by Sarah Watson
Now that she was thinking about the park, something nagged at her. The developer had cited the park’s declining popularity as a reason to close it. She claimed that attendance had dropped off significantly in the last ten months. CJ had taken the developer at her word, but now that she thought about it, it didn’t seem true. She drove by on the way to Martha’s all the time, and the park was always filled with kids. She went online to see if she could verify the attendance numbers and stumbled onto something very interesting. The park hours were different now. It used to be open until ten PM. That had changed recently. Ten months ago, to be exact. Now the park closed at sunset. In the winter, that could be as early as four PM. There was more information and CJ kept reading.
“Holy shit,” she said out loud.
As quickly as she could, she dialed Jordan’s number. When Jordan didn’t pick up, she called Martha.
“Hey,” Martha said.
“Put Jordan on.”
“Well, hello to you too.”
“I found something huge.”
“I’m still going to need you to say hello. Because manners. Also, Jordan has now tried on ten thousand skirts and I’m bored out of my mind and you owe me so hard.”
“I think the councilman has been actively trying to kill the park.”
“What? Hang on.” CJ heard a fumbling noise and then Martha’s voice, now distant and hollow. “You’re on speaker. Jordan’s right here. Should I conference in Ava?”
“Yeah. Get her.”
Ava was at her mom’s office working with her fancy French tutor. Or maybe it was her fancy calculus tutor. Her mom hired a lot of fancy tutors. CJ waited for the call to connect. She felt impatient and excited all at once.
“We’re all here,” Martha said.
Ava started to say hello, but CJ cut her off. “I think the councilman is helping the developer kill the park. Is he allowed to do that?”
“What?” said three voices in unison.
CJ’s call waiting clicked. She checked the number. It was Wyatt, her new boss at Sensational Recreational. She wasn’t sure why he was calling. She wasn’t starting until next week.
“I have to take this other call,” CJ said.
“Wait, no. Don’t go,” said Jordan.
“I have to. I’m sending you a link. The reason park attendance is down is because someone shortened the hours. You’ll never guess who.”
“Who—” shouted three voices before CJ clicked over and cut them off.
“Hello?” CJ said. She tried to sound calm even though she was absolutely buzzing. It wasn’t just someone who had shortened the park hours. It was the councilman. Why would he do that unless he wanted the park gone?
“Clarke. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.” He was speaking loudly, practically yelling over something happening behind him. It sounded like screaming.
“What is that?”
“Not important. I know you’re not supposed to start until next week, but is there any way I could persuade you to come down sooner?”
“Uh… I mean… how soon?”
CJ heard a crash and then more screaming. She said, “Oh my god! What is that?” at the exact same moment that he said, “How fast can you get here?” Then they both said, “What?” at the same time. Then there was a long pause.
“You first,” Wyatt said.
“What is that sound?”
“That, Clarke, is the sound of children at play. Now how fast can you get here?”
CJ pulled into the parking lot of the rec center fifteen minutes later. As soon as she got out of the car, she heard the screaming. It was coming from the gym. CJ quickly locked her doors and half walked, half ran across the parking lot. When she opened the double doors, she was surprised to see that Wyatt had been telling her the truth. This was the sound of children at play. A dozen or so boys in wheelchairs were spread across the basketball court playing a game that she would later learn was flag rugby. It was completely confusing, totally violent, and the boys absolutely loved it.
CJ saw Wyatt, wearing a striped referee shirt and following along with the action of the court. Occasionally, he blew the whistle that hung around his neck, and the boys would either cheer or shout depending on the call. Wyatt noticed her and waved her over.
“Clarke,” he said as she approached. “What took you so long?”
Was he serious? She didn’t think he was serious. But maybe. “Uh… I drove straight here. But I’m ready to get to work. Where do you need me?”
Wyatt’s attention shifted to something on the court, and he blew his whistle so loudly that CJ jumped. “Sorry,” he said. Then he shouted something at one of the kids, who argued with him before finally accepting the penalty. Wyatt turned back to CJ and said, “I feel really bad, but it turns out I dragged you down here for nothing. There was a crisis, but it’s over.”
“What happened?”
“Dakota. My one girl. She was miserable. Like really miserable. And I thought that maybe you could come down here and do your female thing. You know, that thing you pitched me in your interview. Make her see that this is actually fun. I mean, doesn’t this look like fun?”
CJ watched two boys collide into each other and then shriek with laughter. It did look like fun, actually.
Wyatt blew his whistle. “Dudes. Dudes. This is flag rugby. No contact!” He turned back to CJ. “Dakota ghosted right before you got here.”
“Oh my god.” CJ was worried now. “Should I look for her? Do you have any idea where she went?”
“Yeah. She went home. With her mom.”
CJ relaxed. “Oh. You said ‘ghosted.’”
“Yes. She ghosted.”
“If she told you where she was going, that’s not ghosting. Ghosting is when you just disappear with no explanation. Like you would do to someone you’re dating.”
“Well, I would never do something like that in a dating situation. That’s horrible. So I use the term differently. But I respect your cool teen slang.”
