Stolen

by Elizabeth Gilpin

  I looked up with my puffy eyes.

  “I just hate it here,” I said.

  “I know you do. But cheer up. This is just one day in a very big life.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Here,” Nelly said, pulling out a chocolate bar. “I snuck this for you. Eat it and smile, okay?”

  “Thanks, Nelly.”

  It worked. I did smile. I pocketed the chocolate bar and picked up my tray.

  “Hey, Elizabeth?” Nelly said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I would hate it here too.”

  Chapter 21

  Dear Parents:

  It is a special pleasure to extend holiday greetings to the families of Carlbrook School. In keeping with new traditions underway, we plan to have a HUGE HOLIDAY TREE about fifteen feet tall, one which will have over 1200 lights! We, the faculty, want this tree to represent ALL of the students at Carlbrook.

  If ever there was an example of the hypocrisy that ruled over Carlbrook, it was every single thing about the Christmas season. A huge holiday tree did indeed go up, with all the trimmings listed in the letter that was sent to our parents. It appeared a little after Thanksgiving, right around the time our families were scheduled to visit.

  Accordingly, we are asking parents to select an ornament that you feel particularly represents your child. This decorative gift will become a permanent part of your child’s legacy at Carlbrook. Each holiday ornament on the tree will be a colorful and lasting symbol for every child who has ever attended Carlbrook.

  I had always loved trimming the tree. Back in my old life, it was one of my favorite parts of the holiday season. My mom would bring down boxes of decorations and carefully unpack them, pulling out nutcrackers, wreaths, and all the hand-painted ornaments from Christmases past.

  The best ornaments came from the holiday market. Every year, my siblings and I would return to the same stand for a new custom figurine. My collection included a soccer player with a #9 jersey, a diver wearing my swim team’s colors, and a fighter jet complete with a little blond captain looking out the window. I would hang them on the tree one by one, adding the popsicle-stick reindeer I made in kindergarten and finger-painted snowflakes. There was even a little paper angel who had my face, a Sunday school original.

  Maybe they’ll send that one. It would really complete the whole Christmas facade.

  I was nervous about my parents’ upcoming visit to Carlbrook. I hadn’t seen them in more than five months, and I had even more anger toward them now than I did before they sent me away. Every phone call home was some version of the same thing. I’d put so much effort into suppressing my rage, stopping each angry thought I had from coming out of my mouth, that I ended up saying next to nothing. The conversations were either petty fights or trivial talk about my sister’s horseback riding lessons.

  At the same time, they were still my parents. Somewhere behind that cloud of anger, a part of me really did miss them. I also knew pleasing them was my best chance at getting out of this place. I secretly began to hope that if I saw them face-to-face, I could convince them to take me back to South Carolina.

  While I fretted about this family visit, Maggie and her peer class were getting ready to say good-bye to Carlbrook. Graduation happened three times a year. There was a spring ceremony, like a normal high school would have, a summer ceremony, and this one in the winter. All went pretty much the same way. The boys put on suits and the girls dressed all in white—like child brides or sacrificial virgins. Alan would make a speech that would inevitably lead to crying, and every graduating student would get up and say a little something about the school.

  I sat through the ceremony without paying much attention. It seemed wholly unimportant, just more of Alan’s bullshit. There was plenty of nonsense, but that day also had a weird sort of significance I’d become aware of only many years later.

  Before Maggie left she let me pick what I wanted from her wardrobe. She gave me her little candy stash and hugged me like she really was my big sister.

  “Promise you’ll stay in touch,” she said.

  “Promise.”

  “And you have to come visit me.”

  “Of course.”

  “At college. You can stay with me. It’ll be so much fun.”

  “I can’t wait,” I said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  I did keep in touch with Maggie for a little while. We exchanged a handful of letters while I was still at Carlbrook. Maybe that would have been the extent of our relationship even if she hadn’t died. I don’t know that we were destined to be friends for life or anything, but when I hugged her good-bye I truly didn’t think it would be the last time I would ever see her. That in less than two years she would be dead.

  “Thanks for everything,” I said.

  So would Kyle, whom I had watched battle his demons. Owen, with that backpack full of pills. I waved as he walked away, looking awkward in his suit.

  Trevor came up to me and wrapped his arms around me in a hug. He was just as warm and friendly as the first time I met him, when he helped me out during my first request group.

  “You hang in there, kid,” he said.

  I hugged him back. I wouldn’t see Trevor again, either, except in a casket three years down the line.

  The parent weekend fell between graduation and Christmas, and the school never looked spiffier. That fifteen-foot tree was all lit up, aglow with the souls of “every child who has ever attended Carlbrook.”

  As if that’s not creepy. Are they trying to trap us here forever? I always figured I was living in a horror movie.

  Parents started arriving in the morning, and cars continued to pull up throughout the afternoon. Some parents came running in with open arms, others seemed more tense and even hostile. From the tenor of our recent phone calls, I had a feeling I knew which end of the spectrum my reunion would fall on. I could feel myself getting angry just waiting for my parents to show up, and part of me hoped they wouldn’t even bother.

