Snowbirds

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Snowbirds Page 12

by Crissa Chappell

“It really sucks to lose a friend,” she says, squeezing my hand. And at that moment, I think she knows how it feels.

  Maybe she can help after all.

  “Can you give me a ride tonight?” I ask.

  It’s Friday. There’s got to be another party. I could try to talk to the Rumspringa boys again.

  “Where do you want to go?” she asks.

  “Water Tower Park.”

  Crystal smirks. “Let me guess. You’re going to one of those crazy Amish parties?”

  “If you’ll drive me there.”

  “Okay,” she says. “But you’re not having fun without me. I’m coming too.”

  “You want to go too?”

  Now I’m really stuck.

  If I bring Crystal, it will mess up everything. The Rumspringa boys won’t talk. Not if she’s with me. To them, she’s “English.” In other words, she’s even more of an outsider.

  “Are we doing this or what?” she says.

  I nod.

  “Oh, my god. This is so happening.” Crystal smacks the steering wheel. “Let me give you my cell number.”

  “I don’t have a cell.”

  “Oh.” She blinks.

  “I’ll call you from the pay phone on Bahia Vista Street. We can meet in the parking lot by the fruit stand.”

  “That’s so old school.” She laughs.

  Now I’m about to do something I never thought I’d do.

  I’m going back to Water Tower Park.

  • • •

  We pull onto Kruppa Avenue and turn onto my block. Mr. Showalter is on his front porch, smoking a pipe. As we slow in front of my house, he gawks at Crystal’s van. I want her to keep driving, but he’s already seen us.

  Crystal parks on the lawn, which Dad just mowed. My dresses are hanging from the clothesline, all in a row. It’s kind of embarrassing.

  “Almost forgot,” she says. “You can borrow my iPod. Let me know what songs you’re into. I’ll make the best mix ever.” She unplugs the iPod and snaps it into a case decorated with grinning skulls.

  “Thanks. I never had a mix before.”

  “No problem,” she says, handing it to me. “It would be an honor to create your first playlist.”

  I shove the iPod into my tote bag. “See you tonight.”

  Crystal waves as I get out of the car, lugging the can of paint. Mr. Showalter is still watching us. Doesn’t he have better things to do?

  I start walking toward the front door. Then my feet take me in the other direction. I haven’t seen Mrs. Yoder since last Saturday, after she showed up at my house. Did Alice’s mom go to the police and blame me? Is that why Ricketts came to my house, asking questions? That’s what I need to find out.

  The screened-in porch is empty. All the windows are covered up with storm shutters. They’re supposed to keep you safe from hurricanes, but it must be really dark inside. My hand is shaking as I knock on the door.

  To be honest, I’ve always been scared of Alice’s mom. One time, Alice found a paper clip on the ground and twisted it into a ring. Mrs. Yoder pried it off her finger so fast, the scratch didn’t heal for days.

  I knock again.

  No answer.

  In my head, I’m saying things like, “Please don’t hate me. It was wrong to leave Alice alone at that party. I can’t go back and change what I did.”

  If only I could.

  “She’s gone.”

  Mr. Showalter is standing behind me.

  “The widow’s gone,” he says.

  Mrs. Yoder isn’t here?

  “I came over to return her daughter’s cell phone,” he says. “But there’s no one around.”

  “So you took it to the police.”

  “That’s right,” he says, glaring.

  “Then why did you blame me and Dad after the police showed up?”

  “It’s your fault the police are in Pinecraft. You and those Rumspringa boys.”

  “What about Mrs. Yoder?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm. “Where did she go?”

  He shakes his head. “It makes no sense. If my girl was missing, I’d be turning over every stone.”

  Maybe she was sick of everybody talking about Alice. Or maybe she was ashamed. He’s right. It doesn’t make sense.

  Is Mrs. Yoder keeping secrets too?

  “Why did she leave?”

  “You tell me, Lucy Zimmer,” he says.

  I shove past him.

  Mr. Showalter grabs my arm. “You and Alice went to that party together. Why did you go to the beach without her?”

