Shelter

by Stephanie Fournet

  Elise’s wide eyes locked with mine. My heart went off in my chest. “If he goes through the kitchen,” she said, her voice tense, “he’ll see us.”

  I looked back at my house. The garage was off the utility room. My father would come in and either go through the kitchen or through the short hall that led past a bathroom and then the living room to the stairs.

  So that meant we had a fifty-fifty chance of getting caught.

  The garage door started to close. Elise grabbed my arm and tugged hard. “C’mon,” she ordered. “Get Ava. I’ll get the door.”

  Fear and instinct had me rushing to Ava, and I swept her up again. Elise flicked off the light, quietly pulled the door closed behind us, and then darted ahead of me to the guesthouse door.

  “Come inside,” she whispered, pulling us in behind her. Once we were in, Elise shut the door, and I found myself in the darkened living room of the guesthouse with my drunken sister clutched to me. I hadn’t set foot in the Cormier’s quarters since the night Elise had cleaned my shirt.

  I felt a flush of shame at the memory. How many times would I need this girl to rescue me?

  I set Ava down on her feet, her weight propped against me. Elise motioned for us to follow her, and we did so quietly, Ava veering into me with each step. But when the door to Elise’s bedroom shut, I spoke up.

  “We would have been fine out there, you know.” I didn’t know if I was saying it for her benefit or mine, but saying it felt necessary.

  Ignoring me, Elise turned to my sister. “Ava, do you want to take a shower?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think she can stand up on her own,” I said, but Elise still didn’t look at me.

  “Bath…” Ava moaned.

  “I’ll draw you a bath,” Elise said, and without giving me a glance, she strode to her bathroom.

  “Not too hot,” I hoarse-whispered, remembering how Elliot Mason had slipped into a coma last year after drinking in a hot tub at a senior homecoming party. They’d had to call the ambulance, take him to the ER, stick a tube down his throat, and pump him full of activated charcoal. “Hot water and alcohol are dangerous.”

  “Ava,” Elise stressed from the bathroom. “I’m going to draw you a warm bath.”

  She was making a point of ignoring me. Well, two can play that game.

  Keeping my mouth shut, I shuffle-dragged Ava to the edge of the tub. She was going to need help getting undressed and into the water, but I wasn’t going to offer. This was Elise’s idea. If she wanted my help, she’d have to ask for it. After making sure my sister was supported against the bathroom wall, I walked back into Elise’s bedroom and leaned against her closet door, certain that Elise would call me back as soon as she realized what she was up against. I knew that it had taken both Bree and Honey to get Ava out of her puke-soaked top and into a clean shirt, and both of them were older and bigger than little Elise Cormier. I bit down on a smug grin of satisfaction when I heard her crank off the taps. Silence filled the bathroom.

  But then, to my surprise, the bathroom door shut, and the lock turned.

  I spun around to stare at the door. Then I pressed my ear to it and heard murmuring. Nothing more.

  So, there I was. Basically, trapped in a thirteen-year-old girl’s bedroom. I walked away from the door and took in my surroundings. The room had changed from what I’d remembered. For one thing, the walls, instead of being eggshell white, were now a fresh aqua. Even though the color was different, the walls were still covered in artwork.

  Good — and I mean, really good — artwork.

  Pen and ink. Pastels. Paintings. An easel took up one corner of the room, and on the opposite side of that was a high, white table and a stool. I moved over to it for a closer look. The table was covered with trays of beads and charms, spools of wire, and hand tools. Needle-nose pliers. Wirecutters. A utility knife.

  At the foot of the table was a basket about the size of watermelon. I bent down to examine it and found it held little plastic bags — and each bag was full of beaded jewelry. Some held a pair of earrings. Some held necklaces. Others bracelets.

  I plucked one of the plastic bags from the basket and held it up. Inside was a beaded necklace. Since it was coiled up on itself, I couldn’t really tell what it looked like. Glancing back over my shoulder and hearing nothing but the hint of murmured voices and gentle splashing, I opened the bag and poured the necklace into my palm.