  As I waited, a boy who had issues around being adopted greeted his family with a strained smile. I saw Maya come into the commons with her own family, looking so happy just to have them there. She showed them around, pointing to the chairs where we smooshed and the glass program room as if it were all somehow normal. I knew this place hurt her just like it hurt me. Maya swallowed all that pain and managed to keep it hidden somewhere deep, where her family would never have to see it. I admired her for that, but it also made me angry on her behalf.

  So I figured I’d make up for it by being pissed off for both of us.

  My parents’ visit began like a replay of our first phone call. I promised myself I’d be even-tempered and restrained, the version of a daughter they’d want to take back home. Just as before, actually seeing them sent all those lofty goals right out the window.

  I could tell my mom was nervous the moment she walked through the door of the commons building. She scanned the room and when she spotted me, I waved. Two stiff hugs later, and my blood was already beginning to get hot.

  “This is nice,” my mom said, looking at the Christmas tree.

  “I guess,” I said.

  “Look, there’s your ornament.”

  It was the soccer player, the ceramic girl with the nine on her jersey.

  I want to smash that fucking thing to pieces.

  I was about to say something snarky, but Alan’s voice called for everyone’s attention. He gave a little speech welcoming the parents and announced it was time for our first group. We were sent off to join family groups, led by our advisers. I took my parents to the classroom where Catherine’s group was meeting. We sat down in a circle along with four other families.

  The group was an absolute disaster. When it was my turn, Catherine wanted to focus on the so-called issues that landed me at Carlbrook. My anger, the drinking, sneaking off to parties. I just wanted to say something that might convince my parents I was ready to go home.

  “I don’t feel like I’m that person anymore,” I said
.

  Catherine, the kids on my team, and even my parents wore a look that said the same thing: Bullshit. No one was buying it. Not even me. I was grasping at straws and everyone knew it.

  “Elizabeth.” My mom sighed. “Don’t do this again.”

  “Do what?” I doubled down. “I’m saying things are different now. I’ve learned my lesson. Can I please just come home?”

  “You’re not ready,” my dad said. “Even if you think you’ve changed, your wild friends haven’t.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Then I won’t hang out with them anymore.”

  “That’s not true and you know it,” he said. “Can’t you please just be honest with yourself?”

  Okay, sure. I’ll be honest. You’re right, I haven’t changed. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve only gotten worse. This fucked-up place doesn’t fix people, it breaks us. And I’ve never wanted to go out and party more than I do right now. And guess what? Thanks to Carlbrook, I know more about drugs than I ever would have in my life if I’d stayed in South Carolina.

  I could feel rage building like a fire. Catherine noticed and saw it as an opportunity.

  “Elizabeth,” she said, “are you ready to discuss your anger issues?”

  The very question was like fuel for my temper. I started to yell, taking my rage out on my parents. Though I was mad at both of them, I was especially upset with my mom. Usually she at least attempted to defend me, and when that didn’t happen it seemed like a betrayal.

  “I hate you,” I said. “I hate you for sending me here. For being so stupid that you did exactly what Lynn Anne Moore told you to do.”

  I felt myself boiling over.

  “She tricked you,” I said. “She just wanted your money. What a coincidence that I happened to be the perfect candidate for her SON’S FUCKING SCHOOL,” I screamed, my face flushing crimson. “You let her RUIN my life.”

  “Elizabeth,” Catherine said, “do not speak to your mother like this.”

  No one protested. After that, Catherine kicked me out of the session.

  “Fine,” I said and stomped out of the room.

  After group, my parents found me and tried to make peace. But I was so upset I couldn’t see straight. My mom was supposed to be on my side. She was supposed to pick me up and take me home, just like she’d made Dad turn the car around last summer. I knew I couldn’t change my father’s mind. He was the disciplinarian, but I had always been able to win my mother’s sympathy.

  I had no power, no leverage. When I realized she wasn’t going to take me home I finally just asked her to leave. “Can’t you just go back to the hotel or something?”

  To my surprise, she actually did. I spent the rest of the day playing board games with my dad. Neither of us said very much, and it was clear we weren’t happy. It was less exhausting than fighting, and I had no energy left.

  When I got back to my room that night I felt empty. Brittany and Kristen seemed to be in a similar place. If we were sad about anything, it was that our families had left without taking us with them. It would have been easier not to have seen them at all.

  At least Kristen had a card up her sleeve. Her birthday was getting closer and she was still determined to run away. Everyone seemed to know about her plan to leave Carlbrook. Even the staff had questioned her about it during group. Now she was storing up food, sneaking an extra granola bar or banana every once in a while.

  As Christmas approached there was a sad attempt to get us into the holiday spirit. We made cards for each other using glitter and markers, and I felt like I was back at Sunday school.

  There was no need to write a letter to Santa—we were all on the naughty list and coal wasn’t even on the list of acceptable gifts. We could get J.Crew sweaters, blankets, and photobooks and that was about it.

