by Sarah Watson
“He’ll do it.”
Relief flooded through Ava like a wave. Her mind hadn’t been ready to admit how badly she wanted this, but her body apparently knew. “Thank god,” she said quietly.
Logan shifted. “Before I tell him to go ahead, I just want to make sure. I mean, make sure you’re sure. Carl, that’s the investigator, he was telling me how complicated these kinds of cases are. Not like it would be complicated to find her. But… emotionally. For you. He felt a little weird about doing this for someone so young.”
Everyone thought they knew what was best for her. Her mom, her therapist, and now Carl. “But he will? He’ll do it?”
Logan nodded. “Yeah. But…” Logan shifted again. She’d never seen him so uncomfortable. “Ava, are you sure? This sounds like… a lot.”
“And you think I’m not strong enough?”
“No. Not at all. I know you’re strong enough.”
His eyes met hers and she looked quickly away.
“I’m ready,” Ava said. “This is what I want.”
“Okay. I’ll tell him.”
Ava looked up and saw that Logan was staring at her canvas. She was suddenly embarrassed. The piece was beyond abstract. It was chaotic. Ava felt exposed and vulnerable. She didn’t want Logan to see the frantic and crazy brushstrokes of her frantic and crazy mind.
“It’s not done yet,” she said. “I’m trying something new.”
“It’s cool, though. It’s the jungle gym, right?”
Ava was confused until she looked at her painting. He was absolutely right. The brushstrokes had come together in a way that formed an abstract image of the jungle gym.
“I’ll go call Carl,” Logan said.
After he left, Ava stepped back and looked at her canvas for a long time. Her painting wasn’t crazy at all. It was beautiful.
CJ picked up cones from the gym floor after an afternoon of indoor soccer.
“I think that went well,” Wyatt said.
CJ nodded, though not particularly exuberantly. Dakota was a no-show that day.
Wyatt tilted his head to the side, and CJ got ready for him to say something sage about how they couldn’t force Dakota and that CJ needed to stop being so hard on herself.
“I’m having a crazy thought,” Wyatt said. “Do you have anywhere you need to be right now?”
She shook her head.
“Good. Because I’m thinking we should kidnap Dakota.”
CJ laughed. Until she realized that Wyatt was serious. Then she sighed and got her car keys. Ten minutes later, they pulled up to Dakota’s house.
“We’re not talking about an actual kidnapping, are we?” CJ asked as she put the car in park.
“Next time you agree to a kidnapping, you should probably clarify all the details in advance. Rookie mistake, Clarke.”
The house was small with chipping paint and a front deck that needed some serious work and a garden that was nice and obviously well loved. CJ got out of the car, set up Wyatt’s wheelchair next to the passenger seat, and locked the wheels. She leaned down and he put his arm on her shoulder. “Okay,” he said, once he was in his chair. “Let’s get her.”
The path to the door was smooth and new, put in to accommodate a wheelchair.
“I hate to be practical when it seems like you’re really into the spontaneity of this,” CJ said. “But do you have any idea what we’re actually going to do with her?”
“Not a clue.” He rang the doorbell.
“Have you at least thought about what we’re going to say to her mom?”
Wyatt looked up and to the left. “Hmm. No. But I probably should.”
The door opened before Wyatt could give it much thought. Margaret seemed surprised to see them. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” said Wyatt. “We’re here to kidnap your daughter. I know this sounds strange, and we’re not entirely sure—”
“Take her,” Margaret said. “She’s yours. Oh my god. Please. Take her.” Margaret turned back into the house. “Dakota! Grab your coat!”
Once they had Dakota in the back seat and CJ had figured out how to stack two wheelchairs in the trunk, she backed out of the driveway. “Where am I going?”
“Wherever the road takes us,” said Wyatt.
CJ looked over at him. “I’m driving this car to Baskin-Robbins unless someone has a better idea.”
“I hate ice cream,” said Dakota.
