I glance up at the ballerina poster that’s still on the wall over her bed. I turn to Paige, and our eyes meet.
I see something in hers I’ve never seen before. Embarrassment. I’ve made her painfully aware of how much she has compared to me. If I don’t fix this right now, the damage I’ve done is going to be permanent.
“Paige, you’re my best friend. You’ve changed my life. I don’t know where I would be, who I would be without you.” Her eyes get glassy. “Please,” I beg, “I can’t lose you.” Jordan has filled up so much of my life, but he can’t replace Paige.
“I don’t want to lose you, either.” She sweeps a finger carefully under her eye to catch a tear before it messes up her mascara. “I’ll do better. I promise.”
My heart breaks into even more pieces. “No. That’s not what I meant. I want you to keep being you. Sometimes I just need a little space to figure out who I am.”
“Okay,” she says, but the next tear rolls down her cheek. I bite my lip. I don’t know if I fixed things or made them worse.
“Girls, dinner’s ready,” Carol calls up the stairs. Paige grabs a tissue and dabs at her face. She blinks hard, like she’s trying to erase all that just happened. She stands with a bounce.
When we get to the dining room, Carol Alexander gives me the biggest, fakest smile I have ever seen.
My box of cheap cherries is displayed prominently on the sideboard between the pumpkin pies.
Adrian’s fingers dig painfully into my shoulders.
“I have to go.” I shove the black monster out of sight.
He propels me to my feet. “Who were you talking to?”
I hunch over and curl up to confine the pending blows to the smallest area possible.
“Answer me,” he seethes though his teeth.
“My mom.”
His face is blacked out, but I feel its fury. I know what happens now. I end up duct-taped and tied up in the shack. Or worse.
He drags me down the hill. I fumble to put the monster back into my pocket.
“What are you doing here, Betsy?”
The jig is up. I might as well come clean. I jerk away from him, stumble, and barely catch myself before I end up on my knees. I spin around. “I won’t let you hurt them.”
His face changes to some sort of mock innocence. “I’m not hurting anyone. Get out of here. Go home.”
“I’m not leaving them here with you.” We stand face to face as the wind whips sand around us like two Old West gunfighters waiting for the other to flinch.
“Betsy.” Adrian breaks the silence. Anger makes his voice shake. He reaches out like he’s going to grab my arm again. Coughing fills the night air. It’s a deep, painful, hacking sound. Adrian’s face crumbles. He turns and races back to the shack.
I follow him.
The larger of the two figures stirs. It’s a woman. Her hair is matted around her face. She picks up her head and takes a labored, wheezy breath. She holds a coughing bundle.
When the blankets fall, I see a little boy who’s probably about Rosie’s age. His small body spasms with each cough, but his eyes stay closed. Tears course down the woman’s face.
Adrian shuffles around among the debris surrounding them and holds up a bottle of cough syrup. Even I can see in the moonlight that shoots through the holes in the shack that the bottle is empty.
“Adrian?” I take a step toward him.
His head snaps around. “Betsy, go home. I have it under control.”
I take another step forward. “Adrian, he needs to go to the hospital.” I make my voice soft and soothing, like I’m trying to coax a kitten out of a tree.
“They can’t go to the hospital,” he spits back at me.
“Whatever you’ve done, we’ll work it out. You’re still a minor. It won’t be that bad. But we have to take them to the hospital before this gets any worse.”
“What I’ve done?”
The boy’s wheezing intensifies. Misery doesn’t begin to describe the expression on the woman’s face. It’s more like grief and terror and resignation all rolled into one.
“Adrian,” I say again, “if that boy dies, it will be on your head. That’s not something you want to live with.”
“I’ve kept them alive so far. I can do this. He’s getting better.”
I place a hand on his shoulder. It’s a daring move. The knife is on the ground. He could pick it up at any time. “Let them go,” I say.
“Go? Where are they going to go? She can’t take a sick child through the desert.”
