The Girl in the Headlines

by Hannah Jayne

  “What the hell is gen pop?”

  “General population.” He smiled.

  “When this is all over, you’re telling me about your sordid past, which I am now certain involves prison. Or an obsession with prison TV shows.”

  Nate shrugged, and I almost felt calm, like we were just two teenagers having a conversation that might be vaguely flirty and not like I was trying to lure my best friend into the bushes and beg her to help me escape the police. The bell rang, and the doors flipped open, students streaming out. Nate and I were still technically outside the school, behind the chain-link fences, half-hidden by what the school district deemed “landscaping.”

  I saw Lynelle, and suddenly there was a lump in my throat and my eyes were tearing up. She looked so good, so normal, her long hair in a single braid down her back, backpack graffitied with black Sharpie (we did that in study hall).

  “Do you see her?” Nate asked.

  All I could do was point, the tears rolling over my cheeks. Nate shimmied through a hole in the fence and did the smoothest “oh, excuse me for accidentally bumping into you” that I’d ever seen, and Lynelle’s hand went to her face, brushing an imaginary strand of hair from her eyes, and I knew that she instantly liked him. She liked him, and I was filled with a weird mix of jealousy and longing because she could just sit back and like someone, and her life wasn’t falling apart, and how could she flirt while her best friend was wanted for murder?

  Lynelle was following Nate toward me, and I shimmied through the hole in the fence, too, but pressed my shoulders up against the chain link until I felt it poking through my shirt. The reality of it felt good.

  Lynelle’s eyes widened when she saw me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I wanted to rush in to hug her, but she kept her distance, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

  She looked from Nate to me. “You two know each other?”

  I swallowed hard and nodded. “This is Nate. He’s…helping me.”

  Lynelle actually seemed to pale. “He’s helping you do what?” She took a step forward, flipped my hair. “And what happened to your hair?”

  I could see Nate was keeping watch, and I leaned in toward Lynelle. “People are looking for me, Lynelle. I have to—I have to hide.”

  She took a step back, still stiff. “Because—because—you—”

  I couldn’t hear her say it. I couldn’t bear to know she was thinking it, let alone about to say it. “Of course not. Oh my God, Lynelle, of course not!” I reached for her, and she backed away like I was toxic. “Lynelle, you know me. You know my family. You know I could never—would never—”

  “I don’t know you at all,” she said, her body shifting in a pivot. “I barely even recognize you. You chopped off your hair, and this makeup—”

  Any sense of cool or bravado I once felt about my new look went directly into the toilet, and I wanted to throw myself onto my knees in the dirt and beg her to drag me back to reality, to our reality, where our moms took turns driving us to dance class and our dads picked up enormous pizzas and made stupid jokes and no one ever died.

  “It’s just hair and makeup, just so people won’t notice me. Lynelle, I didn’t do this. You know that. You have to believe me. We’re best friends—we’ve been best friends since we were six. Please, help me. I’m being framed or—or something, but I didn’t have anything to do with—”

  “Then where were you that night?”

  I looked helplessly from Nate to Lynelle. “I—I don’t know. That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me. Were you there? Did we have a party or go out?”

  “Don’t even think you’re dragging me into this. And where did you even meet him?” She jutted a chin toward Nate.

  “It’s a long story, and I can’t explain it all right now. Can we talk somewhere else?”

  “I’m not even supposed to be talking to you.”

  “What?”

  “My parents don’t want me talking to you.”

  I gaped. “Your parents?”

  “I’m supposed to call the police if I see you or if you try to contact me.”

  “But you wouldn’t do that…” My hands immediately went up surrender style, and I was watching Lynelle’s hands as she tucked them into her pockets.

  “I don’t know you, Andi. I mean, is that even your name?”

  “Lyn—”

  “And best friends? I didn’t know you were in foster care.”

  “Why would that even matter?”

  “Or that the McNultys weren’t your real family.”

  “They are my real family.”

  Once again, reality smashed over me, and it felt like I was being pulled apart limb from limb. I missed my family. I missed my mom and my dad and Josh. Where was Josh? There was an ache in my gut that I was sure would never, ever go away.

  “Then what happened to them, Andi? And where’s Josh?”

  I was crying again, defeated and miserable. “I told you, I don’t know. I woke up and had no memory…”

  “I’m just supposed to believe that?”

  I nodded.

  “How do I know you’re not just lying? I don’t even know you.” She spat out the words. “You’ve never cut your hair, not more than a half inch the whole time we’ve been friends. And suddenly you go all teal psycho cut?”

  “I told you—”

  Her eyes raked over me. “I’ve never known you to dress like a lumberjack. Or think you look good in flannel. You don’t, by the way.”

  I felt my chest caving in. I was sinking into my borrowed clothes, and everything Lynelle was saying was right. I was not me. I was not this person, this crazy criminal on the run. I wanted to tear off these fake clothes and slap a hat over my weird hair and run into my school. I wanted to disappear into the swarm of students whose only worries were grades or college or who likes who.

  But I was not like them anymore.

  “It seems pretty much like everything you’ve ever told me was a lie.”

