Red Road

by Wiltz, Jenni

  “I looked there a minute ago. I didn’t see anything.”

  “Mom, I told you, they’re downstairs.”

  “Do you have anything you want to say to me, Emma?”

  “The clothes are downstairs, Mom.”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  Emma felt her mom’s eyes roam over her face, looking for a sign of weakness. She clamped her lips shut until her mom let go of her hanging clothes, reaching instead to tuck her hair behind her ear with her right hand.

  Her bare right hand.

  “Mom.” Emma felt the floor sway beneath her feet. “Where’s your ring?”

  “I said I’d handle things, didn’t I? But you didn’t believe me. One thing you’ll understand when you get older . . . there are consequences for everything, Em. If I could make you understand anything, it would be that.”

  She’d never seen her mom without that ring, not since the day they cleaned out her grandmother’s empty house. Her mom had sat in the car as her dad drove home, clutching a single canvas tote to her chest and sobbing.

  Her mom let her hand fall to her side. “Where is that bag, Emma Christina?”

  “It’s just a bag, Mom,” she said softly. “It’s nothing.”

  “You’re lying to me.” A tear fell down her mother’s pale cheek. “Why would you do that, Em? I’m not trying to hurt you. I’ve never tried to hurt you.”

  “Mom, I was only doing my homework.” She pointed to the computer screen, still displaying her lab write-up. “I just want to do my homework.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, Em.” A false smile twisted her lips. “You can come downstairs again when you’re ready to tell me the truth. Until then, your sister will bring you a tray for dinner.”

  Emma bent her head, ready to feel her mother’s lips or her hand as she passed. Neither came. Her mom turned sideways and slipped through the door, a faint whisper of floral perfume trailing behind. She sank to her knees, grabbing her desk for support. Was love so fragile it could be destroyed by just a few words? Once her mom went downstairs and saw the clothes weren’t there, she’d never get that love back. That’s what her mom had been trying to tell her, wasn’t it? But she couldn’t change anything now. She made a choice to protect her family, whether they wanted it or not. If they were truly in danger, her way was the only way.

  She got up and closed the door, then sat down at her desk. She opened a browser window and searched for the name and numbers on the side of the gun. Glock, she remembered. 19. Gen4. 9x19. A sporting-goods store came up first in the search results. She clicked through and read the description of the gun. In a few minutes, she managed to find instructions for loading, care, and cleaning, as well as a diagram of the gun’s parts.

  Emma reached into her backpack and pulled out Dan’s notebook. She made a sketch and a few notes on loading and firing. She wasn’t brave enough to retrieve the gun and compare it to the diagram on the screen in front of her.

  When she finished, she deleted the browser history, cookies, and cache. She moved her mouse over the menu with the “Shut Down” command and a chat window popped up.

  Redhead_Rachel: Were you even going to tell me about what happened with Via?

  She deleted the message and shut down her computer. Then she slid open the closet door and pushed her clothes to the left. The bag sat on top of her stack of crates. Gently, she pulled the roll of PE clothes from the top of the bag and slid the coats and blouses back into place. The only way to keep her mom from finding the bag was to take it with her to school, but she had no intention of doing that. If her mom wanted to find it that badly, she’d find it and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Part of her wanted to go downstairs and throw the bag into the green yard waste can in the garage. No one would ever look in there, and the gun would end up in a landfill, tied up in a plastic bag with leaves and sticks.

  But then she imagined a Norteño, maybe even one of the Espinosas, coming to their door and kicking it in. What if that man came upstairs? What if that man started opening bedroom doors, and found her dad? Her gun was the only thing that might save him, or her sister, or her mom. She couldn’t abandon it. It was all she had.

  She slid the closet door closed and laid down on her bed, crying for the ring neither she nor Mattie would ever wear.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Wednesday, April 16

  The hallways teemed with people who suddenly knew who she was. Hot glances seared the skin between her shoulder blades and whispers spread like a virus as she passed.

  That’s the girl who fought Claudia Morales.

  Claudia said she’d fucking kill her. She looks alive to me.

  My friend saw everything. This girl started it, stupid bitch.

  Claudia’s going to get her back, I heard her say so.

  Emma raised a hand to the scratches on her cheek: two raised lines, dotted with scabs like stitches in the hem of a dress. For the space of a single breath, she wished she’d brought the gun with her to school. Instantly, she dismissed the idea. Even if Claudia wanted another try, all she’d have to do is take another beating until Claudia was satisfied. Saving herself some blood and bruises wasn’t worth the chance that she’d accidentally hurt someone. If she hurt someone, she wanted them to know she meant it.

  She trudged down the hallway toward her locker. Near the junior locker bay at the end of the hall, she heard a familiar voice. “She’s clearly insane,” Via said. “I mean, blaming me for stealing Will Decker freshman year? Get a fucking grip.” Emma stopped, pressing against the wall to stay out of Via’s sight.

  “She doesn’t care about him,” Rachel said. “She likes Dan.”

