Glassford Girl: Part 3 (The Emily Heart Time Jumper)

by Jay J. Falconer

  Ten minutes later, the tears stopped. She pulled herself together and looked up at Derek. He was her rock. The only person she felt safe with, completely.

  “Thank you. I needed that.”

  “Anytime, babe. But I do need to jet,” he said in a soft voice.

  She kissed him one more time. Just a split-second kiss, then held his hands to her heart. “This is for you. It’s all I have to give. I have no pride. No dignity. And no future. I hope it’s enough.”

  “It is. You make me happy,” he said, kissing her softly on the cheek before he stood up. “Library tomorrow?”

  She nodded and watched him walk away with his head hung low and a slow saunter to his step. The bench kept her sitting upright, and that wasn’t easy with her heart breaking. She wrapped her arms around her herself, trying to keep her insides from exploding. Derek’s every step away felt like a dagger ripping into her, making her loneliness and torment hurt even more.

  This is why you never get involved, Em, her logic reminded her. Nothing good ever comes of it.

  But she didn’t care what her brain was telling her. If she had to endure a lifetime of agony in exchange for one minute of tenderness with Derek, she’d take that trade, every time. Sometimes you have to do what feels right, not what you know is right. Now she understood what her mom told her a long time ago. “The heart wants what the heart wants.” She took a moment to file what she was feeling under the heading Desire Trumps Logic, tucking it away in the back of her mind.

  She didn’t move, not until he was completely out of sight. When he was, she stood up and turned her focus to Junie.

  * * *

  Emily found it hard to keep from giggling as she snuck across the family sleeping room of the Phoenix Central Homeless Shelter. Junie had told her it was just temporary—she and her mom were staying there while they waited for placement in public housing.

  It was a snap to sneak into the shelter; Emily had been doing it for a couple of years now. She knew the shelter’s night shift crew had the habit of propping the back door open while they stepped out to take smoke breaks together. All she had to do was wait for the right moment when their backs were turned, and she was in. She took a few minutes to hunt down some clothes and a pair of shoes that fit from the donations room before she made it to Junie’s bed. She didn’t see Junie’s mom anywhere. The bed next to her was empty. Not a good sign.

  She shook Junie gently and whispered. “Junie? Junie? Hey. It’s me, sweetie. It’s Emily.”

  Junie snuggled deeper into her bed, never opening her eyes. While asleep, Junie looked like a precious five-year-old, instead of the budding teenager that she was. Emily thought about letting her sleep, but decided to wake her. She shook her again, a little harder this time.

  “Jooooonie. Psssst.”

  Junie opened her eyes, slowly. She looked at Emily with eyes wide, and squealed. Emily fought back a squeal herself, then put her finger to her lips to shush Junie.

  A woman hissed from a bunk across the open room. “Keep it down over there. Trying to sleep here. Have some respect, for God’s sake.”

  “Sorry,” Emily whispered back to whoever was complaining.

  Junie swung her legs off the bed, gestured to the hallway, and took Emily by the hand. Emily followed, watching Junie’s natural bounce in her step. When they were outside the room, Junie seemed to be wide awake. Her bubbly nature took over.

  “Oh my God, Em! What are you doing here?”

  “I told you I’d come see you. I promised.”

  Junie wrapped her arms around her and squeezed so tightly that Emily thought her ribs might crack under the pressure. She didn’t care. She missed Junie, and the little girl’s genuine affection. She needed it after the day she’d had.

  Junie let go. “We can go to the snack room. The night people should all be downstairs. If we’re quiet, they won’t come up. It’s not like they really want to do their jobs anyway. Sometimes they check on me, but not hardly ever.”

  They walked down the hall and went into a small room containing a wobbly fold-out table, a dented, half-sized, black refrigerator with spray paint graffiti along its side, and an ancient toaster oven that must have been from the eighties—a kitchenette for the homeless—a mishmash of crap nobody wanted and had cast aside. Like her, Emily thought.