“You know I’m only two years younger than you, right?”
“But they’re big years.”
CJ tossed him a look.
“Anyway, sorry to drag you away from whatever you were doing. I hope it wasn’t anything important.”
“All good,” said CJ, trying to keep it light even though she was dying to get back home. She had about a thousand texts from her friends. Most of them were in all caps. She was pretty sure they were on the cusp of uncovering something huge. “So I’ll see you Monday?”
“Wait. As long as you’re here, stick around for a few. I want to introduce you to the dudes.” Wyatt blew his whistle. “Dudes! Time out! Huddle up. Come meet Clarke.”
CJ followed him onto the court. “You know I go by CJ, right?”
Martha couldn’t believe what CJ had found. Of course she also couldn’t believe that she was the only friend available for Jordan to drag around the mall that afternoon. She usually worked on Mondays, but that was before Victoria came along and the entire schedule got turned upside down to accommodate her boss’s niece. Martha decided that if she was going to be stuck at the mall, she was at least going to make the most of it. So while Jordan paid for a pencil skirt and a boring white blouse that made her look older, Martha popped over to the food court. She wanted to pick up some Chinese to take home to her dad for dinner. He was a hopeless cook and would probably die of malnutrition if Martha ever moved out.
As she walked across the mall, Martha tried to process what CJ had found. She didn’t really think it was that big of a deal at first. Then Jordan pulled up a picture of some serial-killer whiteboard she had in her room. She was using it to keep track of everything she knew about the councilman. It was completely thorough. And vaguely creepy. She’d listed the names of all the councilman’s political donors and the dates of their contributions. The developer happened to have written him a pretty big check just two weeks before he limited the park hours. It did seem weird. Although, at the moment, Martha was
more irate about something else she had noticed on the serial-killer board. Jordan had also noted his stance on an upcoming vote about a minimum-wage increase. He was opposed. She hadn’t been following the issue that closely, but she was vaguely aware that they were considering a city-wide initiative to raise the minimum wage by fifty cents. It made Martha livid that he would oppose that. An extra fifty cents an hour would be life changing for some people. It would certainly make a difference to her. Especially if this Victoria girl kept taking her hours.
“You look like someone who’s about to graduate,” said a male voice from just up ahead.
Martha looked around to see who was talking to her. She shriveled up a little on the inside when she saw who it was.
“So, am I right?” he asked. “Are you about to graduate?”
Staff Sergeant Broderick stood in front of the Army Recruitment Center, the one that was a staple of pretty much every mall in a blue-collar town. His name wasn’t on his uniform, but she knew it because he’d handed her his business card before. Several times, actually. He always tried to talk to her and yet somehow never remembered her face. After the second time it happened, Martha did some googling. She learned that he was expected to sign up a certain number of people each month, which explained his aggressiveness. She also learned that thirty-five was the oldest recruitment age.
“No,” Martha said. “I graduated a while ago. I’m thirty-six. Sorry.”
“Ha ha,” he said lightly. “Good one. So what’s the plan after graduation? You want to come in and talk about it?”
Martha did not want to come in and talk about it. Inside the recruitment office, a uniformed woman sat at one of the desks. Martha accidentally caught her eye as she was looking for an escape. The woman was older, forties probably, with a no-nonsense look that Martha liked. Martha also liked that she kept glancing up at the conversation and seemed to be rolling her eyes at Staff Sergeant Broderick.
“How much do you know about the army?” Broderick asked in a dude bro tone.
“Well,” Martha said, “I know that they haven’t hit their recruitment goal for women in several years.” She’d read this online too. “So I know you’re desperate for people like me.”
The woman at the back desk looked up again.
“That’s exactly right,” said Broderick. “Which is why we’re offering forty grand in bonuses on top of student-loan repayment.”
Martha’s jaw must have been on the floor, because he took this as his opening.
“Come on in and we can talk about it.”
Martha shook her head and backed away.
CHAPTER SIX
ON THURSDAY morning, Jordan stood in front of the bathroom mirror and tried to figure out the best way to hide the purple stripes in her hair. Her new outfit was packed carefully in her backpack for later, but she was still worried that the purple stripes in her hair would give away her real age. She’d been trying to follow a YouTube video about how to pull it into a sleek but effortless topknot. As she stood back and frowned at the results—which were neither sleek nor effortless—her little brother walked by the bathroom.
“What the hell is wrong with your hair?” Lucas was in eighth grade and all attitude.
“Nothing is wrong. Get out.”
“You look terrible.”
“Mom!” Jordan shouted. Her mother appeared in the doorway looking mismatched in a business suit and a pair of old clogs that she referred to as her comfies. She always waited until the last second to put on her heels. “Make Lucas leave me alone.”
“Lucas, leave,” said her mom.
He rolled his eyes and walked away while muttering something about women. Jordan pointed to her head and turned to her mom. “Help.”
“What’s the end goal here, because…” Her mom eyed the knot curiously. “What are you even trying to do?”