I can’t wait, can’t negotiate any longer. I dive for the knife. My fingers wrap around the handle. It’s lighter than I thought. Like a steak knife from C&J’s. I don’t think I can do much damage with it. But I will use every ounce of my strength to do whatever I can.
I get to my feet and hold the knife in front of me.
Adrian looks surprised. “Get away from them,” I say with a burst of confidence.
I don’t know what I expect to happen. Maybe that he’ll surrender and let me march him back to town. He doesn’t. He, with irritation playing over his brow, swipes the knife from my shaking hand and picks up the duct tape.
“Go home, Betsy.”
The little boy whimpers. The mother gathers him back into her arms. Tears form in my eyes. I don’t know what to do. I can’t save my own life, much less someone else’s.
Adrian pulls out a strip of duct tape and starts wrapping it around the woman’s left shoe. He stops and looks at me. His eyes widen. “When you followed me, did you walk in the tire tracks or did you sneak around behind the hill?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. But then I hear it. The crunch of a vehicle approaching.
“Dammit, Betsy. You tripped a ground sensor.” He grabs me by the arm. “Come on.”
He hauls me out to the back of the Bronco. “Don’t say a word,” he warns. He’s dropped the knife, but he’s still stronger than I am. I have nothing to defend myself with, not even nails to scratch him.
The vehicle is on the other side of the hill and coming up fast. Adrian grabs the back of my neck and forces my face against his. Our lips crash together. I try to pull away, but his fingers clamp down to hold me in place.
When the headlights illuminate us, Adrian steps back. He holds his hand up to shield his eyes. The doors open, and two men in dark green uniforms step out. “Ah, man. We can’t catch a break,” Adrian says. He squeezes my hand. I try to smile. I have to play along. Uniforms are bad. Maybe even worse than Adrian.
The two men move into the light. One is young. He has a nice face. Bright and enthusiastic.
The other is old and crusty. His gray hair blows up off his head. “Border Patrol,” he says, and shines a flashlight in our faces. “ID.”
I swallow hard.
“Come on. Me and my girlfriend just want to be alone. We aren’t breaking any laws. And we’re Americans.” Adrian makes his voice sound like he’s a dumb jock with an even dumber girlfriend. I shrug and wrap myself around him. He flinches.
Crusty’s annoyed with us. He shines his flashlight directly onto my face. The young guy walks around the Bronco, checking the inside. When he’s satisfied by his search, he comes back to where we are. We make eye contact.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
I nod. Crusty glares at Adrian. “I’m going to need to see ID, son,” he says.
Adrian digs into his pocket for his wallet. The light flicks to me. “You too.”
I go absolutely still. My lungs constrict. My heart doesn’t beat in my chest. My fingers don’t throb beneath Adrian’s. My worthless driver’s license is in my back pocket. One call on the radio and my life is over.
If they check my ID, I’ll be arrested, imprisoned, probably given the death penalty.
If I tell them there are people in the shack and Adrian gets away, he’ll kill me.
If Adrian doesn’t get away, everyone will know who I am, they will know it was me who turned him in. And
I’m dead anyway.
Everything I have been through has led up to this moment.
That little boy in the shack gets to have a chance.
I grip down hard on Adrian’s hand and turn my head to the young guy. I make sure he sees me. I flick my head over my shoulder at the shack. He pauses, eyes locked onto mine. Then realization washes over his face. He takes off running.
Crusty, confused by what has happened, takes longer to get it. Then the light drops off me and onto the ground. His feet crunch rhythmically away through the gravel.
A shriek comes from the shack. A scuffle. Codes barked into radios.
Shadows black out the top of Adrian’s face. I can only see his mouth tighten, but I know if he had that knife in his hand, he would drive it through my heart.
More vehicles approach. Adrian drags me to the Bronco. I don’t know if I should fight or go with him. It comes down to who I would rather have kill me. I cooperate. At least with Adrian, it will be quick. If the feds catch me, my death will drag out for years.