  I tug against his grip, but he’s too strong.

  “Where is Alice?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Really?” he says. “If you’re such good friends, why don’t you know? Tell the truth for once.”

  I pull away from him and run across the street. I’m moving so fast, I don’t even pay attention to where I’m going. I just want to get away from Mr. Showalter and his questions. Away from everything.

  I keep running until I reach Pinecraft Park. Behind the chainlink fence, the basketball court is empty. The Rumspringa boys are gone. Tears burn behind my eyes. Just last weekend, I was here with Alice, talking about the party.

  I never imagined it would be the last time.

  April 25

  Smyrna, Maine

  Dear Lucy,

  The Rumspringa boys are playing baseball in the cornfield. I can hear them shouting behind the barn. Last year, the bishop tried to shut it down. He says it’s too worldly, the way they get fired up over that game. My mom says he’s right. If you fall in love with worldly things, you’re never getting into Heaven. What’s so bad about running outside in the sunshine? I think the Lord’s got bigger things to worry about than baseball.

  Me and Lisa Engel tried to sneak onto the field. The boys told us to go home. We were messing up their game. I want to play too, but they won’t let me. Same thing as church. The men always stand up front and talk with the bishop, while the girls sit still and listen. That’s the way it’s always been. But that doesn’t make it right.

  I know things are different in Florida. You have church in a real building, not somebody’s house. And you go to Sunday School, where everybody talks about the Bible, how those old stories fit into the world today. Wish we had something like that. I’m supposed to keep my mouth shut, but that doesn’t stop the questions from popping into my head. Do you know what I mean? Feels like things are never going to change around here. I’m counting the days until summer.

  The red mare went missing again. It’s been raining like the Great Flood. I can’t imagine where she goes. I mucked out the stalls and opened all the windows. (The water trough’s frozen solid. Can you believe it?) By the time I got done, she snuck inside the barn, all by herself. Well, that was a surprise!

  Lucy, it’s been months since your last letter. I’m sure you’re real busy, but I miss our “paper conversations,” as you say. It’s so lonely here sometimes (I know that sounds strange because I’m never really alone). All I want is a little space to breathe. Then I’d sit under the willow tree at sunset. Watch the deer nibbling sweetfern and sumac in the backyard. As soon as I quit my chores, Mom finds more work to do.

  When I dragged the mare out to pasture, she rolled in the mud. Guess I should’ve known better. That’s what she does. EVERY. TIME. Yet I fell for it like a stone in the river. I really wish she could talk. Then I’d know where she wanders off.

  Wish I could go too.

  Tomorrow I’ll take the colt to the market. The Rumspringa boys will be there, showing off their hogs and steers (if you asked me, I think they’re a perfect match). Do you want to marry an Amish boy? He’d probably just boss you around all day. Who needs that? Not me. That’s for sure.

  Have you kissed anybody yet?

  It’s kind of embarrassing, but I wanted to tell you. A couple months ago, I kissed this boy, Andrew Becker. He tasted like Wintergreen Lifesavers, the kind that spark between your teeth.

&n
bsp; I haven’t seen Andrew for a long time.

  He ran away to a safe house.

  At least, that’s what everybody says.

  A safe house is just a bunch of ex-Amish renting a place together. If you walk away from the church, there’s nowhere else to go.

  It must be really hard, leaving home.

  Scary, too.

  I think about it a lot.

  Now my mom’s calling. I’ve got to finish my chores before she notices I’ve snuck off. If I forget to unlock the henhouse, I’ll find the chickens hanging outside the coop, waiting for me. Don’t they ever want to go somewhere else? Or are they too stupid to see? The door was open all along.

  140 days until Florida!

  Alice

  chapter sixteen

  dents and scratches

  After I get home, I help Dad finish painting the gazebo. He doesn’t say much as I stand on the ladder, rolling my brush across the cedar beams. Why can’t I have friends who aren’t Amish? Everybody else gets to hang out on the weekend. Go to the beach. Kiss boys.

  How am I supposed to act like an adult?