  I pressed my eyes closed, and the tears continued to fall. “As far as I know, my name is Andrea McNulty. I was a foster kid, but I’ve been with the McNultys for about as long as I can remember. I never lied to you. I just never thought it mattered.”

  “And it still shouldn’t.” Nate had his hand on my wrist, gentle but firm enough to know that he had got me, that he wasn’t buying Lynelle’s scrutiny. “We should go.”

  “Is that you, Andi?”

  Cal stepped out of the group of kids moving toward the street, his eyes wide and confused, the swath of blond hair that I had brushed out of his eyes a dozen times at prom hanging back down again. I lost my breath once again at the normalcy that I could almost taste: lunch hour at school, Lynelle in front of me, Cal with his perma-flushed cheeks and letterman’s jacket. I stared him down, trying to get a sense. If he attacked my parents, would I know it? Would I feel something? But he looked normal and unassuming and was leaning into Lynelle.

  “Are you okay, Lynelle?”

  His shoulder brushed hers, his arm snaking out and pulling her close. I could feel myself gape.

  “You guys are—”

  Lynelle gave Cal a quick peck on the cheek and, without even looking at me, told Cal, “I’m fine, sweetie. Can you go grab me some fries?”

  Cal bobbed his head and mumbled, “See you around, Andi,” before disappearing into the cafeteria line. I blinked, my skin itching as my world continued to sputter and collapse.

  “Is that the guy?” It was Nate, his voice soft in my ear. I felt myself nod.

  Lynelle crossed her arms in front of her chest and cocked out a hip in a move I had seen her do a million times. But suddenly, it looked hard and threatening, and maybe she was right: we really didn’t know each other at all.

  “What did you even want from me anyway?” sh
e said.

  “I wanted you to believe me.”

  There was a beat of silence, and I imagined that Lynelle saw the real me peeking out from my mermaid pixie, but she clearly didn’t. She sank her hand into her pocket again and took out her cell phone, her eyes never leaving mine.

  Mine widened. “Please don’t.” I’m not sure if I even said it out loud.

  “Hey, let’s go.” Nate’s voice was in my ear.

  I wanted to leave with him, but my feet were rooted, my eyes on Lynelle as she moved in super slow motion.

  I reached my hand out.

  Someone gave me a hard shove.

  Behind me, Nate. “What the hell, dude?”

  Around me: “Fight! Fight!”

  “What? No!” I thought I was protesting, but I knew I was falling. Hands out. Head over feet. Directly into Lynelle.

  The cell phone went flying. I tried to steady myself, but when I stepped, I felt the phone under my right foot, the way it crunched under my sneaker, the way my left shoulder hit Lynelle square in the chest. Someone grabbed my hair, slapped my face. I’d never been in a fight before, but my body had.

  My body had.

  Someone’s pushed me before. Someone pulled my hair.

  My eyes flew open, and I was on top of Lynelle. She wasn’t hurting me, but she was struggling to get up, and I was struggling to help her, but there were a thousand extra limbs and feet and fists, other kids flailing and fighting, and I was looking for Nate, the tears streaming down my face, burning into the fresh scratches there.

  Screaming, shouting, whistles.

  Bitch! Murderer! Freak!

  Who was saying that?

  “Girls!” A shrill whistle.

  Hands around my waist. Lips against my ear.

  “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay…”

  My feet were off the ground, and Nate had me, clamped up against his chest. I was bewildered, confused. I wanted to save Lynelle, but we were through the cyclone fence and across the street, and Nate deposited me behind a tree.

  He doubled over, hands on knees, breathing hard.

  “What just happened?”

  Nate turned to face me. “Fight.”

  I sat on my butt in the hard dirt. “How did that even happen?”

  He sat down, too, not caring about the cloud of dust that puffed up around us. “There’s a reason there isn’t a lot of YouTube videos of two chicks talking. We need to get you out of here.” As he said it, I could hear the sirens in the distance. They tore right through me, and ice water shot through my veins.

  “Those are for me.”

  “Let’s just go.”

  Twenty

  By the time we got back to the motel, I could barely function. It seemed like days since I woke up here, and other than changing my hair and practically causing a melee at my school, I wasn’t any closer to finding Josh or figuring out what happened to my parents.

  The heart chocolate was still on my nightstand. I grabbed it and popped it in my mouth, savoring something that wasn’t new and foreign and hopeless while I walked over to the lobby.

  I hung back while Nate checked out a man in a gray business suit and busied myself behind a hedge when a lady went in asking for ice. Finally, the lobby was empty, and I stepped in.

  “Hey,” I said.

  But Nate didn’t answer. His eyes were glued to the TV, and when mine followed his, he tried to turn it off.

  “No,” I said, my voice firmer than I expected. “Don’t.”

  “It’s just some stupid newscast.”

  I watched yet another talking head on the screen as he blabbered on about the weather (why though? It never changes here) and smacked little smiling suns across the county. Underneath the weatherman, the ticker tape rolled along, white letters against a navy-blue background: something the mayor did. High school football scores. Something the governor did. Then: FIGHT BREAKS OUT AT SAN JOSE HIGH SCHOOL.

