I know I was in the stall for a while. Someone must have checked on me, but I can’t remember an interaction. I probably sent them away, slurring that I was fine. Just give me a minute. A minute that turned into ten and then, without thinking it through, I had called my mother.
“Mo-oom. I need you to come pick me up.”
The same part of my brain that thought calling my mom was a good idea was dead-set on waiting for her outside. But standing up wasn’t really an option, so I made a bed out of the stoop. When my mother arrived I was sprawled out on the concrete in my once-perfect silk dress and formerly sleek hair. My mom picked up my shoes and helped me to the car where I promptly passed out until the next morning.
It wasn’t my finest hour. And the fact that my parents didn’t scold me was probably an indication that they had already decided to send me away. Or, at the very least, they were discussing their options. They were probably just waiting for the school year to be over. And maybe, just maybe, I still could have turned things around if it hadn’t been for the other thing.
The other thing was weed. Specifically, an eighth of it—which I had bought several weeks before. It cost me fifty dollars, plus an extra ten for a glass smoking bowl, and I didn’t even smoke it. Not one single nugget. I don’t even know why the hell I bought it. Probably to seem cool, to feel like I could hang with the older kids who actually liked weed. Some part of me probably just wanted to know if I could get away with it. I stashed the weed in a little pouch and hid it under the slats of my bed. It was kind of thrilling to have a secret, although I forgot all about it pretty quickly.
So when I came home one day to my father yelling that I was a pothead, my initial reaction was complete outrage like usual. It was the pee test all over again! As soon as he produced the pouch, the jig was up. There was no point in trying to explain that I hadn’t smoked any of it. Even I knew how stupid that sounded. All I could do was accuse my parents of snooping around my room.
“You’re grounded until further notice,” my dad said. “School, sports, and church. That’s it.”
Chapter 4
SCHOOL, SPORTS, AND church, that’s it. The terms of my grounding actually weren’t all that bad. Finals were approaching, which meant a few weeks of studying, but then my freshman year would be over. As for sports, I’d begun checking out more and more. I was good enough that I could go through the motions without really trying. I could give it my half effort and get by.
I’d been going to church for many years, starting the day with Sunday school and then meeting up with my family for “Big Church.” I never minded Sunday school. In fact, as a kid, I enjoyed the picture books that showed Jesus tending to his flock and the animals on Noah’s ark. The Big Church service portion wasn’t so bad either—even though my mom always made us sit up front. It was a little boring, and I was always starving by the time we got out, but I passed the time by doodling in the program.
It was mostly the people that I had a problem with; all that Southern hypocrisy. I had learned the lesson of false virtue a few years back. It was just another Sunday and everyone was dressed in the standard church uniform: Lilly Pulitzer printed dresses for the women and Vineyard Vines ties for men and boys. I was no exception and neither was my neighbor, a girl about my age who was a troublemaker like me. Her skirt was pressed, her hair was smooth, and one of her eyes was freshly black and blue.
A few days later I asked her how she got it. She told me without hesitation that her father hit her. I don’t know if she told anyone else, and I have no idea if the rest of the congregation suspected abuse. But I do know that on that Sunday, most of the congregation pretended not to notice. Those who asked if she was okay accepted whatever bullshit lie her family offered and went on with their business.
It wasn’t surprising. This was how the people in my town dealt with hard issues, especially if the families with the problems had some money and went to church. By the end of my freshman year, I was over church just like I was over everything else in my life. In spite of my feelings, my parents still made me go almost every Sunday.
So when they agreed to let me spend the night at Jenna’s with the caveat that I be ready to go early Sunday morning, I didn’t think twice. It sounded just like our regular routine. I didn’t see the sleepover as the giant red flag that in retrospect it so obviously was.
My parents picked me up around nine. I could tell something was off the moment I got in the car, still wearing my pajamas. They seemed tense about something but were acting overly cheerful.
“Morning!” My mom’s voice was even higher than usual. “Have fun?”
I nodded. I was hungry and wondered if there were pancakes at home. But we weren’t going back to our house. My dad missed the turn onto our street and kept driving in the opposite direction.
“Where are we going?”
My parents said nothing. They shared a significant glance and I saw my dad’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror. I turned around and looked in the back row of seats. I noticed my pink baby blanket and a pillow sitting on top of a tote bag.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To camp,” my mom said. “Summer camp.”
I used to love summer camp. Growing up, I went to some sort of outdoor sleepaway program pretty much every year. My favorite was an aviation-challenge camp in the woods where I got to play with flight simulators and completed a series of special-ops missions. That was all little-kid stuff. I’d explicitly told my parents I wanted to spend the summer at home with my friends, and now they were tricking me into going anyway.
It made me furious. I felt betrayed and hurt, like they were just trying to get rid of me.
“I don’t want to go to camp,” I said. “I told you that.”
My mother turned around and smiled. “I know. But your dad and I think it’ll be good for you to spend some time in a new environment.”
“I don’t need a new environment. I want to go home.”