  I’m not allowed to be one.

  Sometimes I try to imagine what it would be like. My real life. The place I want to be. I’ll study the ocean in a real school. I can almost picture it. Me in jeans, not a stupid dress. Hair down. Maybe I’ll even learn how to drive a car. I’ll drive it far away from Pinecraft and never look back.

  All Dad cares about is work. He won’t let me have my own world. In a way, I guess he’s trying to keep me safe. He’s scared because I went to that party with Alice and now she’s missing. But he can’t keep me locked inside this house forever.

  When the sun goes down, Dad finally decides it’s time to quit.

  “Get cleaned up,” he tells me. “I’ll set the table.”

  It’s the most he’s said for hours.

  We eat dinner in silence. I almost wish he’d yell at me. At least say something. But Dad just keeps scraping his fork on the plate. He won’t even look up.

  “Can I be excused?” I ask quietly.

  “Get the dishes done first.”

  That’s all he says.

  I rinse the pots in the sink and go straight to my room. Alone on my bed, I listen to Crystal’s iPod. I play the same songs over and over. It’s like chewing a piece of gum until the flavor’s all gone. I need to meet up with her and find that party tonight. But it doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere.

  Dad pushes open the door. He doesn’t even knock.

  “You hiding in here, Smidge?”

  I shove the iPod under my pillow.

  When Dad takes off his straw hat, he looks tired. His jeans are splattered with paint and his face is sunburned. He sits on the bed and I fall against him, as if the whole world has tipped.

  “Let’s talk about what happened today,” he says.

  “Okay,” I tell him.

  Except I don’t get to do much talking.

  Dad gives me a speech about “walking the Lord’s path” and not following the crowd. The world is a wicked place. That’s why we should keep ourselves as far from it as possible.

  “That girl I saw you with today . . .” He doesn’t finish his sentence.

  “Her name’s Crystal.”

  “Never seen her before. Is she from around here?”

  It’s pretty obvious that Crystal isn’t Amish. Is that why Dad’s so nervous?

  “She’s my friend.”

  That’s all he needs to know.

  He reaches under my pillow and takes out the iPod. “This doesn’t belong to you,” he says. “Tomorrow I want you to give it back.”

  “But she let me borrow it!”

  “Understand?”

  I stare at the wall.

  “Did you hear me, Lucy?”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “Good.” He hands it to me. “It’s wrong to take things that aren’t yours,” he says, reaching into his back pocket. He pulls out the screwdriver. “Found it in the grass,” he says. “Wonder how it got there?”

  “It must’ve got lost,” I say in a small voice.

  “And from now on,” he adds, “I don’t want to see you hanging around that girl.”

  This is so wrong. Does he think I’m two years old?

  “You can’t choose my friends for me.”

  “True,” he says. “But you need to start acting a little more grown-up.”

  Dad grabs his hat and leaves the room.

  When he’s gone, I plug myself into the iPod. I play my favorite songs until the battery goes dead.

  • • •

  I stay awake for hours, waiting for Dad to go to sleep. Finally, the light winks out in the hallway. I wait a couple minutes. Then I sneak into the kitchen. My sneakers are in a heap by the door, the word “Reebok” blacked out with magic marker so nobody sees the brand. I cram my feet into the shoes without tying the laces.

  As I move past the orange trees, I catch sight of somebody in the backyard—a man in a straw hat, standing under the gazebo in the moonlight. Dad. What’s he doing out here? I can’t let him see me.

  Too late.

  “Not sleepy, huh?” he says.

  “Just wanted some fresh air.”

  Dad nods like he understands. He looks up at the gazebo and smiles. “Got me thinking about your mother,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “Our wedding day. Your mother planted those trees,” he says, staring at the orange grove. “Right before you were born.”

  “I don’t remember her.”

  It’s not easy, saying this out loud.

  Dad doesn’t say anything. Then he gives me a hug. “I’ll remember for both of us.”

  When somebody’s gone, they never really leave. There’s always a piece that stays behind. The trees in our backyard. Or the recipes in Alice’s dusty old cookbook. All the gospel hymns we sing together in church, lifting our voices as one.

