When her little sister turned up her face, sobbing with grief as the men pulled her away, it was my face.
As the crowd of men pressed against her, inspecting her like cattle, I recognized their eyes. I just could not place them. And then they would dissolve in a rush of wings and wind. I would feel myself flying and begin to believe that I was free, only to falter, plunging faster and faster toward the ground until I woke up in a sweat.
Night after night, I could not escape her story. My fear that something was terribly wrong, that somehow our fates were interwoven, began to mount.
I mostly escaped my mother’s vigilant eyes. She had begun traveling again, and was preoccupied with a big merger project. But I could not hide the shadows under my eyes from Michael—or from Tabitha.
“Someone’s been burning the midnight oil again,” she commented drily as I stumbled into class and sat down next to her. Our appearances were a study in contrasts. I’d barely managed to crawl out of my bed, throwing on sweats and wrapping a long scarf around my neck. My hair was lank, its ends tucked into the scarf, carefully hiding the symbol on my neck. She, on the other hand, had carefully swept her hair into a spiky fauxhawk, complete with hot pink extensions down her back, which she had matched to her fingernails, eye shadow, and shoes. The pink stood out against her dark skin, drawing even more attention to her getup. It was ridiculously awe-inspiring.
“No time to shower,” I mumbled under the noise of the teacher’s lecture as I hunched into my chair. I could feel Michael’s stare burning into my back. I reached up and smoothed my hair against my neck, as if somehow he could see through the wall of hair to my Mark.
Tabitha wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t need to know that,” she muttered back at me.
“Ladies, something you’d like to share with us?” Mr. Bennett hovered between our desks.
“We were just discussing our research paper, sir,” Tabitha countered smoothly as the class snickered.
“I was just saying that I’d graded your interim submissions. Yours is good, but you still have some work to do,” he intoned, sliding our paper off the top of his pile.
The class laughed as Tabitha eagerly snatched the paper and then sagged with disappointment as she began to read his notes.
“You all do.” The teacher skewered the class with a withering glare. Everyone fell silent. He resumed walking the aisles, handing out papers as he went.
“You only have one week left before your final submissions. I suggest you take my feedback very seriously and focus on it during these last days. Failure to address this feedback will lower your score by a full grade.”
The class groaned and Bennett smiled with spiteful glee.
“Because I am a nice man, I will give you the rest of this period to regroup. Now go to it.”
Grumbling, the class soon broke apart, the noise of scraping chairs and conversation overwhelming the room.
I huddled over Tabitha. “What did he say?”
She held the pages out to me. “See for yourself.”
I took the paper and began reading the chicken scratches of red ink he’d left across the front page. I was vaguely aware of Michael reading over my shoulder.
“There’s a lot, but it’s doable,” I said, wondering where I’d get the energy to tackle all the additional research and revisions our teacher had suggested.
“There’s more,” Tabitha said glumly, turning the paper over. The entire back page was a sea of red. “But we can’t do any of this without talking to Maria again.”
“No way,” Michael interjected sternly.
We both turned to face him. In the days and weeks since our talk, Michael and I had commenced a careful dance. Outwardly, everything was the same. We still spent most of our classes and lunch together; he still drove me home every day after school. But our conversations were stilted, as if he was afraid to say too much; it seemed as if an invisible force field kept him from getting too close to me. And I found it easier that way, even if the distance between us was sometimes painful. For as much as I relied on Michael’s solid presence and the protection it seemed to offer, I was equally afraid of him now, and my dark, often sleepless nights had only made me more cautious. Somehow I knew that it would be best to keep the secret of my dreams from him.
I even welcomed his discreet, periodic absences. He couldn’t hide the agony his disobedience to God was causing him any longer. I recognized it in the whiteness of his knuckles when he gripped the edge of his desk; the restless pacing as he waited for my slow, human body to catch up to him on the walk to his car; the grinding of his teeth as he muscled through his endless migraines. It racked me with guilt to think of him in constant pain—and to think of the people who needed him, the people who he was leaving out there to struggle, all because of me. His strain mounted and mounted until, in his most private moments, when he didn’t think I was looking, he would let down his guard; then it seemed to rack his body in spasms of agony.