My parents were silent.
“Did you hear me?” I was screaming now. “I said, take me home!”
“Lower your voice,” my father said.
“No. Not until you turn the car around.”
My dad’s face was getting red. I could see the rage in his eyes when he took his gaze off the road and looked directly at me.
“This isn’t optional,” my father said. “You’re going to a camp like Outward Bound. You need some structure in your life, Elizabeth.”
It was like an explosion had gone off. My dad and I began to scream at each other, using all the ammo we’d been stockpiling for years.
“You’re just trying to get rid of me.”
“We’re trying to help you,” my mom said.
“This isn’t the kind of help I need.”
We went back and forth like that for a while, a tennis match of anger. My mother looked mortified, trying in vain to referee.
“Okay,” she said. “Everyone just calm down.”
“I’ll calm down if you turn the fucking car around and take me home.”
“But you love camping.”
“Why are you still pretending this is supposed to be fun for me? Why are you always pretending?”
My mom looked up helplessly at my dad. He shook his head.
“Absolutely not,” he said. “We talked about this and she’s going. No matter what manipulative shit she pulls.”
I racked my brain for some manipulative shit to pull. I began calling every number I had saved in my flip phone, hoping someone would pick up. Melanie and Nick didn’t answer, but I got Jenna on the second try.
“Jenna, you have to help me.” I spoke as quickly as I could. “My parents have totally lost it. They’re crazy liars and they’re trying to take me to some Outward Bound bullshit.”
My family was close with Jenna’s family and I could see the effect the call was having on my mom. She looked horrified and when she turned to my father I thought she was about to take my side. But my dad seemed to antici
pate this. He put his hand on her knee and shook his head. My mom nodded and said nothing.
This made me even more furious. Like usual, my mom was on everyone’s side at once. She wanted to placate both me and my father, but that was impossible. So she did nothing. I felt trapped and decided I needed to get out of this car one way or another.
I looked out the window. The highway was relatively empty and I tried not to focus on the pavement rushing by. In one quick motion, I unbuckled my seat belt and reached for the door handle. I would have done it too. I really would have. I opened the door with every intention of jumping. But while I had played Air Force for a week at aviation camp, my dad had actually lived it. He had the instincts and the reflexes to anticipate my move. I was partly out the door when his hand gripped my arm and shoved me back into the car.
I heard my dad click the safety lock the same moment I saw red and blue lights flashing from behind.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “You have to be kidding me.”
He slowed down and glanced in the rearview mirror. There was a cop car right behind us. The officers must have seen the door swing open.
Kidnapping, trafficking. This is my chance.
As my father maneuvered to the shoulder I tried to think of the worst things I could claim. I needed to convince the cops that I had been stolen and was being taken away against my will. That actually described the situation pretty well. I just left out the part about being related to my parents.
It almost worked too. The officers came around to my door and addressed me directly.
“What’s going on here? Miss, are you okay?”
I shook my head violently. “No! I need help. I’m being kidnapped.”
“Officer,” my father said, “she’s our daughter.”
“He’s lying.”
The officer peered through the window to get a better look. He had his hand on his waistband. He moved to the front of the car while his partner kept watch.
“I’m going to need you both to get out of the vehicle.”
My mother seemed truly shaken, but my father was over being worried. He was just done with me and my bullshit.
The cops led my parents off to the side of the road where they had a brief conversation. It didn’t last more than a minute, and I could see the officers shaking their heads. One of them escorted my mom and dad back to the car. The cop looked at me in the backseat.
“Have fun at summer camp,” he said.
We drove off in silence. As upset as I was, I knew I’d been bested. My dad was seething with the quiet rage I knew so well. But something had shifted in my mother. It was all too much for her—the screaming, the cops, the fact that I was now crying. We hadn’t gotten more than a few more miles down the road when she turned to my dad and sighed.
“Bill. Let’s just take her home.”
My dad inhaled sharply. He didn’t say anything, he just veered off the highway and got back on going the other direction. I knew a huge fight was coming for my parents. As always, I was a source of friction.
When we got back, Jenna was waiting for me outside our house. I’d called her a second time to see if she could pick me up. I jumped out of the car and got straight into hers. I didn’t ask my parents and they didn’t try to stop me. I was so angry at what they’d try to do, but at least I didn’t have to go to summer camp.
Except I was never actually going to summer camp. There was no plan to send me to Outward Bound. The place my parents picked out for me ended up being much crueler and more abusive than a so-called leadership program.
I would find that out a few short weeks later. For the first month of my summer break I went to parties and stayed over at Melanie’s. I drank and spent time with Nick. I avoided my parents as much as possible. I wasn’t even offended when my mom planned a vacation for my brother and sister without including me.
Little did I know the trip was about me, after all. With everyone out of the house it would be so much easier to have me kidnapped.
Chapter 5
I WONDERED IF Mrs. Winston was watching from her window the night I was taken away. The elderly woman next door never seemed to sleep, not since the incident with Dr. Winston. She spent all day and night sitting in her breakfast nook drinking cup after cup of coffee and staring out the window.