  We go back inside the house. Dad takes his time getting ready for bed. I listen to him splashing at the bathroom sink. I feel bad about sneaking out, but I don’t have a choice.

  The Sarasota police can’t bring Alice home, no matter what they do. They can push buttons on computers. Drive around Pinecraft in their big city cars. They don’t know the Old Order. And they’ll never break through those walls.

  I’m the only one who saw what happened. Alice in the back of that truck, looking for an escape. Why didn’t she talk to me? Did she think I was going to judge her? Or that I wouldn’t understand?

  This isn’t fun anymore.

  Then leave.

  The house is quiet when I lace up my sneakers. As I reach for the door, I hear Dad coughing in his room. A small thread of guilt wraps around me. Yeah, I’m angry about what happened today. Still, it feels wrong, going behind his back.

  I walk all the way to the pay phone on Bahia Vista. Cars stream back and forth like minnows in a pond. What if Crystal doesn’t show up? I’m already late. I mean, really late. Maybe she got tired of waiting. Or changed her mind. I bet she thinks all this Amish stuff is weird. Not that I blame her.

  I drop my quarters into the slot.

  Please pick up.

  The phone rings and rings.

  Finally, there’s a click.

  “Lucy?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “On my way,” Crystal says.

  Minutes later, a pair of headlights sweep across the road. Crystal’s van pulls up to the fruit stand. I yank open the passenger door and climb inside. As we drive past the empty lot, I stare at the blackened stumps in the front yard.

  “That used to be a mango farm,” Crystal says. “Can’t believe they burned down all those trees.”

  “When did it happen?” I ask, staring out the window.

  “Last weekend,” she says. “Maybe some kids did it. I don’t know. It seems kind of evil, if you ask me.”

  If someone set the fire last weekend, it must’ve happened after I was there. After me and Alice met up in that empty l
ot.

  We take the next exit and pull off the Tamiami Trail. Crystal slows onto the dimly lit street near Water Tower Park. No cars in the lot. It’s completely dark.

  “You’re sure there’s something happening tonight?” she asks.

  I glance at the parking lot. It was a mistake coming here. I should’ve known the Rumspringa boys wouldn’t come back. Not after last weekend.

  “Hold on,” I tell her. “I’ll take a look around.”

  She nods. “Whatever you say, sensei.”

  I climb out of the van and start walking. The park feels different now. Bigger. And lonelier too. The empty picnic tables. Spanish moss swaying in the breeze. Strange how a place can change without really changing at all.

  When I reach the bridge above the canal, I lean against the railings and look down at the muddy weeds. The snowbirds aren’t going to let me into their world. They’re good at keeping secrets. And I’ll never be one of them.

  Headlights brighten the oaks. A car makes a turn on Royal Palm Avenue, spilling light onto the grass. It pulls up to the bridge, moving real slow. The door swings open and Faron gets out.

  My breath catches in my throat. What’s Faron doing here?

  Somebody’s moving behind the trees—a skinny boy with a backpack slung over his shoulder. When he reaches the truck, they climb inside, just like me and Alice, the night she disappeared.

  I turn and start running back. If I don’t get to Crystal in time, the boys will drive away and I’ll never find them again.

  When I reach her van, I yank open the door.

  “We have to leave. Now.”

  “Hold on. Where’s the party?” she says.

  “There is no party.”

  “So where are we going?”

  I don’t know where.

  But we better move fast.

  • • •

  Faron’s truck speeds past a row of trailer homes. Then he pulls into a driveway. The front yard is filled with junk—rusty car parts and smashed-up pieces of furniture.

  “No way,” says Crystal, shaking her head. “I’m not going in there.”

  “Fine. I’ll go by myself.”

  When I get out, the damp heat crushes me like a fist. The trailer is only a few miles from Pinecraft, but I’m beginning to realize how far I’ve gone.

  There’s a group of boys smoking on the front porch. Their cigarettes glow and disappear as I walk toward the house.

 

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