  Made of three strands, it was short, like a choker. Each band was strung with tiny beads of reds and oranges. In the center of the choker was a gold sunburst charm. I flipped the charm over and found a tiny sticker tab with $12 written on it by hand.

  I blinked. I pulled another bag from the basket, this time finding a pair of beaded earrings. A tiny hand-written sticker tab on the bag itself said $8.

  Elise Cormier had a jewelry business.

  “Huh,” I said to the empty room. No lying, I was impressed. I mean, yeah, it was girlie and homegrown.

  But it was hers.

  And she was good. The beaded choker and earrings looked just like what Ava, Honey, Bree, and their friends wore all the time. Like stuff they bought at the mall.

  Actually, it was cooler than the stuff they bought at the mall. More original.

  “What are you doing? Don’t touch that.”

  Elise’s hissed words made me drop the choker, and I spun to face her, looking just as guilty as I was. Her eyes blazed, and her nostrils flared. And when she barreled toward me, all five-foot-one and ninety-odd pounds of her, I backed away. I backed clear away from her desk with my hands raised.

  “Sorry… sorry. I was just looking.”

  Why the hell was I groveling? She was just a kid. It wasn’t like she could take me down, and it wasn’t like I cared what she thought about me.

  “Didn’t anybody teach you not to bother other people’s stuff?” Elise swiped the choker off the table and carefully coiled it up.

  “Yes, actually,” I wanted to tell her, “my father shoved me into a wall when I read the sports page of his newspaper before he did. I was seven.”

  But I swallowed that impulse, cleared my throat, and forced myself to speak without emotion. “I said I was sorry,” I said evenly. “I shouldn’t have bothered your jewelry. But I did. And it’s really good.”

  Her hands stilled, and her eyes shot to mine. She was almost as good at keeping her expression blank as I was. But I could see that what I’d said was important to her. And maybe because I was sorry or maybe because I didn’t want her to start pretending like I didn’t exist again, I kept talking.

  “Those have price tags on them. Where do you sell them?”

  Elise blinked. Her eyes were amber. Not light brown. Not hazel. My mother had a pin made of amber in the shape of a maple leaf. She’d wear it in the fall. Elise’s eyes were exactly that color.

  “Sometimes, I sell them at the farmer’s market,” she offered. “When Mama helps her friend Rita, who has a pie stall.”

  She put her attention back to the bag in her hands, pressing the seal closed. “Sometimes I sell them at school.”

  In spite of myself, this made me smile. “I think it’s cool that you have a little business.”

  And then something that had never happened before happened. Elise Cormier smiled at me. I’d seen her smile before. At Flora. At Ava. Even at my mom. But I didn’t think she’d ever smiled at me.

  Two thoughts occurred to me when I saw her smile:

  1) Elise Cormier was going to grow up to be beautiful.

  2) I wanted to make her smile again.

  But I immediately brushed aside both of these thoughts. Elise might grow up beautiful, and good for her, but that was none of my concern. And while seeing her smile again would be nice, I hadn’t earned her smiles before now, and I didn’t have the time or the energy to try to keep earning them. I had two good friends. Two was enough. I didn’t need to add a thirteen-year-old girl to that list.

  Besides, she was better off not being my
friend. She knew what our lives were like. I didn’t worry about Flora and Elise’s safety, and I didn’t care to start.

  “That’s what I want to do when I get older,” she said, startling me out of my thoughts. “Make jewelry. Have my own store.”

  I blinked, surprised and, again, impressed, but not sure what to say. “Really?”

  She nodded. “That won’t happen for a long time, though,” she said, looking resigned. “But I want to get into the Fine Arts Academy for high school.”

  I frowned. “Is that at Lafayette High?”

  “No.” Elise shook her head. “It’s at Comeaux.”

  I kept my face blank. Comeaux wasn’t the worst high school in town, but it was still a rough place. But what did I know? I went to a private school. Maybe the Fine Arts Academy was worth it.

  “So that’ll be next year, right?” I asked, hoping I’d successfully masked my distaste.

  Elise looked down. “Um…” She crossed her arms over her chest and dragged a toe over the carpet. “In two years.”