CJ glanced in the rearview mirror and met Dakota’s eye. “I bet that’s not true.”
Dakota folded her arms. “It is true. I’m lactose intolerant.”
Wyatt turned around to face her. “Jeez, kiddo. The chair and no dairy? You got dealt a rough deck.”
“Hey, Dakota,” CJ said. “I was wondering. Why are you in the chair? If it bothers you to talk about it, we don’t have to.”
Wyatt touched CJ’s knee. She knew what the touch meant. He approved of the question. But she didn’t know what it meant that she wished he’d keep his hand there.
Dakota uncrossed her arms. “I assumed my mom told you,” she said quietly.
“No,” CJ said.
Dakota looked out the window. It seemed like she didn’t want to talk about it. It also seemed like she needed to talk about it. “I was born with something. Do you know what spina bifida is?”
“I’ve heard of it,” CJ said. “But I don’t know much. Can you tell me?”
“My spinal cord didn’t form the way it’s supposed to. It never hurt me, though, and I didn’t have any problems. Then last year I grew a lot. I guess that does something or whatever. I was in PE and we were playing volleyball. All of a sudden, my legs felt weird and I looked down and… um… I’d peed. Everyone laughed. Everyone. My best friend laughed. But it wasn’t funny and it wasn’t my fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t your fault,” CJ said.
“I had to have surgery, and they told me that it would fix everything and that I’d be fine. But it didn’t. It made it worse. Like a freak, terrible outcome. And it happened to me. It’s not fair.” CJ glanced into the rearview mirror. Dakota looked down and wouldn’t make eye contact. “Sometimes I still pee when I don’t mean to.” Her voice got soft and timid. “I don’t want everyone at Sensational Recreational to laugh at me.”
CJ and Wyatt traded a look of deep empathy. They’d unlocked it. The reason Dakota wouldn’t set foot, or chair, onto the court.
Wyatt turned around. “They won’t laugh at you, Dakota. I’ll make sure of it. Nobody will laugh at you.”
But they might. CJ couldn’t imagine what it was like to go through everything that Dakota had experienced, but she absolutely knew what it was like to be laughed at. She folded an arm over her stomach in a defensive reflex, a physical guard against a memory that would never go away.
“My best friend laughed,” Dakota said. “She never even came to see me in the hospital. She hasn’t said anything to me since I’ve been back at school.”
CJ glanced into the back seat. “That’s awful.” CJ’s friends never laughed. Ever. When Grayson said that she was so big that she must be a man, Jordan got in his face and whispered, “Jealous much?” The next time he said something like that, Martha punched him. And Ava, sweet, wonderful Ava, was always at CJ’s side to tell her she was beautiful.
Dakota shrugged. “So are we going to do anything or are we just going to drive around like losers?”
“I really am sorry, Dakota,” said CJ. “I’m not excusing it, but I bet your friend is probably really scared and really embarrassed. She doesn’t know what to say or how to act, so she’s on eggshells.”
“And speaking of eggshells…” said Wyatt. “Let’s egg her house.”
“Yes!” Dakota shouted from the back seat.
“No.” CJ looked at Wyatt. “Wyatt, no.”
“Please, CJ.” Dakota sounded more excited than CJ had ever heard her. “Please, please, pleeeeeease.”
Wyatt joined in with her chorus. “Pleeeeease. There’s a CVS right at
the corner. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.”
“Wyatt… I’m not really a rule breaker. And this is… It’s destruction of property… It’s egging a kid. This is a terrible idea.” But when she saw Dakota’s hopeful face in the mirror, it broke her heart just enough that she put on her blinker and pulled into the parking lot.
“Yes!” shrieked Dakota.
Ten minutes later, CJ was alone in the CVS bathroom filling up water balloons. At least she’d managed to talk them out of eggs. There was a knock on the door of the bathroom, and Wyatt peeked his head in. “How’s it going?”
“Fantastic,” CJ said flatly. “I’m alone in here. You can come in.”