“I don’t know. I just want to hide… these.” She grabbed desperately at the purple stripes. “I need to look professional.” Jordan had already told her mom about her interview with the legislative deputy. She always told her mom everything.
“You don’t have to try to be something you’re not. He’s expecting a high school student. Not Barbara Walters.”
Okay, maybe she didn’t tell her everything. She’d conveniently left out the part where she told him she was older. “Please, Mom. I also have my meeting with the college counselor today. I’m afraid she won’t take me seriously.”
This part was absolutely true. Jordan had woken up feeling nervous. She knew her first-choice schools might be unrealistic, and she wasn’t sure what she’d do if the college counselor told her that. “I want her to look at me and see somebody who looks… I don’t know… collegiate.”
“Oh, honey. You already look way more collegiate than half the burnouts I went to school with. But okay. I get it. Sit.”
Jordan sat dutifully on the edge of the tub, her back to her mom. She shook out her hair, and her mom combed through it with her fingers. Jordan loved this feeling more than almost anything in the world. It calmed her down and kept her from worrying about the interview. There was nothing else she could do to prepare. She’d practiced and practiced all week, forcing her friends to play the role of the legislative deputy. Her plan was to toss him a couple of softballs first. She would let him get nice and comfortable. Then she’d hit him with everything she knew and see how much he flinched.
Her mom worked quickly, pulling Jordan’s hair upward with a thin comb. She was great at this. As a kid her mom had spent about ten thousand hours practicing on all of her friends. She’d grown up in a mostly black community and almost all of her childhood friends had hair like hers. Jordan sometimes wondered what that would be like. There would be a shorthand and a shared experience. She wouldn’t feel people staring at her when she walked down her own street. Her neighborhood wasn’t as white as Ava’s—which was alarmingly white—but she did stand out.
“Don’t let the college counselor talk you out of aiming high,” her mom said as she combed through Jordan’s hair. “I don’t care if she thinks Columbia and Northwestern are too much of a stretch. There’s absolutely no harm in applying.”
Jordan didn’t want to think about it. She just wanted to relax and enjoy this feeling of sitting on the tub with her mom. “Can we talk about something else? I’m already too nervous.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
Jordan shrugged. “I don’t know. Anything.”
“Okay. I’ve got something.” Jordan could hear the smile in her mom’s voice. “How’s Logan Diffenderfer?”
Jordan tried to turn her head so she could shoot her mom a look. “He’s fine, Mom.”
Her mom loved Logan. He was polite and charming, and knew how to talk to adults. He also wasn’t afraid to let Jordan shine. Her mother had once noticed him beam when Jordan received news about a newspaper award she’d won. She was convinced that Jordan and Logan were going to get married someday. Which was ridiculous for about a million reasons. Not the least of which was, who even married someone they met in high school anymore?
“Ava still hates him, Mom. But thanks for checking.”
Jordan could never date someone one of her best friends despised.
“All right,” her mom said. “But someday she won’t. I’m just saying, he’s a very nice boy.”
“Noted.”
Her mom finished with her hair and said, “Voilà.” Jordan turned around to look at herself in the mirror. Her stripes were almost entirely hidden underneath other pieces of her hair. It was still possible to notice them but only if you were really looking, and Jordan doubted that a guy with the title of legislative deputy would be really looking.
Martha took the bus to work that afternoon. She was supposed to get a ride from Ava, but Ava had sent some cryptic message that she had to bail because Logan Diffenderfer was ruining her life.
Martha got off at her stop and walked the three blocks to the theater. She was surprised to find the door alrea
dy unlocked. Inside, Victoria greeted her chipperly in her vaguely British accent. “Good afternoon.”
“Did I misread the schedule?” Martha asked, her voice dripping with passive-aggressive annoyance. “I thought I was working today.”
Only one employee was usually scheduled to work on weekday afternoons. Martha couldn’t afford to keep losing out on hours.
“Yes. I mean, yes, you’re working. No would be the answer I should have given. Since you asked if you’d misread the schedule.”
“Huh?” Martha said.
“I’m here to see the movie.” Victoria shifted her weight. She was wearing pink jeans, which Martha didn’t know was a thing people did. “I can pay. Should I pay? Uncle Benny didn’t tell me if we got free tickets or not.”
“We don’t. But I’ll let it slide.”
Martha walked over to the concession area and began setting up. Victoria followed her. “So, how’s it going?” Victoria asked.
Martha hated small talk. “The weather is lovely,” she said flatly, hoping that Victoria would take the hint.
Victoria did not. “Interesting. I find it lovely too. So many people complain about the humidity, but I’ll take it over the dreary cold any day.”
Realizing that they were going to have a conversation whether she liked it or not, Martha decided to at least get some information. “Hey. Can I ask something? Where is your accent from? It’s…” She was going to say “weird” but settled on “tough to pinpoint.”
“Well, my mum is American. But I call her ‘Mum’ because I was born in London. Dad’s British. But we moved to Paris when I was five. I went to an English-speaking school, but my teachers were mostly Canadians. After Paris, it was London again. Then here.”
“How do you do all that and end up in Cleveland?”