  “Where’s your mom?”

  “I don’t know, Em. She wasn’t here when I got back from school. The shelter people said she called and told them she got a job, and that her new boss wanted to try her out tonight. Mom told them to tell me to do my homework and go to bed early. Yeah, like if,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Mom said she’d be here by morning. I’m not so sure about all that job stuff, Em. I didn’t even know she was trying to get a job. I think she’s out with a guy or something. Maybe even getting high again.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  “Oh well. It’s my mom. Nothing surprises me anymore. The good news is—you can sleep in her bed! Right next to me!”

  “That would be nice,” Emily said, rubbing her temples. A mild headache was starting and she needed a good night’s sleep.

  Junie put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “But first, I need to find you a comb. That hair, Em. We have to do something about that hair.”

  “I know. It’s awful,” Emily said, ducking and covering her head with her hands.

  It didn’t take Junie long to return with a brush. She sat behind Emily and ran it through her hair while they talked, catching up on girl stuff for the next half-hour. Then they both yawned, and snuck back into the sleeping room.

  Emily crawled onto the rickety cot next to Junie’s, watching her tiny friend snuggle under the covers and close her beautiful little eyes. Eyes that never seemed to get distracted or depressed by life’s endless drama. Junie’d had her share, but none of it was her fault. She was a tireless champ. Someone Emily admired, and couldn’t help but love and want to protect.

  Derek had said earlier that he thought Emily was the strongest person on the planet, but he was wrong. The strongest person she’d ever met was sweet, adorable Junie and her electric smile and infectious joy for living. The tiny girl who seemed to be okay with her twisted, messed-up life and all the turmoil that came with being the daughter of a single mother with serious man and drug problems.

  “There’s always someone worse off than you,” she mumbled. “And age has nothing to do with it.”

  “What?” Junie said in a slow whisper.

  “Never mind, baby. You sleep now,” Emily said, brushing a few stands of Junie’s hair out of her face. She pulled the covers up until they were just under her friend’s chin. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  * * *

  Jim Miller had been sleeping for about half an hour when the buzz of his cell phone on the nightstand next to his bed woke him up. He groped for it, groggy and mentally slow, fumbling around in the dark. He pressed the button on the side of the device, lighting the phone’s display. It was Alison. Jim swiped the answer button and held it to his ear.

  “Alice, what the hell? Again?”

  “Millsy, you tell me—what the fuck? Tell me why I’m standing outside a building not far from your restaurant in the middle of the damn night, looking at one dead wannabe biker asshole and talking with one skinny fuck who’s spinning a wild story about a redheaded teenage girl tossing his three-hundred-pound boss out a twenty-story window?”

  “Emily?”

  “Yep. The Glassford Girl strikes again. Only this time, a bloody pile of shit got in the way.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning, Emily tossed on the cot, tangling her arms and legs in the single sheet provided by the shelter. She had been asleep, but the sudden snort of the old man snoring two cots over woke her up.

  After Junie fell asleep earlier that night, it had taken a while for Emily to drift off into dreamland, even though she was exhausted and couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open anymore. Her brain just wouldn’t shut off,
constantly flashing images of Derek, the dead biker, the Orange Man, the explosion, the golf course couple, and everything else that had happened that day.

  It was almost too much to believe and was completely surreal. Almost as if she were living out her life on the set of some cheesy science fiction movie, or she was stuck running around in the pages of some paperback. But it was her life. Every miserable second of it.

  She’d finally drifted off thinking that for the first time she was truly, one hundred percent boy-crazy, on the verge of having a typical teenage girl’s total spaz attack. She’d witnessed them many times before the night of The Taking. Her best friend, Stacy, used to freak out all the time over the dumbest things boys would say and do. She’d seen just about every girl at school go through complete emotional meltdowns over the tiniest events related to boys—getting asked out on dates, getting asked to prom, first kisses, first touches, first blowjobs, first . . . everythings. Their entire lives revolved around boys and talk of sex. They were obsessed.