We leap into the Bronco. Adrian throws the truck into gear and sends a spray of dirt over the white-and-green Border Patrol SUV. We careen out into the desert with the lights off, bumping over bushes and rocks. The approaching SUV can see us, but they don’t give chase.
When they have passed, Adrian comes to a stop. The paved road is only a few hundred feet in front of us.
“Get out.” He is so beyond furious his voice comes out calm and controlled.
I open my door. “You can do what you want with me now. But I wasn’t going to let you place another death on my head.” I step into the sand. He drives away.
I collapse to the ground.
I’m still alive.
For now.
Even though Albert’s a dick who treated us like his servants, not having a job sucks. I sit alone in McDonald’s and sip water. I talked to the manager. He said that if they had an opening, he’d consider me for it. But until someone quits, I’m stuck here drinking water. I can’t afford niceties like coffee or soda anymore.
I can’t go home. Mom doesn’t know I got fired. If I tell her, she’ll worry. She’ll start wringing her hands and pacing. She’ll walk down the hall. Finn will open his door. Who knows what will happen after that. I don’t want to find out.
Over winter break, I went to every business within walking distance of Bluebird Estates. Most of them told me I had to be eighteen to work there and then showed me the door.
A crusty old man in a vacuum cleaner repair shop with a NOW HIRING sign in the window demanded to know my work experience. I told him, and he seemed interested. Then he asked me why I quit No Limit Foods. I told the truth that I had gotten fired. His face crumpled into a scowl. I should have lied.
If I knew that Jordan would be around forever to drive me home, I could get a job anywhere. But I can’t count on that. Things are great with Jordan—perfect, even—but what happened with Paige taught me how quickly relationships can unravel. What if next week Jordan meets a nice community college girl and realizes that I’m just a poor, unemployed high school student?
The only option I have left is Carol Alexander. She could get me a nice job in a nice office. And I would never be able to look at myself in the mirror again. I have to find another way.
Jordan is in Florida helping his uncle again. He didn’t know how long he would be gone, so he made arrangements for Drake to pick me up and take me home when my shift would have ended. I’ve already done my homework, as well as the extra credit, and read ahead for all my classes. Not having anyone to talk to makes the night drag on forever.
A tall, pimply-faced guy with a crooked uniform walks around with a rag in his hand. I flag him down.
“Can I help you, miss?” he asks, like he isn’t used to girls of any kind talking to him, much less former dance team members from Clairmont High.
“Where’s the girl who’s usually here? The pretty one with the nose stud.”
“Shonda?” He blushes. It’s cute. He twists the rag around and around between his fingers. “She didn’t show tonight. Manager’s pissed.”
“Thanks,” I say, and release him from having to speak to me any longer. He takes off and hides behind the fry cook, who looks like he couldn’t give a shit about anything.
I could only drink so much water inside McDonald’s, so I’m sitting on the curb outside. In the corner of the parking lot, Elton has the back of his station wagon open. He smiles at the things inside. It’s nice. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him look anything but miserable.
Drake’s Camaro pulls up. He’s talking on his cell phone. Whoever is on the other end is making him angry. He hangs up as I open the passenger door. His face is etched with exhaustion. Lines that weren’t there before create patterns around his eyes and mouth. They make him seem old and worn.
After the cold way I saw him look at Grace, I don’t want to get into the car. But what choice do I have? I can’t walk home alone, and I don’t want to disappoint Jordan, who set this up so I would be safe.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say. Drake nods, like his head’s too heavy and he’s struggling to return it to its upright position.
A couple of raindrops hit the windshield. It’s not even a sprinkle. “Why is it always raining?” Drake mutters.
He turns onto a heavily wooded side street off Bluebird Lane.
The car stops. “Um, Bluebird Estates is the other way,” I joke, hoping that my tone hides the fear creeping up my body. My heart pounds. I try to keep my breathing even so he won’t notice. My best defense is to stay calm, casual.