  “Could have fooled me. I bet she has a shrine to Will in her room or stalks him on Facebook. I should message him so he knows. Safety first, you know?”

  “For the longest time, I thought she might be a lesbian. I introduced her to a guy at youth group and she practically ran away from him.”

  “Great. Do you realize how many lesbian scholarships there are out there? As if she hasn’t had enough of a free ride already.”

  “Can she still qualify for valedictorian? You know, with a suspension on her record.”

  “She’ll self-destruct before we ever get there. She cuts class all the time now anyway.”

  “It’s sad,” Rachel said. “Don’t you kind of miss the old Emma?”

  Emma didn’t wait for Via’s answer. She turned and ran . . . or at least, she intended to. Instead, she crashed straight into Mr. Parker. “I’m s—sorry,” she stuttered, stumbling backward.

  “West.” He put out a hand to steady her. Then he bent his head, eyeing her through the lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses. “Are you all right?”

  “No,” she whispered, feeling her chin start to shake.

  “Come on, then.” He led her into his classroom and closed the door behind them, locking it from the inside.

  • • •

  She blew her nose and sniffed again immediately. Mr. Parker leaned against the chalkboard and crossed his arms over his striped cowboy shirt. He’d placed a box of tissues on the desk beside her and stood, staring at her.

  Emma glanced at the locked door. “You’re probably not supposed to do that.”

  Mr. Parker shrugged. “Wasn’t supposed to lose half my pension to that embezzling son of a bitch in the district office, either.”

  Her eyes floated to the huge bookcase on her right. All the books were hardbacks, with titles like Armies and Warfare in Europe, 1648-1789 or The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. She reached for a tissue and blew her nose again. He pointed at the pile she’d amassed on the desk. “Does this have anything to do with why you were called to the office last week? Or what happened on Monday?”

  Emma looked up at him. She knew nothing about his life, his real life, away from scho
ol. He didn’t wear a wedding ring and he’d never mentioned a home or family. His eyes were the same rain-colored grey as the wire rim of his glasses. “Have you ever tried to help someone but everything got ruined instead?”

  Mr. Parker unfolded his arms. “I was in Iraq, Miss West.”

  “I know. You told us about it.”

  “No, you don’t.” He shook his head. “If I told you what really happened, they’d fire me and you’d have nightmares for the rest of your life.”

  “I thought I’d be able to understand if it happened to me. But it didn’t work like that.” She’d fallen asleep at 11:30 p.m. last night and the night before, sleeping through until her morning alarm both times. “I still don’t know how to stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Thinking it’s going to happen all over again.”

  “No one knows how to stop that.”

  “Then what do you do if you know someone that’s happening to?” She met his gaze and he gave her a hard look. “It’s not me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Emma tried to smile. “She didn’t even knock me out. I’m a little tougher than that.”

  “I know,” he said. “I read your Lonesome Dove paper.”

  Emma shook her head. Writing that paper felt like years ago, when things like introductions and conclusions had mattered, before blood and guns and rings and money. “I don’t remember what I wrote.”

  “You blamed every single character for the mess they made. You didn’t give anyone a pass, not even Gus. Most students really like Gus.”

  “Gus is a jerk. He should have stayed with Clara.”

  Mr. Parker nodded. “He couldn’t settle down. He couldn’t change. Can you?”

  She looked up. “What?”

  “Whatever’s going on in your life, you can’t let it beat you. Gus let it beat him. Call let it beat him. They didn’t think hard enough about the choices they had. I don’t want to see a smart kid like you make the same mistakes.” The doorknob jiggled and Mr. Parker looked up at the clock. “Well, it’s almost eight. You ready to let them in?”

  “Just a sec.” She got up and tossed her pile of tissues in the trash. One deep breath later, she turned to Mr. Parker. “So you’re telling me I got an A on the paper?”

  He nodded. “Only one in the class who did.”

  “Okay. You can let them in now.”

  • • •

  Via ignored her in history and English. Rachel offered a single glance as she entered the classroom. Sitting between them was like being sandwiched between glaciers. It was bad enough knowing Via hated her, but if she turned Rachel against her, too, she’d be left with no one.

  No, she thought. Not no one.

  When English let out, she hurried to Mr. Lopez’s room. Her eyes flew straight to Dan’s desk. It was empty. Ryoki Sumitomo and Savannah Banks were the only ones there, talking about an upcoming SCORE club trip to Humboldt State.

  Emma shuffled to her desk and took out their joint lab report. After a grade dispute last year, Mr. Lopez required both partners to sign the report along with a special cover sheet he printed out for them. She pretended to read it again, so her eyes wouldn’t be facing the doorway when Via and Rachel walked in.

  She felt it the second Dan opened the door. The amount of light his silhouette blocked, the shape of it, even the flop of his hair: recognition sent a thunderclap of longing across her heart. When she saw his lopsided grin, something in her heart caved in.

  Three long strides carried him to her desk, where he held out his hand. “Come on. Time is of the essence.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He glanced over his shoulder as Via and Rachel slipped through the door. Their heads were bent together, lips moving, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what they were saying. “Mr. Lopez is in the copy room, making more cover sheets. He’s going to be there for a while.”