Wyatt pushed the door the rest of the way open and rolled up next to her. “You hate this idea, don’t you?”
“I’m not condoning her friend’s behavior. At all. But… I get it. It’s confusing. It’s scary. And she’s only eleven. How can she be expected to deal with this at eleven? I’m seventeen and I can barely deal with it.” CJ felt the tears and tried to push them back. “Part of me wants to kill that kid. But part of me feels like I would have been that kid.” The tears crept out. “I don’t know if I would have handled it any better. I’m every bit as awful. You should throw the water balloons at me.” CJ could feel the tears dripping down her cheeks. She was mortified. “I don’t know why I’m crying. That’s not fair either. She’s the one in the wheelchair and I’m the one crying.”
“Bend,” Wyatt said.
“Huh?”
“You’re too tall. I need you to bend.”
CJ crouched until she was at his eye level. He took a bit of paper towel and used it to dry her tears.
“You’re not awful, Clarke. You never would have laughed.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
They looked at each other for a long moment. His hand was still on her face. She was wondering what it would be like to kiss him. She was almost certain he was wondering the same thing. If she leaned forward, she could find out. But she didn’t. She pulled away.
“Well,” she said, standing up and shaking off the moment, “I guess we should probably get on with this.”
Wyatt was staring at her, but CJ wouldn’t meet his eye. She put all the water balloons in a bag.
“Don’t worry, Clarke. We’re not really going to throw water balloons at a kid. I thought we could just hurl them at trees or something. You on board with that?”
She nodded. Then she held the door for him and followed him out.
Jordan was driving Martha home when she got the text. Since her parents had made her sign an actual legal document swearing that she wouldn’t text and drive, she asked Martha to check the message for her. She regretted it the second that Martha told her who it was from.
“It’s from that political guy, Scott Mercer.” Martha’s voice was filled with surprise. “Why is he texting you?”
“I don’t know. Weird.” Jordan quickly reached for her phone.
They’d been texting a lot. Some of it was professional, but some of it was not. They texted back and forth about what TV shows they were watching. And their hopes and dreams. Casual things like that.
Martha held the phone out of reach. “Don’t you want me to read it?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing important. Don’t worry about it.” She made another grab for the phone and the car swerved as she jerked the steering wheel.
Martha eyed her. “Jordan. What the hell?”
“Nothing,” Jordan said. “I don’t know what he wants.”
“Well, let’s find out.” Martha crammed herself against the window so Jordan couldn’t grab for her phone. As Martha opened the message, Jordan felt an edge of worry. She honestly didn’t know why Scott was texting.
“He says”—Jordan braced herself—“‘Can you be at City Hall tonight? Can’t tell you why over text, but you’ll want to be here for your article.’”
“Oh,” Jordan said. The text was professional. Thank god. “Interesting. Guess I should check that out.”
“Guess so,” Martha said. There was an air of suspicion in her voice. “So I guess we’re not hanging out tonight?”
They were on their way to Martha’s apartment to work on their history project together. “I think I should probably follow this City Hall lead,” Jordan said. “It sounds important. Don’t you think?”
Martha turned and stared at her, deadpan. Jordan was pretty sure she was about to ask her what the hell was going on. But she shrugged instead. “Whatever. Can you drop me at the theater, then?”
“I thought you weren’t working tonight.”
Martha shrugged. “I’m not.” She didn’t elaborate, and Jordan was almost positive that Martha was doing it on purpose. If Jordan was going to have secrets, then so was Martha.
After she dropped Martha off, Jordan rushed home and changed clothes quickly. She grabbed her car keys, then thought better of it. Parking downtown would cost a fortune. She’d have to take the bus.
The bus took forever, and by the time it dropped her off, she was in a rush. Still, she took a moment to pause in front of City Hall and take it in. She’d been there once before. For a school field trip. She’d never seen it at night, all lit up like this. It was spectacular.