  If she only knew then what she knew now, she’d set them all straight and show them what real life is all about. Life is twisted and mean, never taking its eyes off you. It beats on you until it wears you down, until there’s nothing left but sun-bleached bone. Everywhere she looked, she could see that exact sentiment in the eyes of the walking zombies around her. So much misery and pain.

  She couldn’t believe how much things had changed recently since she’d first met Junie. One minute she’s flying solo and surviving, all the while living under the radar and following her rules. Now she was completely off the rails, letting her dreams, her thoughts, and her desires get in the way, constantly putting her in situations that made her blush. She was becoming obsessed. With a boy. A beautiful boy named Derek. And with the idea of sex.

  Then she remembered something her mother used to say to her. “It’s okay, honey. It’s all just part of growing up.” She smiled and rolled onto her back, letting herself begin to wake up with thoughts of her mother’s arms and voice cradling her, keeping her safe. She felt a warm vibration on her belly.

  Emily opened her eyes, praying she wasn’t actually in the last embarrassing situation that her dreams had placed her in earlier that night: at the prom, with a huge rip down the back of her dress, completely exposing her butt—mom’s hug or not, it was totally embarrassing.

  She almost screamed in delight when the first thing she saw was an orange and white tabby cat asleep on her tummy. It was the same kitty she’d first met in a computer carrel in the Burton Barr Public Library, and last seen while hiding behind a disabled UPS van.

  It was Shroedy! An impossible cat in an impossible location. She was so happy she wanted to cry. Things you can’t control, she thought: the quantum kitty welcoming committee.

  Junie sat up in the bed next to her, staring at the two of them with wide eyes, shaking her head.

  “Em, that cat looks just like you! Bright-blue eyes and red hair. Pretty weird.”

  “Good morning to you, too. And thanks,” she said, hugging the cat for a two-count.

  “I have to go to school. The breakfast there is way better than the breakfast here. And you need to leave before the morning shift comes in. They’ll be here in like twenty minutes, and you’re not really registered. You know how places like this are about the stupid rules. Everyone gets so uptight.”

  Emily sat up and stretched. “Tell me about it. I don’t want to mess anything up for you and your mom. I guess she never showed up last night, huh?”

  Junie shrugged. “Nope. But like I said, nothing surprises me anymore.”

  Shroedy meowed, arched his spine, then settled back into her lap. Emily scooped him up and put him on the sheet beside her, then swung her legs out of the sheet and sat at the edge of the cot.

  The other residents of the shelter were beginning to stir.

  A woman with an infant at her breast glared at Emily. “No pets allowed,” she said in a mean, surly voice. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you here before. Get that animal out of here or I’ll report you.”

  Emily started to reply, but Junie beat her to it.

  “Leave us alone, Doris. You’re not reporting anyone for anything. Unless you want me to tell Ms. Matheson about what you keep in your thermos? Booze is against house rules, and you’re nursing.”

  Doris backed off, turning away.

  “Got anything else to say, Doris?” Junie snapped, acting like the only grownup in the room. “Didn’t think so.” She turned to Emily. “We’re fine. But you should go. Come meet me after school?”

  “How about later tonight?”

  “Yeah, that’s good too,” Junie said, yawning. She smiled. “Can it be earlier than last night? I want to spend more time with you.”

  “I’ll be here by midnight. Meet me by the side door?”

  “Okay, bye,” Junie said, scurrying out the door, followed closely by Shroedy, whose rigid tail was straight up like a safety flag on a bicycle.

  Emily left soon after. She ducked out the back of the shelter, then walked around to the front door and got in line for the free hot breakfast they served every morning at seven for all the homeless people in the neighborhood.