  Christmas morning was everything I hated about the school. It was lots of smooshing and Alan holding court. Back home, we always had cinnamon buns for breakfast on holidays. Here, I ate the same crap I always ate. The only thing that made this day any different was that a couple of snowflakes and candy canes had been hung in the dining hall.

  I was worried I’d find Alan in a Santa suit, asking kids to hop onto his lap. Instead, he wore a red-and-green plaid vest and a candy-cane-print tie.

  “Were you a good little girl this year?”

  No, Alan. I was a worthless abuser this year.

  “Yes,” I said. “I think so.”

  “Merry Christmas, Elizabeth.”

  Someone handed me a box. My name was written on the label in the elegant cursive I recognized as my mother’s. I opened the box without much enthusiasm and pulled out the contents. My parents had sent me a scrapbook from home, a new blanket, and photos they had developed from those disposable cameras we had in the woods.

  Thanks. As if I needed that reminder.

  Charlotte got a blanket too. It was bright pink and featured the grinning faces of the Care Bears. She didn’t keep it, though. Secretly, she passed it on to Kristen. It was cold in Virginia, and Kristen would need whatever extra warmth she could get. As far as anyone knew, her entire plan was to make her way by foot to a phone and wait for her boyfriend to make the multistate drive.

  It was the saddest Christmas in the history of Christmases. We spent the rest of the day watching Santa cartoons and writing thank-you notes to our parents. I found it a lot easier to be nice in letters and managed a brief but earnest-sounding message.

  The next morning I found out I had one more present coming to me. Catherine handed me my red binder and a paperback book.

  “Congratulations. You’re on your first program.”

  I wasn’t exactly surprised. I knew there would be consequences for getting kicked out of group and asking my mom to leave campus. Thankfully, my time in isolation was short. It was designed around finding better ways to communicate with my parents.

  “Start by reading,” Catherine said. “I think you’ll find a lot of useful tools in there.”

  I looked at the book resting on top of my binder: The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman. It’s a self-help standard, though probably not something on a normal high school reading list. According to Chapman, there are five ways people express and receive love, and everyone has a different dominant “language.”

  Words of Affirmation

  Quality Time

  Acts of Service

  Receiving Gifts

  Physical Touch

  Well. I guess I know what Alan’s love language is.

  Chapter 22

  KRISTEN WASN’T THE first person to run away from Carlbrook and she wouldn’t be the last. There was even a term for it: “walking the road,” which occurred when a kid got so fed up they’d simply walk off campus and continue down the long road leading into town.

  Walking the road usually ended pretty quickly, though. Someone would hop in the school van and drive alongside the student until they eventually gave up and got inside. Instead of heading back to Carlbrook, however, the runaway would be taken back to the woods.

  For most of us, this was enough of a deterrent to keep us on the grounds. Those of us still months or years away from turning eighteen didn’t really have a choice. Legally, we had to get back in the van. If we refused, it would only mean dealing with the cops. The only way a minor could escape was to leave when no one was looking, and that was not something that happened too often at Carlbrook.

  Kristen was a legal adult now, and she was determined. She had no money and no ID. Just some hoarded food, a winter jacket, and that Care Bear blanket. It was the middle of winter in Nowhere, Virginia. On the day of her eighteenth birthday, she walked off campus, started down the road, and never came back.

  She was done with groups, she was done with crews. She was done with all the bullshit.

  She’s my hero and I wish I was right there running off beside her.

  Kristen’s disappearance was announced at Last Light. Alan told us she had made the unfortunate decision to walk off campus, giving up
on her emotional work. Then he asked Charlotte and Brittany to stand so they could announce they’d been put on programs.

  Fuck. This is gonna be bad.

  I’d seen the two of them sitting in the program room on my way to Last Light. My stomach dropped instantly. Nothing went unpunished at Carlbrook—someone always had to be made into an example. Since they couldn’t punish Kristen, her sentence was going to come down on her friends. I looked at Charlotte and Brittany. Their heads were down and they were writing what could only have been honor lists.

  A storm was brewing and my gut told me I was going to end up right in the middle of it.

  It took only a few days. One morning, a request group list went up that let me know the trouble had begun. It was the longest list I’d ever seen, and it included anyone who’d been friends with Kristen to any degree. My name was right there in the middle of the block, between Lina and Levi. And, of course, Charlotte and Brittany.

  The worst part was the name at the top of the list, letting us know who had put the group together. It was Randall, the founder of the school. To the best of my knowledge, this was the first group he’d ever run.

  It was like a dark cloud had formed above the campus and hovered all day long. I felt sick to my stomach as I sat through my classes. At lunchtime I was unable to eat with all the dread already in my stomach.

  In all the time I’d been at Carlbrook I’d met Randall only once. It was my second or third week when he strolled over and introduced himself. He was also from my town in South Carolina, he said. In fact, he was part of the very same country club my family belonged to.

  “I know about you,” he said.

  “Me?” I was genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

  But he had already walked away, leaving the stale smell of cigarette smoke to linger in his wake.

  The same scent now filled the commons, the only place big enough to hold this group. His face was red and his eyes were bloodshot, the effects of too much anger and what seemed to me like too much booze.