Only when he had reached that point would he allow himself to disappear, sometimes for days.
When he was gone, I was grateful that his pain would be lessened, feeling guilty at the role I played in his misery. I left unsaid my thanks for feeling that, just for a moment, I could breathe again. While I waited for him—and I did wait, cursing myself as I did so—I pored over the newspapers, searching for another unlikely story of rescue and redemption somewhere halfway around the world, happy for the distraction from my own worries and the feeling of Lucas’s eyes, ever watchful while Michael was gone.
As far as the research paper had gone, Michael had simply followed Tabitha’s instructions and tagged along, adding his contributions during the days when he was in school. As long as he didn’t see any threat to my safety, he’d kept quiet. So his comment took Tabitha by surprise.
But not me. As soon as I knew what we had to do, I remembered his concerns and my promise not to go back to the shelter. I’d braced myself for his protest. But what I hadn’t been prepared for was the closeness of his body, the heat I could almost feel rolling from him in waves, the catch of my heart as he voiced his concern. I leaned against the desk and took a deep breath.
“It’s the only way,” I said calmly, searching his eyes, willing him to understand. “We can’t answer any of Bennett’s questions unless we ask her directly.”
He held out his hand. I passed him the papers so he could scan the comments himself.
“We’ll just make it up then,” he said dismissively, thrusting the papers back at Tabitha.
She looked at him in wide-eyed horror. “You can’t just make up a research paper. That’s cheating. It goes against the scholarly ethic.”
“I’m just dumb muscle,” he retorted, squaring off against her, arms crossed as if daring her to defy him. “I don’t really care about the scholarly ethic.”
Tabitha stood up, her patent platform boots bringing her eye to eye with Michael. “You listen to me,” she started, pointing a finger at him.
“Hey, no need for that,” I said, stepping quickly between them to interrupt her diatribe. I looked hurriedly over my shoulder to make sure Mr. Bennett was not listening in before continuing in a low voice. “We need these answers, Michael, and we need to get them the right way. But there’s more than one way to do it.”
“Yeah. If you don’t want to go down there, we’ll just do it ourselves,” Tabitha interjected.
A vein throbbed in Michael’s forehead. “No way. If you go, I’m going with you.”
“What’s wrong with you? First you don’t want to go at all, now you insist on going? What, are you afraid you aren’t going to get enough credit? Or do you just want to keep Hope all to yourself, keep her under your thumb?” Tabitha was gesturing wildly, her fauxhawk shaking with every move.
Michael’s face burned with anger, but before he could respond, Tabitha continued. “Well, guess what? It doesn’t matter what you want. Mrs. Blankenship said no men at the Center. Period.” She crossed her arms in a mirror image
of him and jutted out her hip, mentally declaring the case closed. “You heard her share the rules, Hope,” Tabitha continued, goading Michael with her confidence. “Back me up.”
I stared at the ground. When I’d made my promise to Michael, I’d conveniently forgotten about that one little rule.
“She’s telling the truth,” I mumbled, my hand straying to the back of my neck.
I raised my head, willing myself to meet his gaze. His eyes blazed with fury.
“Then you can’t—” he began.
“We can call her,” I blurted out.
My interruption stopped him short.
“What?” Tabitha asked.
“We don’t have to physically go to the Center to talk to her. The Center has phones. We can just ask to speak to her on the phone.”
Tabitha looked skeptical. “What if she doesn’t want to?”
I cut her off, impatiently waving my hand. “Her English was great, and it’s not like she’s going to be out somewhere. They keep her there all the time under lock and key. All we have to do is call Mrs. Blankenship to set it up.”