Jordan walked up the steps into the building. She didn’t remember it being so grand and inspiring. An American flag fluttered high above her. Walking underneath it made her feel important and humble all at once. She found the elevator and pushed the button for the top floor. Scott was waiting for her when the doors opened.
“Hi,” he said.
Jordan felt her heart pound. “Hi.”
He leaned toward her and put his mouth close to her ear. For a minute, she didn’t know what he was doing. He whispered, “Council chambers. It’s at the end of the hall.” His breath tickled against her hair. “The city council meeting starts in five minutes. You didn’t hear this from me, but the mayor is planning to weigh in on the park. We don’t know what she’s going to say. The developer is nervous. So’s my boss.” He pulled away as someone approached. Jordan tried to look casual. “Go,” Scott said.
Jordan walked briskly down the hall, and her entire body buzzed. Men and women in suits stared into their phones and looked important. Jordan’s heels echoed across the floor. Inside the council chambers, Jordan paused. The mayor and every member of the council sat at a long dais. Jordan no longer felt important. She felt intimidated. She wasn’t sure where she was supposed to sit, and she was too scared to ask so she took a spot in the back row where she wouldn’t be in the way.
The council president started the meeting and introduced the issue of the minimum-wage increase. Jordan’s ears perked up. This was an issue that Martha had been following closely. One of the women at the table (there weren’t many), Councilwoman Morales, read a prepared statement and lobbied passionately for the increase. She was the youngest woman on the council and she wouldn’t let the men cut her off. Jordan wished Martha was here to see this. She wished Ava and CJ were too.
After a few more agenda points, it finally came time to talk about the park. Councilman Lonner summarized where they were in the approval process. He talked about the environmental impact report and stated that nothing in it was concerning. Jordan wasn’t sure if she was allowed to record or not so she took out her notebook and wrote as quickly as she could. She noticed that Councilman Lonner seemed worried as the council president handed the floor over to Mayor Wilhelm. The mayor leaned forward and spoke into the microphone.
“My concern,” she said, with gravitas, “isn’t the environment.” She looked at Councilman Lonner. “It’s the kids who play in that neighborhood. Do we have an impact report to evaluate what the park closure will do to them?” She paused to give him a chance to answer. “It wasn’t a rhetorical question, Councilman. I’d like you to think about that.”
The councilman rambled about looking into it and talking to his community. The mayor remained
calm and completely firm. Scott sat a few rows in front of Jordan, and at one point, he turned and caught her eye. He raised an eyebrow as if to say, This is interesting.
After the meeting ended, Jordan packed up her things and went outside. Scott was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. He wore a long wool coat and his hands were shoved in his pockets. There were still people from the meeting hanging around, so Scott jerked his head slightly, motioning Jordan around the corner to where it was private. Once they were out of sight, he spoke. “Well?” he asked. “What did you think of it?”
For the first time since all of this had started, Jordan felt hope. “Mayor Wilhelm seriously put your boy in his place. I think he heard her.”
“No comment,” Scott said with a smile. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I took the bus. You can walk me to the stop.”
He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. She could see his breath in the chill of the evening. “It’s way too cold to wait for the bus,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.”
“Thanks,” she said.
They walked to his car, and he opened the door for her. CJ and Martha both thought that sort of thing was sexist and old-fashioned, but Jordan didn’t mind. She thought it was sweet. She sat down and pulled the seat belt across her chest.
“So,” Scott said, sliding into the driver’s seat, “where do you live?”
Before the question was even out of his mouth, Jordan realized she had a major problem.
“Uh,” Jordan said, starting to panic. “Um…” This was not good. This was not good at all. There was no way she could let him see where she lived. Unless she could come up with a really good explanation why a freelance journalist could afford to live in a very large four-bedroom ranch-style house.
“Address?” he prodded. His phone was out and his GPS was ready.
“Uh… um… my address…”
“Yes,” he said, not understanding why she was being so weird. “Your address. That would be helpful.”