  “Why?”

  “I jammed the paper tray.”

  “Okay, but why?”

  “So we could have a minute.”

  She shook her head. “How did you even do that?”

  “You have to load a piece of—wait, I can’t give that away. It’s a trade secret.”

  “Where did you learn about copiers?”

  “My dad hated his boss. When I was a kid and had minimum days, he brought me to his office and turned me loose.”

  “Let me guess. You copied your butt.”

  “And dialed 911 through the fax machine. The cops show up when you do that. It’s really cool when you’re six.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Em, come on. It’s a jam of epic proportions. The secretary is going to yell at him for at least ten minutes. We have time.”

  She glanced down at her bag.

  “Leave it,” he said. “Just take my hand.”

  She looked at the lines tracing his palm, long and dark and forked. She slid her fingers against them and he closed his hand over hers.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as he pulled her out of the classroom.

  He tightened his grip on her hand as he led her down the hall and through a door, onto the school’s front lawn. She followed, dimly aware that it was against school rules to leave the building while class was in session.

  The sunlight, cold and bright, bounced off the concrete walkway. Emma raised her hand to shield her eyes. “It’s so bright out here.”

  “Emma West, will you go to the prom with me?”

  Her eyes hadn’t adjusted yet. When she looked up at him, all she saw was a big black oval. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Will you go to the prom with me?”

  “That’s what you wanted to come outside for?”

  Dan jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You want me to ask you in front of that gang of assholes, all ready and waiting to mind their own business?”

  “No,” she said, smiling. “And yes.”

  A smile, small and Gatsby-like, eased onto his face. “I thought you might say that.”

  “But I don’t even know if I can go to prom. My suspension, remember?”

  “I thought of that. Which is why I took the liberty of reserving the banquet room at my cousin’s pizza place. I’m not gonna let some school tell me I can’t take you to the prom. We’ll have our own if they won’t let us into theirs.”

  Emma blinked. Here she was, standing in the cold April sunlight, as warm as she’d ever been in front of a blazing fire. “This is like a movie. You didn’t have to do this.”

  “I know. That’s why I did it.”

  She met his gaze, so firmly focused on her face. He didn’t see the same things she did: the scars left by volcanic zits, the cowlick in the middle of her forehead, the purple bags under her lower lashes. His eyes never flicked to the opposite side of the room, the way Rachel’s did when Emma said something that bored her. He saw her, the deepest part lodged in the marrow of her bones, the part still trying to resist entropy.

  “Em,” he said, reaching out to take both of her hands in his. “You’re not alone, okay? I just want you to know that.”

  “I do.” The warmth of his hands made her palms sweat, just like they had when she gripped the textured handle of the Glock in the girls’ locker room.

  “Good.” He pulled her close, resting his lips gently on hers. She opened her mouth just enough to feel their breath, together, warming a space that hadn’t been warm before.

  “Now,” he said, pulling away just far enough to speak. “You have exactly three days to pick the color of your corsage. My aunt works in a flower shop and has promised to steal only the best for us.”

  “Steal?”

  His lip curled. “I’m a sophomore. I can’t drive and I don’t have a work permit. But with a week’s lead time, I can get you any flower
in the world you want. That’s worth something, right?”

  “It’s worth everything.”

  • • •

  Emma took her wrinkled PE clothes out of her backpack and changed as fast as she could. Her chem notes for the day were a bust—all she did was stare at the page, reliving the kiss over and over. She tried to remember how close they’d been standing and how she knew when to open her mouth. It had all just happened, which was wonderful, but it meant she had no idea what to do when it happened again.

  She pulled off her jeans and slid into her sweats. In world-record time, she shoved her backpack and clothes into the locker, slammed it shut, and hurried out to the front of the locker room to wait for Elvira. Whatever else happened, she never wanted to change next to Via again. Her cheeks flamed as she remembered her so-called friends mulling over her sexual identity, like it was an equation they could solve if they plugged in the right variables.

  “Hey,” someone behind her said. She turned around and saw Elvira, white-faced, without foundation or mascara. Her uncurled bangs flopped low over her eyes. Even her voice sounded different, deeper and scratchy, like after something with a lot of yelling—a concert or football game.

  “You look different today. Is everything okay?”

  “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  A pang of guilt scraped the inside of Emma’s gut. She glanced around to make sure Mrs. Patterson wasn’t within earshot. “Do you want to go somewhere and talk?”

  “I don’t want to do anything bad anymore.”

  Emma fell in step beside her as they walked down the long hallway to the gymnasium. “I’m sorry I got you involved.”

  “It wasn’t you.”

  “You’re the only one who didn’t expect me to be anything else, not even good at badminton. I shouldn’t have expected you to be someone else just to help me.”

  Elvira’s chin quivered. “Chica, you don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  “It was on the news.” Elvira’s face contorted into a sob. “Monica’s dead.”

  “What?” Emma pulled Elvira into her arms and hugged her. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”