My logic was impeccable. I sat on the top of my desk, waiting for them to agree.
Tabitha was annoyed. She looked at our paper, now crumpled in her fist, and shoved it into a folder.
“Fine. But we’re doing it right after school, because if this doesn’t work, we have no other choice but to go down there.” She glared at Michael. “Alone.”
Michael and Tabitha huddled around me, oblivious to the bustle of the hallways, as I listened to the interminable ringing on the other end of the line.
“Why don’t they pick up?” Tabitha breathed, tapping her foot with impatience.
“They probably don’t have a full-time receptionist. It’s a nonprofit, remember?” I reminded her.
Finally someone picked up and transferred me to Mrs. Blankenship. I repeated the carefully rehearsed lines, promising to keep our phone call with Maria short if she would approve it. But then she responded, and my brow furrowed as my blood ran cold at what she was saying.
“I see,” I said when she was done. “Well, thank you anyway, Mrs. Blankenship. And let me know if anything changes.”
I closed my cell phone.
“See!” Tabitha was already crowing with triumph. “She wouldn’t allow it. We’re going to have to go down there after all.”
“No, that’s not it,” I said slowly, still absorbing the news as the pit of foreboding in my stomach began to grow. “We can’t talk to Maria, even if we go in person. She isn’t there. She’s disappeared from the Center.”
eight
“We can’t do nothing,” I pleaded again, trying ineffectually to block Michael’s access to his locker. “Please, hear me out.”
It had been three days since we’d learned the news of Maria’s disappearance. Tabitha argued that there was nothing we could do that the police couldn’t, and was busy devising a new strategy for completing our paper. But I was still focused on finding Maria.
Michael sighed. Gently, he picked me up by the shoulders and moved me aside.
Ignoring the flush I could feel forming on my skin under the thin tissue of my T-shirt—the flush that always came when he touched me—I pressed on as he slowly opened the door and started stacking his books on the shelf.
“She told me she was going to find her sister. You know that means she is somewhere out on the street. Or worse.”
“I know, Hope. But we have no way of finding her.”
“We can go look for her!” Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t stand feeling so helpless.
Michael turned and tilted my chin in his hand. I closed my eyes, trying to blink away the tears, but one lonely drop managed to trickle down my cheek. He wiped it away, his rough, hot fingertip leaving its own trail.
“I already have one errant girl to look after,” he said gruffly, his voice low. “How could I possibly take on another?”
His words stung. The last thing I wanted to be was a burden to him. My eyes flew open as I began to protest, but before I could say anything, we were interrupted.
“Trouble in paradise?”
We both swung our heads to find Lucas, dressed to leave, strolling down the locker bay. Usually, Michael’s watchful eyes kept Lucas far away from me, but today he’d taken advantage of our distraction. My cheeks were still burning with shame and anger at Michael’s words. I pushed him away, wiping my face against my sleeve, hoping Lucas hadn’t seen me cry.
“Why is it that whenever I see you two, there always seems to be some drama?” Lucas purred smoothly, moving closer. “I have to say, Michael, things always seemed much better for Hope when you were away. Wouldn’t you agree, Hope?”
I stared silently at him, willing him to shut up.
“Has he been bothering you when I’m not here, Hope?” Michael addressed his question to me, but his black look was meant only for Lucas. Anyone else would have withered under its intensity, but Lucas just laughed it off.
“We just had some fun, didn’t we Hopie?” I winced to hear my family’s pet name for me on his lips.
“What’s this?” he asked. I followed his gaze down to where I still clutched my scrawled notes that detailed everything I knew about Maria and her disappearance. Swiftly, he snatched it from my hands.
“Interesting,” he drawled, artfully dodging my attempt to grab the paper back as he flipped through the pages, reading my notes. “A missing person. And not just any person—a lost little girl.”
He shot Michael a speculative look, twirling the papers around in his hands, almost taunting Michael. Michael hung back, on edge, but seeming to hesitate. I wondered why he wasn’t helping me get my notes back. He seemed reluctant to touch Lucas at all.