  I frowned. “I thought you were in eighth grade this year,” I blurted. “You’re thirteen, right?”

  Elise tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and bent to replace the bags I’d taken from her jewelry basket. “Yeah, um, I had to repeat seventh grade.”

  A shock zinged through me like I’d stepped into a cold puddle. “Oh.” I had no idea what else to say. What else was there to say? I’m sorry? I couldn’t imagine failing anything. Not even a test. I’d made one B on a report card in AP Biology last year, and I’d nearly driven my fist through a wall. She must have been so embarrassed.

  And then I looked at Elise and realized that was exactly what she was. Color had rushed to her face, and she hadn’t met my eyes since that awful admission. And suddenly, I wanted to take away that sting of shame.

  “Grades aren’t everything,” I said, but since I didn’t really believe that, I didn’t think I sounded too convincing.

  And when Elise looked at me before rolling her eyes, I knew I hadn’t.

  “Easy for you to say,” she muttered, looking at her feet again. “You’re the smartest in your class.”

  “No, I’m not,” I said quickly. Last I knew, I was third from the top. Louis was first. Which sometimes made falling short of valedictorian both easier and harder to take. How could he smoke so much pot and still make ninety-nines when I made ninety-fives?

  “Hm,” Elise huffed. “Your mom thinks you are.”

  My mouth flattened. Talking about my grades, wrestling wins, and leadership positions was the highlight of my mother’s life. And since her life sucked ass most of the time, I let her talk. But the fact that Elise knew this made me wonder how close Flora and Mom were.

  I’d never thought about it, but on a school day, it was just the two of them here together. For hours.

  What else did they talk about?

  “Grades aren’t everything,” I repeated, this time with more conviction. Because Mom could talk about them all she wanted, but they couldn’t keep her safe or keep her company. Her safety and happiness were what I wanted most for her, and my grades had done nothing to provide that. “Besides, you’re really talented. If you want to own your own store one day, a few bad grades won’t keep you from that.”

  Again, she rolled her eyes. “I have more than a few bad grades,” she said under her breath. “And I hate school.” At this, her lip curled with disdain.

  A sudden restlessness filled me. I hadn’t spent much time with Elise Cormier over the years, but I knew she wasn’t dumb. She’d told me off more than once. She’d been wise enough to try to keep Ava safe all those years ago, and she was savvy enough to help us — and help me — whenever it mattered. Why was school so hard for her?

  “Do you try?” I asked without thinking.

  “Of course I try!” Her words blasted me in the face, and I grabbed her wrist with one hand and covered her mouth with the other, worried she’d wake Flora.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed against my palm.

  Her own eyes were like pointed arrows, flaming pointed arrows. Elise’s jaw slid to the side, and her nostrils flared.

  I removed my hand from her lips.

  “You don’t think I try?” Her question wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. An assault. Her fists were balled at her sides, and I felt a tingle in my gut that hinted she might launch one at me any second. “You think I like going to summer school every year?”

  I frowned. She went to summer school every year? How had I not noticed? Ava and I were at camp three weeks out of the summer, but still.

  “Are you getting any help at school? Do you go to the resource lab?”

  Elise crossed her arms over her chest and cocked a hip, eyeing me like I was the dumbest person alive. “Uh, no, and I also don’t walk around with a sign that says Please call me a retard.” Her face was a mask of bitterness, but I sensed pain beneath it. “Do you know how everybody treats the kids who go to resource?”

  My brows climbed at her words, and I had to draw my lips in to keep from grinning at her sharp tone. “What about a tutor? After school?” I asked after I had my face under control.

  She nodded sarcastically, squinting as she did. “Yeah, because Mama can afford a tutor on her domestic-help salary.”

  Ouch.

  A mix of guilt and embarrassment flushed through me. I had no idea what my parents paid Flora, but I hoped it was a fair wage. Even if it was, though, I knew tutors could run anywhere between thirty and sixty dollars an hour. And even if Elise only used someone a couple of times a week, I doubted Flora had two hundred and fifty bucks a month to pay a tutor. It was unthinking to even suggest one.