  * * *

  Derek struggled to keep his eyes open while his English teacher, Mr. Blake Bradley, was droning on about a topic that Derek thought was already mind-numbingly boring: rhetorical analysis of non-fiction writing. He was surprised when he arrived for his first day at the new school and found an Advanced Placement English Literature and Composition class on his schedule. First thing in the morning, no less. Half the kids in the class had their heads down on their desks and were asleep. Probably playing video games all night, he thought.

  His parole supervisor had warned him to expect some challenges now that he had been accepted into the Advanced College Entry Program. It seemed clear to him what his PS really meant to say: expect doubly tough classes in subjects you’ve tested well in. And for Derek, that turned out to be all things reading and writing.

  He studied the handout on his desk—an excerpt from Man’s Search for Meaning by Victor E. Frankl. The words blurred together and swam in front of his eyes, dancing across the page in random formations. He was groggy, having stayed awake until the wee hours of the morning. It had taken him a while to settle down and turn the lights out in his brain—the whole situation with Emily had him wound up and anxious.

  A short while later the classroom bell rang, and Mr. Bradley raised his voice.

  “For tomorrow, I want to see a paragraph of analysis on the Frankl handout from today. Tell me the what, why, and how, based on the lecture I just gave. It should be pretty simple for those of you paying attention. And just a reminder—like we discussed yesterday, first essay is due Monday, and there will be no late papers accepted. We have rules, people. Rules that everyone must adhere to.”

  Mr. Bradley made eye contact with Derek. “Mr. Morgan, I’ll need you to stick around for a moment after class.”

  “Sure thing,” Derek answered, standing up from his desk. He gathered his things and waited for the room to clear. It did. He walked to the desk at the front of the room.

  Mr. Bradley gave him a serious look. “So, the essay I assigned yesterday. First, before you ask—sorry. I can’t give you an extension. I’m aware of your situation, and understand why you missed our first class yesterday, but I was told . . . well, not to cut you any slack. Anyway—at this point, you have two choices. You can either do a rhetorical analysis on any of the non-fiction handouts on the reading list, like we covered in class today. Or you can try what I like to call a little ‘Beat Writing,’ whereby you may interview a public figure, then discuss what they do and why they’re important. Whatever you choose, I need to see at least five pages, double-spaced, and I expect proper grammar, spelling, punctuation, and sentence structure.”

  “Typed?”

  “Yes, typed. Like an actual writer.”

  “Ah, Mr. Bradley? You may not be aware of this, but
I live in a group home. It’s part of my deal with the state. The home doesn’t provide us with computers. Too much temptation from porn and other stuff.”

  “Then I’d suggest using the school’s computer lab in the tech building to type them up, or take your school ID and get a public library card so you can use one of their computer stations. They’re free for students.”

  He handed Derek a class syllabus. “Everything I just mentioned is in here, in the ‘Writing Assignments’ section. Any questions?”

  “I think I got it. Thanks, Mr. Bradley.”

  “That’s what I’m here for, Mr. Morgan. As long as you do your best, show up on time and be here every day, you’ll be good with me. It’s time to buckle down, son. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Derek stuffed the syllabus in his backpack and walked into the bustling, crowded hallway. Students whizzed past him in all directions, changing course and narrowly missing each other as they carried on with their between-class agendas. Some had their heads buried in their cell phone, texting and tweeting away, while others seemed to be sleepwalking, staring off into space with a glazed look in their eyes.

  “Gonna be a long day,” he muttered.

  An unattractive girl with frizzy black hair, braces, and freckles smiled at him and flashed a quick hand wave, nearly walking face-first into an open locker.

  “A really long day,” he added.

  He gave the homely girl a quick head bob then exhaled, preparing himself for the next boring class: U. S. Government. He hadn’t been in school for over a year, unless you counted prison as a school. He could tell this place wasn’t going to be a cakewalk. He only had one class under his belt and he already had hours of homework to do, leaving little time for Emily, or anything else.

  Shit.