by Sonya Sones
like, “Molly’s right! It’s dangerous!”
And this seems to snap Red out of it.
She drops back to the ground,
reaches down to rub his secret sweet spot,
and says, “Sorry, Pixel. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Then she continues along the path,
toward the bush where her things are stashed.
Like nothing has even happened.
Maybe I Was Wrong About Red
Maybe I’ve been kidding myself.
Maybe she is a danger to herself . . .
It seems like her illness keeps her from being
scared of the things she should be scared of.
I mean, the girl doesn’t even check for traffic
before she crosses the street . . .
And if Cristo and I hadn’t stepped in
the other night,
she might have stripped bare naked
on the Promenade!
If Red’s managed to survive on her own,
it’s only been ’cause of dumb luck.
And that dumb luck
could run out any second now.
So—until I can get her
back to her family for the holidays
(and I’ve only got eight days left
to make that happen!),
it’s up to me
to keep her safe.
I need to do for her
what I couldn’t do,
what I
can’t do
for my own brother.
As We Continue Walking Through the Park
I rack my brain
trying to think of a safe place
for Red to sleep.
But I obviously can’t afford any more
hotel rooms. And I know she won’t be
willing to go back to Daybreak.
And when I ask her if she wants me
to bring her to another shelter,
she looks at me like I’m the one who’s nuts.
I’m scared to ask the next question.
Scared she’ll get really mad at me.
But I have to ask. I have to.
So I swallow hard and then I say,
“Um . . . You wouldn’t . . . You wouldn’t like me
to bring you over to a hospital, would you?”
She folds her arms across her chest
and fixes me with a look so cold
it sends a shiver up my spine.
“Have you ever been in a psych ward?”
“Well, uh, no, I—”
“They’re crawling with lunatics!”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t realize . . .”
Her eyes soften then, and she says, “That’s okay.
But don’t ever mention the hospital to me again.”
So I promise her I won’t.
And then I do the only thing left to do:
I invite her to stay with me.
I’m not at all sure this is a good idea.
In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s a terrible idea.
But it’s the only one I have.
And Now That Red’s All Cleaned Up
I figure
my parents
probably won’t even mind.
At least I hope they won’t . . .
But when I tell Red my idea, she responds
as usual with, “No thanks. I better not.”
“Please say yes,” I plead.
“You won’t be safe sleeping on the bluff.”
Pixel works his nose into my palm.
I pat his head, trying really hard to keep
the tears that are pooling in my eyes
from slipping down my cheeks.
But I fail miserably.
Red watches them fall.
And for a second it looks
like she might start crying too.
Then she sighs,
runs her hands through her hair,
and asks, “Is there a balcony?”
“Well . . . no,” I say. “Just a bay window.”
She scratches her head.
“Is there a backyard?” she asks.
“There is . . . ,” I say. “But the grass
kind of doubles as Pixel’s bathroom.”
Red furrows her brows
and chews on a nail.
“Is there a bathtub?” she asks.
“Yes!” I say. “There is!”
And apparently “bathtub” is the magic word.
Red Gathers What She Wants
From where she stashed her stroller,
while I ponder how to approach my parents
about letting her stay with us.
What’s the absolute
best way to guarantee
they won’t refuse my request?
I slip my hand into my pocket
and wrap my fingers around
my phone.
If Noah hadn’t vanished,
I’d be texting him right now,
asking him for advice.
He was a genius at helping me
weigh all the options whenever
I had to deal with situations like this.
But he has vanished.
And if he was going to reappear,
he would have by now.
Sometimes I Miss Him So Much
It feels as if
I’ve lost a limb . . .
He’s five years older than me.
But he never teased me or hit me
or bossed me around, the way Rosa’s and
Jasmine’s big brothers always did to them.
He used to make me the most awesome
dollhouse furniture out of Popsicle sticks.
He’d even play Barbies with me now and then,
as long as I promised not to tell anyone.
One time, he even canceled a big date
with Ava Ray (this girl he really liked)
just because I told him
I was scared I wouldn’t be able
to learn all the prayers
for my bat mitzvah in time.
He stayed home with me that night,
to help me memorize them.
