appears in the hallway door, looking a little cagey. I know he’s freaked out to be giving me the keys to his parents’ vacation house without their permission. He already made me swear up and down not to order anything on cable or turn on the lights at night.

  “Hey!” I say, opening my locker and taking off my hoodie. “All good?”

  “Sort of,” he says. “There’s only one problem.”

  “What?”

  “On your date with Devorah this weekend, did you guys go anywhere, like, public?”

  I feel the color drain from my face. “Why?” I ask.

  “Because there’s a rumor going around school that you have a Hasidic girlfriend,” he says, “and I thought you said you were being careful.” Ryan stares me down while I, speechless for once in my life, just lean my head against the cool metal door of my locker and close my eyes. Shit.

  “Dude,” Ryan says, “what, were you guys on the JumboTron at Yankee Stadium?”

  “No, I’m not stupid! On Saturday we were in my basement—where I seriously doubt we had company—and yesterday we met up for like five minutes in the library.” I lower my voice. “Who knows?”

  Ryan sighs. “Well, I don’t know the extent of it, but I heard about it from Megan Miranda, so it’s gotta be pretty bad,” he says. I cringe. Megan Miranda is a step-team girl, one of Polly’s popular friends.

  “I guess it’s good I’m getting out of here,” I say.

  “Ha ha,” Ryan deadpans. “Listen, if anyone finds out where you went, I swear I’ll say you stole these.” He rummages in his pocket for the keys and holds them at hip level, concealed, like some kind of drug deal. “Now come on,” he says. “We have to get to Intro Philosophy like now.”

  “I need a minute,” I say.

  “Well, I’m going,” he says. “If you’re late, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Ryan leaves me with an awkward pat on the shoulder, and after he’s gone I lean against my locker and mentally retrace my steps this weekend, trying to figure out who could have seen us and when. It must have happened at the library; since I wasn’t expecting her, I wasn’t being careful. Then again, it won’t matter soon enough. By this time tomorrow, the cat will be out of the bag.