  I pointed. “Wait, that can’t be—I mean, already?”

  The weatherman was gone, and the screen cut to a man in a suit looking somber, a blurry picture of a bunch of kids over his left shoulder.

  “There are early reports of a fight at a local high school this afternoon as well as unconfirmed reports that Andrea McNulty, the teen at the center of the McNulty murder case, was on campus and possibly caused the fight.”

  “Close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.”

  I ignored Nate, my eyes rapt on the screen. “I didn’t cause the fight!”

  “We’ll be the first to report any further information on this case, but what we’re hearing now is that Andrea McNulty was on the campus of the high school where she is currently enrolled. Allegedly, she engaged another student in a fight. McNulty threatened the girl and attempted to steal her cell phone—”

  “That’s not what happened at all!”

  “And then attacked when the girl wouldn’t give it to her.”

  “They don’t even want to know my side. They don’t even care,” I said softly.

  “No major injuries were reported, but again, preliminary reports are saying that McNulty may have had a weapon. She escaped campus, and police are still searching…”

  A black-and-white yearbook picture of me flashed on the screen, and my stomach turned to liquid.

  “Police are telling anyone who sees the young McNulty not to engage and to call authorities right away. Again, she is a suspect in her father’s murder and mother’s attempted murder. She could be armed and should be considered dangerous. There is a reward for any information leading to the whereabouts…”

  “Dangerous?” I clicked off the TV and collapsed on a chair, rage and sadness overwhelming me. “They keep calling me dangerous, but I didn’t do anything wrong! We were just trying to talk to Lynelle. I just wanted to get help!” I was crying, a big, racking, ugly cry, because the whole world thought I was a criminal, and every move I made seemed to solidify that idea.

  “Someone pushed me,” I moaned. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone…” The scratches on my face burned. “What am I supposed to do, Nate? This is just getting worse and worse. Pretty soon, they’ll have me on tape actually murdering someone!” Nate swallowed slowly, and I put up my hands, shaking my head. “Not that I—not that I—oh God, you don’t believe any of this, do you?”

  I needed him to believe me. I needed someone to believe in me.

  He crawled from his stool and sat next to me. “I know that none of this is your fault.”

  “How is anyone going to believe I’m innocent?”

  Nate just put his arms around me, let me bury my head on his shoulder. “You’re going to be okay, you know? Something will happen. Something’s gotta give, right?”

  As he said it, a cold shiver ran through me.

  Something has to give.

  I thought about the hard shove I felt, the way I vaulted into Lynelle. I thought about the übercareful way he picked through the car. I stiffened.

  “There’s a reward now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “For me.”

  Nate shrugged. “Yeah.”

  I stood up, crossed over to the counter where a laptop was open next to the ancient motel computer. There was a lightsaber screen saver zipping across the screen. I hovered a finger over it.

  “What were you looking up?”

  He offered a half shrug. “Nothing important.”

  I depressed a button on his keyboard, and the thing sprang to life.

  “The San Jose Police Department website,” I said, my blood running cold.

  “Just trying to make sure we know everything they know,” he said slowly.

  The ice water that broke through my veins shot out all over, and a tremor ran through me. I clamped my eyes shut.

  “Why didn’t you c
lick the button?”

  “What?”

  I hovered the cursor over the Submit button. “Why don’t you just turn me in?”

  I didn’t wait for him to answer. I didn’t wait for him to lurch toward me before I shoved the computer off the counter. It crashed behind me, and I was out the front door, into the cold night. As usual, the motel parking lot was almost deserted, and cars sailed by on the highway out front. There really was nothing out here, and I didn’t have a plan except to put as much space between me and Nate as possible.

  He was going to turn me in.

  He was going to take the money and run.

  Would that be so bad?

  My heart thundered as I ran. My knees felt like they were going to give out. My limbs felt like they were coming unattached, and I couldn’t tell if I was still covering distance or running in place.

  My whole life, I felt like I’d been running in place.

  I fell to my knees. I don’t know how long I stayed out there, crouched on the concrete, pebbles digging into my skin. But eventually, Nate came out, a shadowy figure, and when he leaned over to put his jacket around me, I didn’t resist. He was the only thing I had.

  “I’m sorry,” I tried to mumble through lips that were half-frozen.

  “Let’s try and find Josh” was all he said in response.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry,” I said again once we were settled in Nate’s room. “Just the news and you looking up the police department… Everyone thinks I’m a criminal, Nate. I mean, you saw that headline. They made it sound like I started the fight. Like I’m some sort of rabid angry teen.”

  “That’s how the media perceives you. Everything is based on perception. Your perception of yourself, society’s perceptions of you…”

  “Wow, look at you, Mr. Philosopher!”

  Nate nodded and cocked an eyebrow. “Perception. I’m a teenager who works at a crappy motel, so I can’t be smart.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that—”

  “Doesn’t matter if you meant it. That was your perception. I actually graduated high school a semester early. Good grades, all that shit.”

  “What about college?”