  But what I said next was worse.

  “Maybe you could get someone to help you for free.” I regretted the words as soon as I spoke them.

  Elise cocked a brow at me. “Oh, are you offering?” Her tone was still snide, but the look in her eyes had changed. They were still bitter, but now they looked… vulnerable.

  I swallowed a wave of unease. I knew without a doubt I was capable of helping her. Finding the time might be a challenge, given my practice schedule and my own workload. But even I had twenty or thirty minutes a day to sit at the kitchen table and help a seventh grader with her homework.

  And she needed my help. She needed someone’s help. I had no idea why she’d spent her summer vacations in credit-recovery courses or why she’d failed seventh grade, but I knew Elise Cormier was smart enough to pass middle school. Clearly, the Lafayette Parish school system had failed her somewhere along the way.

  But even though I was capable of helping her, even though I’d suggested the idea of a tutor, and, quite frankly, even though I knew I owed Elise more than a few favors for her rescue missions over the years, I could not help her.

  Helping someone meant caring. Giving a shit. Investing in them. And for the same reason I only had two friends and no girlfriend, I had no room in my life for caring. Even if I wanted to help Elise — and I realized as I stood in her bedroom that I did want to help her — keeping Mom and Ava safe had to be my number-one priority. Caring, worrying, and looking out for them was all I could manage.

  I treasured Bree and Louis, but they had each other. They really didn’t need me. Sure, I knew they liked having me around. I knew they cared about me. But they demanded nothing in return. I didn’t have to worry about their safety or their wellbeing. I could just enjoy their company.

  Elise Cormier needed to be someone else’s community-service project. I heard the glug and rush of plumbing as Elise’s tub began to drain, and I knew who that someone could be. I stared at Elise’s face, which had suddenly filled with an open and desperate hope that made me feel slightly sick.

  “I, uh,” I began, still suffering a twist of guilt even as I offered my solution, “I have a lot going on. I can’t help you, but I bet Ava can.”

  Elise’s face hardened at once, her vulnerable look of hope gone in a flash. In that momen
t, I was pretty sure she hated my guts.

  That’s okay, I told myself. That’s perfect, in fact.

  “Ava,” she said flatly.

  I nodded, feigning enthusiasm. “Yeah, she’s a good student. All As,” I vouched. It was true. As poor as Ava’s judgement was on the weekends, during the week, she was focused and studious. And competitive to a fault. “And after tonight, I’d say she owes you.”

  Elise continued staring at me, stone-faced. “Ava completely ignores me.”

  “No, she doesn’t—”

  “She does, and so do you.” Elise pinned me with her gaze. She wasn’t hesitant or timid. She was merciless.

  And she was right.

  How could we not ignore her?

  Elise knew our secret. We spent our entire lives trying to hide our ugly truth from the rest of the world. But we couldn’t hide it from her. Sometimes, Elise would sit at the kitchen table and do her homework while Flora made our dinner. I wanted to cringe every time I walked in after school for a snack and found her all-seeing amber eyes staring back at me.

  She’d cleaned up my blood, for Christ’s sake. How could I face her? Make idle conversation? I didn’t have to talk to Ava to know she felt the same. It was easier to pretend Elise didn’t exist.

  Pretending to be a snob is the easiest thing in the world.

  As I took in Elise’s relentless stare, I wondered if every snob I knew was also pretending.

  I sighed. She knew my secret. Our secret. But now I knew hers. And she’d helped us. More than once.

  “I’ll talk to Ava,” I said, nodding. “I know she’ll help you.”

  Frowning, Elise let go a frustrated breath. “I’d rather you help me.”

  Her declaration sent my eyebrows skyward. “Me? Why?”

  For the first time, I watched Elise Cormier hesitate. She pressed her lips together, inhaled and exhaled through her nose before speaking. “Because… you’re a lot older than me. You’re supposed to be smarter,” she said as though this were obvious. Then her eyes and the sides of her mouth pinched, and her voice dropped to almost nothing. “Besides, I don’t want Ava to know… to know that I’m dumb.”