He spent the whole weekend
practicing with me.
And when I admitted
I wasn’t even sure I believed in God,
Noah said that didn’t matter—
as long as I believed
in good.
Mom Used to Be So Proud
Of how well
Noah and I got along.
She’d tell anyone who’d listen
that this was her greatest
accomplishment as a parent—
how much Noah and I loved each other.
When we were little,
she’d read to us
every night,
with Noah snuggled up
on one side of her
and me snuggled up on the other,
and she’d always begin each session
by telling us how happy she was
that she had a son and a daughter—
because that meant I could be
her favorite girl in all the world
and Noah could be her favorite boy.
It was outrageously corny,
and I made a face whenever she said it,
but deep down, I guess I kind of liked it.
The truth is,
she was a pretty great mom
before Noah disappeared.
He Was the Best Brother Ever . . .
Sometimes,
on really hot summer days,
he’d bring me over to one
of the fancy hotels on Ocean Avenue
so we could sneak
into their pool.
He called it
“stealing a swim.”
At first, I didn’t want to.
I was scared we’d get caught.
But Noah said that being scared
was exactly
what made it so fun.
“Besides,” he’d always say, “if you act like you
belong someplace, they’ll never kick you out.”
And, of course, he was right.
Noah was always right.
And he was always there.
Until he wasn’t . . .
My Heart Clenches Like a Fist
But then a breeze
billows in from the beach
and musses my hair—
just like Noah always used to,
when he was trying to get me
to lighten up.
A shudder grips me.
And then I get this feeling.
This feeling like Noah is with me.
Like I can actually sense his presence.
Like maybe it wasn’t a breeze
that mussed my hair . . .
But then I grit my teeth
and force that thought
right back out of my head.
I mustn’t think like that.
Because that would mean
that Noah is dead.
And he’s not.
He can’t be.
I won’t let him be.
I Squeeze My Eyes Shut
And when I open them a second later,
I somehow know exactly what to do—
as if my brother has whispered
the answer into my ear:
I’ll just show up with Red
and ask Mom and Dad right in front of her.
That way they’ll be too embarrassed
to say no!
But fifteen minutes later,
as Red and I head up my front walk,
my parents start fighting so loud
it sounds like World War III just broke out.
“It’s Sunday, Peter!” Mom shouts. “Do you
really have to work seven days a week?”
“Yes I do, Elaine!” Dad shouts back.
“I’m preparing for an important trial!”
“You used to think I was important!” Mom screams.
“What do you care anyway?” Dad screams back.
“You just sit there smoking pot and watching TV
all day long whether I’m home or not!”
Red freezes in her tracks.
“Is that . . . your parents?”
“Well . . . yeah. But don’t worry.
Their battles never last long.”
We hear the sound of a glass shattering.
“Or get too violent,” I add with a wince.
“Whoa . . . ,” Red says,
taking an uneasy step back.
“I’ll loan you a pair of earplugs,” I say.
“You won’t even know they’re there!”
But she just turns
and rushes away.
I Call Her Name
But she keeps right on walking.
I hurry after her, afraid to let her
out of my sight, my thoughts spinning.
What am I going to do?
Where will I find another place
for her to sleep?
How can I keep her safe
until I figure out how to reunite her
with her family?
And then,
as if in answer
to all my questions,
I get a text from Cristo.
He Asks How Operation Red Is Going
And when I tell him what just happened,
he texts me right back and says he wishes
there was some way he could help.
Which is
when it dawns on me
that there actually might be . . .
Oh, man. I don’t know him nearly well
enough to do what I’m about to do.
But I’ve run out of options.
So I come right out and ask him if Red can
sleep in his backyard till his family returns.
I’ll totally understand if you say no! I add.
Then I hold my breath and stare
at those three little pulsating dots
that mean he’s writing me back.
But then the dots disappear.
Then they start up again.
Then they disappear again.
Oh geez.
What was I thinking?
I start typing as fast as I can.
Wait! I never should have put you on the spot
like this. I am so sorry. Forget I ever asked.
Please! I’ll figure something else out!
But then the dots start pulsating again.
And a few seconds later
his text pops onto my screen:
Yeah.
I guess she can stay there.