Did she see my captors arrive? Two hulking figures dressed in black, entering my house in the middle of the night. What did she think when they reemerged with their prisoner? The angry girl from next door who once upon a time pretended to be an Olympic gymnast in the backyard.
Did she think I was being kidnapped? Did it occur to her to call the cops?
I was the criminal. That was how I felt, at least, manhandled and forced into the back of the black SUV. The doors and windows were child-locked, but the female escort still insisted on sitting with me in the backseat. Apparently I was such a flight risk I couldn’t even wear my shoes lest I kick through the glass, wriggle through the broken window, and disappear into oncoming traffic.
They must think I’m an action hero. An action hero in baby-blue pajama pants from the Limited Too.
Not that the thought of escape wasn’t tempting. If the woman hadn’t made a point of unzipping her duffel bag full of handcuffs and restraints, I might have gotten physical. Instead, I slid all the way up against the door, trying to get as far away as possible from her.
Will she actually use those handcuffs on me?
This is a nightmare. But I’ll wake up any minute now. Then I’ll head downstairs for chocolate chip pancakes and start my day.
I didn’t wake up, because there was nothing to wake up from. I forced my eyes forward as the car pulled out. I didn’t want to turn around and see my father’s face. I also didn’t want to turn around and not see my father’s face. I was pretty sure he’d gone back inside the house. Maybe he was even in my room, relieved that his problem child was being taken away.
“And we’re off,” the man said. “Easy as pie.”
Fuck you. I wanted to say the words out loud, but I didn’t. I hated these people as much as I’d ever hated anyone, and I didn’t even know their names. She was just a broad-shouldered, severe woman and he was a guy with a receding hairline and a self-satisfied expression.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
I watched my neighborhood recede from view. I had no idea then how much of my life was disappearing right alongside it. I couldn’t have imagined the truth: that I’d never swim competitively or play soccer again. I wouldn’t make another honor roll, wouldn’t win another trophy. All the things I thought of as my life’s achievements were becoming worthless and moot.
We turned the corner and Melanie’s house came into view up ahead. I wanted to scream. I tried to scream so loud she’d wake up and come running to my rescue. I couldn’t make a sound, though. I was paralyzed with shock, shrieking on the inside yet completely silent where it mattered. The familiar homes faded away and the SUV started racking up miles. I had no idea where we were going, but I wasn’t about to ask. So I sat in silence, angry and confused.
I couldn’t stop replaying the morning over and over in my head, wondering if there was any way I could have stopped it. But my father’s expression was crystal clear. I saw him mouth the words I’m sorry again and again, practically shrugging. I knew his mind was totally made up.
Pretty soon there was no city left at all. Just the wide highway that split the greenery in half, a few scattered cows, and the occasional fast-food restaurant. We passed a sign letting me know we were no longer in South Carolina and something switched on inside me. The shock was waning and a plan began to form in its place.
If I could just get out of the car, I’d be able to run. I could head straight for the woods and hide out for a while, until it was safe to find a phone. These ogres might be bigger and stronger, but I was definitely faster. All I needed was a reason for them to pull over. A reason that would require them to give me back my shoes.
“I have to pee.”
The man looked at me in the rearview mirror. He laughed.
“I said, I have to pee.”
“She speaks,” he said. “I was starting to think you’d turned into a mute.”
“You’re in luck,” the woman said. “We have to stop for gas soon.”
I continued scheming on the way to the next exit. The car pulled to a stop inside a grimy rest stop. Perfect. The woman walked around the car and opened my door, giving me very little room to maneuver.
“Can I have my shoes?”
She handed me my sneakers. After I slipped them on, the woman gripped me by the arm and led me through the gas station toward the stinking restrooms in the back. When we reached the door I tried to break free of the woman’s grip.
“Hang on. You don’t think you’re going in there alone, do you?”
“I am not gonna pee in front of you.”
“Fine. I’ll wait out here and you can leave the door open.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, no one’s going to look. I’ll be right here the whole time.”
I went into the bathroom, upset that my plan was a bust. Back in the car, I relinquished my shoes. Instead of getting back on the highway, we drove a little farther up the road, halting at a row of fast-food joints.
“You should eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said, realizing that I was really, really hungry.
“Hey, I don’t care one way or the other. But this is the last real meal you’re gonna get for a while. So maybe suck it up and get some Chick-fil-A?”
I crossed my arms, stewing. “Chicken biscuit, I guess.”
Back on the highway, the view became increasingly sparse. We were traveling away from even the occasional cow, heading straight for the mountains. I took small bites of my sandwich, almost too anxious to chew. Soon we were crowded by dense clusters of oak trees in all directions.
If I had a map, I would have known we were in a southern region of the Appalachian Mountains. But all I had to orient myself was an endless stretch of identical dirt and trees, dappled in the afternoon light. Miles went by without any sign of human habitation before we finally reached a double-wide trailer plopped down right in the middle of nowhere.
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