Lucas trapped my notes between his hands, looking vaguely disappointed that his attempt to provoke Michael had failed.
“Sorry I can’t help you on this one,” he said coolly, never taking his eyes off of Michael as he handed me back my precious information. “I can tell it has upset you.”
Confused by his kindness, I mumbled a hasty thank-you and reached out to take the papers. As I did, Lucas clasped his hand over mine and turned his attention to me. Unconsciously, I shrank away from him, my hand drifting in its nervousness to cover my neck.
He laughed again. “Didn’t think I had any emotions in me, eh, Hope? Even I can muster up some sympathy on occasion.” He released my hand. I snatched it away and quickly put the pages back safely in my book bag. Lucas smirked to see me so discomfited. Satisfied, he twirled on his heel. “Good luck. I hope you find her,” he offered over his shoulder as he walked away.
I stared after him, baffled by our exchange.
“Why does he always just turn up like that?” I muttered.
Michael’s eyes were full of suspicion. “What do you mean, always?”
I cursed myself for the gaffe. Michael didn’t need to know the kind of attention Lucas paid to me when Michael wasn’t around. He had enough on his mind.
“Nothing,” I said hastily, looking for some way to turn the conversation to my advantage. “At least he seemed to understand how important this is to me.” The accusing tone in my voice was unmistakable.
Michael’s jaw tightened. Barely controlling himself, he slammed his fist into his locker. When he pulled away, I could see the imprint of his knuckles in the buckled metal.
Knees trembling, I stepped backwards. Hastily, I pulled my fleece over my head. “If you can’t control yourself, I think I’ll walk home.”
Before he could respond, I began making my way toward the exit, moving deliberately so that he wouldn’t ever think I was afraid.
The March wind had turned biting. I pulled the collar of my fleece closer to me and eyed the sun, hanging low on the horizon, as I turned onto the dirty sidewalk.
It was a mere five miles home. I could easily cover that distance before sunset if I ran. Luckily, I didn’t have many books to carry home tonight.
My books.
I groaned. In my haste to get away from Michael, I’d dropped my backpack in the locker bay. I looked at my watch and then again at the sky. The wind surged about me, whipping my hair around my head like a tornado, as if it were daring me to test my luck.
I thought of my homework and my phone, deserted in the school. Grudgingly, I turned back toward the building and began walking.
It seemed to take twice as long to cover the distance back to the school. The wind continued to fight me, seemingly coming from every direction, my hair becoming a nuisance as it flew into my face.
Of course I’d left my hat in the bag. Grimacing, I rummaged in my jacket pockets for anything to keep my hair out of my way, but I came up empty handed. The wind shrieked, and I dug my hands deeper into the pockets, trying to hurry myself along.
As the school came into view, a lone gray car with tinted windows slinked up to the stop sign in front of me and waited. It didn’t signal. Nor did it pull away, even though there were no cars to stop its progress. As I came closer, the passenger window rolled down.
“I bet you came back for this,” a smooth voice called out from inside the car.
Cautiously, I bent over and peered inside. There on the passenger seat sat my backpack. In the driver’s seat was Lucas.
“Let me give you a ride home,” he said, straining to be heard over the rumble of his engine and the roar of the wind. “You don’t want to be walking home in this weather.”
As if on cue, a crack of lightning shook the sky.
I looked over my shoulder at the massive gray clouds. Resigned, I reached for the door handle and eased myself into the car, asking, “How did you get my bag?”
Lucas slid my backpack down to the floor, at my feet. He smiled, showing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth.
“Would you believe me if I said I saw it when I went back to apologize to Michael?”
My eyes narrowed. “You did no such thing.”
Lucas laughed and shrugged. “There’s no love lost between me and Michael. That doesn’t mean you and I can’t be friends.” He pushed a button, and the window next to me quietly closed back up.
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