When his head turns, his eyes burn holes in me. He leans forward, and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. I automatically jerk back against the car door. “I can walk from here. Thanks for the ride.” I flash my Clairmont Explorers Dance Team smile, trying to look nonthreatening, and reach for the door handle.
“Wait.” His tone is forceful but filled with some kind of desperation that makes me pause. He blinks hard. I shiver in my jacket and notice he’s wearing only a T-shirt. The snake on his arm flexes as he grips and releases the steering wheel. Grips and releases. “Stay away from Jordan,” he says.
“What?” I ask. “Why?” Are they having a fight? Is he getting back at Jordan for ragging on him about the rent?
He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Just do it.” A command mixed with irritation.
“Um, okay,” I say. I want out of this car. I pull the door handle. The door releases and lets in a blast of cold, wet air.
He grabs my shoulder. My heart pounds again. “I’m serious,” he says. I don’t doubt that, and I also don’t want to spend another moment with him. I pull away so hard I end up on my butt on the sidewalk. My backpack crashes to the ground behind me. Drake’s face changes instantly. He seems confused by my reaction. Worried. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, his voice light and hopeful.
I nod and smile, humoring him, like his rapid change is totally normal. But I’m never getting in a car with him again.
I shut the door. The Camaro pulls away. I wait there in the darkness until it turns the corner.
A noise comes from over my shoulder in the trees. I slowly stand up. Memories of the man in black flood back. I’m ready to run. A moan. A brushing on the ground.
I know I should be silent. For some reason, Drake picked here to stop the car and act crazy. For me to get out and be alone in the darkness.
The moan again. Agony and terror rolled into a soft sound.
“Hello?” I call into the trees. I take a step forward. Leaves crunch under my feet and send sparks up through my body. I take a couple more steps. The moaning stops. Something instinctual drives me faster and deeper into the dark.
But I already know what I’ll find.
I almost trip over her body lying crumpled and cast aside in the mud, one leg propped against a tree trunk. I fall down on my knees next to her head. I touch her swollen face. “Can you hear me?”
Her
eyelids flutter. Relief almost knocks me over. She’s still alive. Terror picks me back up onto my feet. The guy could still be here, and she needs help now.
I curse at myself for not activating that flip phone from Carol Alexander. I feel around on the ground, hoping against all odds that I will find a cell phone. When I don’t, I lean back over her head. She whimpers. I try to sound calm. “I’m going to get help. I’ll be right back. You’re going to be okay.” Lie. Even if she lives, she’ll never be okay.
After quitting the dance team, I started sitting on my ass all day. By the time I hit the parking lot of Bluebird Estates, my lungs are burning and my thigh muscles twitching.
“Help!” I scream over and over. No one comes outside. No curtains move in windows. It’s as if I’m the last person left in the world. “Help!” I scream again. Nothing.
I push on the lobby door. This time it’s locked. I reach for my bag. It’s not on my shoulder. It’s still sitting on the sidewalk where Drake left me.
I pound on the door. The glass rattles under my fists. “Help!” I try again, but my voice is weak. I slide to the ground. My eyes fill with tears. Sobs rush out of my mouth.
A blurry figure comes down the stairs. He lights a cigarette, opens the door, and steps around me without looking, like I’m some kind of bad memory he doesn’t want to acknowledge.
I slip my fingers around the door before it slams shut. My legs quiver, but I haul myself forward. I’m crawling when I reach the top of the stairs. Apartment 21 opens. “What’s up, Tracey’s girl?”
Seeing him gives me the extra energy I need. I shove past him into his foul-smelling dump. I knock a pizza box off the table, dig my hand under the couch cushions, and kick at a newspaper on the floor.
“Whoa, what are you doing?”
I find it. Under a discarded sweatshirt on the kitchen table. I dial 911.
The woman on the phone is irritated with me. I’m talking too fast, not making sense. I repeat myself three times before she understands. Even then I’m not sure she believes me.
The Truth Beneath the Lies Page 11