Just tell her NO DANCE PARTIES! ☺
I Send Him Back a Zillion Smiley Faces
And then my mouth goes dry as sand . . . Because
I know he was only joking about the dance parties,
but suddenly I’m worried. Really worried.
On 2nd thought, I text him, maybe it’s not such
a good idea. I mean Red’s so unpredictable.
What if she flips out + trashes your place?
You’ve spent 2 days with her, he texts back.
Have you ever seen her trash anything?
Well, no, I answer. I guess not . . .
Then it’s settled! Cristo replies.
THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH! I text back.
But even in all caps, the words seem too small.
He doesn’t bother with a “you’re welcome.”
He just says they’ve been paying the kid next
door to feed their cat while they’re away.
But that if Red is willing
to feed Sequoia, he’ll fire that kid
and give her the job instead.
And since we know how Red feels
about accepting charity,
Cristo and I come up with a little . . .
Well . . . a little fib.
To make sure she won’t
turn down his offer.
Then
I sprint to catch up with Red.
“Cristo just texted me,” I call out to her.
“His family’s cat sitter quit.
He wondered if you want the job.”
Red stops and turns to face me.
“How much does it pay?” she asks.
“Five dollars a day. Ten if you’re
willing to sleep in his backyard.”
She narrows her eyes.
“I don’t get it,” she says.
“Why would he want someone
to do that?”
I feel like I’m reeling in a gigantic fish.
And if I don’t say just the right thing,
it’ll turn into The One That Got Away.
“Well . . . Sequoia’s an outdoor cat.
And Cristo wants . . . He wants her to
have someone to snuggle with at night.
He’s afraid she’ll run away otherwise.
You’d be doing him a real favor . . .”
Red peers into my eyes
like she’s trying to figure out
if I’m telling the truth.
And then—
she grins.
We Find the Hidden Key
Exactly where Cristo said it would be:
tucked under the third brick
to the left of the garage door
in the alley behind the house.
We open the creaky wooden gate,
step into the backyard,
and both our jaws drop—it looks like
the grounds of a miniature resort.
Pixel starts racing around,
sniffing everything in sight,
while Red and I take it all in: the palm trees,
the pool, the neat little square of lawn,
and the blue-and-white-striped umbrella
shading a lounge chair
that’s as wide as a double bed—
th
e perfect spot for Red to sleep!
OMG! I text Cristo.
Your backyard is incredible!
And he texts back:
So are you, Agent Molly!
“Wow . . . ,” Red says. “The Duke
decrees this backyard fit for royalty.
Even Lana says the omens are excellent.
She says all signs point to a favorable outcome.”
And I have to agree with Lana on this one.
Cristo’s Yard Is So Beautiful
It’s like we’ve wandered into a painting.
We lie down in the middle of the grass
and gaze up at the sky.
That’s when I notice that directly overhead
there’s a single puffy cloud floating by—
a cloud that’s shaped exactly like a heart . . .
Then I hear
these weird little
mechanical hissing sounds . . .
And a second later—
sprinklers pop up
all around us!
We leap up, squealing from the cold,
and exchange a quick
we’re-already-soaked-so-why-not? glance.
Then we dash to the pool
and cannonball in together,
holding hands.
We splash and laugh and dunk each other,
like a couple of little kids.
Until Red decides she’s had enough.
She climbs out,
pirouettes through the sprinklers,
and flings herself onto the lounge chair.
And a second later,
she goes so totally limp
it’s as if someone’s unplugged her.
I Grab a Couple of Towels
From the little bathroom
that’s attached to the garage,
toss one of them to Red,
wrap myself up in the other one,
and settle down next to her on the lounge chair,
in the shade of the striped umbrella.
A second later, Pixel hops up beside me
and rests his paw on my arm as if to say,
“Just so you know—I am never
going to leave this place. Ever.”
And just then,
a cat materializes out of nowhere.
She saunters over, hops up next to us,
and sniffs nonchalantly at Pixel,
who looks at me like,
“Perhaps I spoke too soon . . .”
The cat rubs her chin against my leg,
then curls up in Red’s lap and starts purring.
“You must be Sequoia,” Red says.