by Penny Reid
Monday morning, I’d placed it on the counter in the school office and left before anyone saw me, reassuring myself that the school secretary would spot it and make a point of returning the jacket to him. Everyone knew that she and Bethany Winston—Billy’s momma—were good friends. It would be a shame when she retired next year.
This cleverness saved me from figuring out how to return the jacket to Billy without just shoving or throwing it at him as we passed each other in the hall. Although, randomly throwing Billy Winston’s letterman jacket at him would’ve been pretty darn funny. Just thinking about it made me laugh. He’d probably look at me like I was crazy. Picturing his typically stoic face all discombobulated—like he was last Friday afternoon—had me laughing harder.
Anyway. Problem solved.
The rest of Monday had been mostly uneventful. I’d walked to my first class and kept my head down as usual. But there was only so much blending in a person could do when they had hair the color of a baboon’s ass. Speedwalking around a group of girls, I heard their chatter stop followed by a frenzy of whispers in my wake.
I didn’t think it was my imagination. Actually, I was sure it wasn’t my imagination. Ever since Ben McClure had pulled me through the cafeteria by my hand two weeks ago, folks had been whispering whenever they spotted me. I’d hoped it was temporary. I’d hoped they’d forget already. And I hated that my hair made me so recognizable. It was a shame we weren’t allowed to wear hats at school.
The chorus room had reopened by Monday, so I ate my lunch in there, squeezing between chairs and out of Mrs. McClure’s view. She’d been so nice to me when Ben had brought me to their lunch, I’d been feeling shy around her since. Truly, I would’ve found another place to eat, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go. No matter. I made myself as invisible as possible and perfected eating without making a sound.
Thankfully (but also disturbingly), on Wednesday of this week, Prince King and some of the other Wraith kids caused a stir during gym class and were expelled for good. Something about taking one of the CPR dummies, hanging it by the climbing rope about the neck, and pinning Cletus Winston’s name on the shirt. Someone had witnessed the whole thing and ratted them out.
I didn’t know who would’ve dared to turn them over, but I was impressed by the bravery required and whispered a prayer for his or her safety. It goes without saying, whoever it was, they definitely needed to watch their back.
Prince King’s mischief and punishment meant that everybody had something new to gossip about, and now I was breathing easier.
Presently, taking a moment to study my . . . well, I guess my friend Cletus, I felt my lips twist to the side. “How’d you know I have to go to the library after school?” I had two papers that needed writing and no computer at home. Obviously.
“Oh? You have to go to the library after school? Good. I’ll walk you.”
“Cletus.”
“Or you can walk me, if you prefer.”
He always did this, so I said what I always said, “Fine. How about we walk together?”
“That works.” He backed away, pointing at me with both his index fingers, fake whispering again, “I’ll meet you at the west door after school and I’ll bring snacks.”
“Not beef jerky.” I made a face of distaste. He was always bringing beef jerky as a snack and I couldn’t stand it.
“Meat sticks are a fine snack, Scarlet.” Cletus seemed affronted.
“But you keep it in your pocket and it gets warm.” If it wasn’t warm, I would’ve eaten it.
“What do you have against warm meat?”
I glared at him. Now he was being gross. “You are gross.” Boys are gross. Except Ben.
He frowned thoughtfully. “Sure, some sticks of meat are more like a meal, and I can understand your reluctance to consume such a large quantity all at once. But you just have to get used to the flavor, and you’ll want it all the time.”
Impulsively, I threw the notebook I was holding at him. “You are gross, and I have no interest in your warm meat stick.”
Turning, he strolled down the hall, calling over his shoulder, “Well if you change your mind, I’ll have it in my pocket for you.”
“Ugh!” I scrunched my face, laughing despite myself and shaking my head.
I hardly saw Cletus, we rarely spoke, probably because I was so good at hiding and he had no desire to. But he always seemed to know when I needed to go to the library to write a paper or do research, and that’s when I saw him. He probably considered himself my bodyguard or something.
Finished with my locker, I shut the door and walked to the notebook I’d tossed at Cletus, picking it up, dusting it off, and making a tally of all the things I needed to do before leaving school for the weekend—including picking up a bag of food from Ms. Dee in the cafeteria—so I didn’t see Carla Creavers until she was right in front of me.
“Carla.” I took a half step back, surprised to see the brunette. She never talked to me at school. Like most of the Wraith kids and everyone else, she gave me a wide berth.
“Scarlet. You meeting Cletus after school?” Her voice was shaky, her usually golden brown skin was pale-ish, and her brown eyes darted all over the place, like she expected Freddy Krueger to jump out of a locker.
I shook my head, confused by her anxious demeanor, but also, How could she possibly know I’m meeting Cletus after school? “Uh—”
“I just heard y’all. You mind if I walk with you?”
It’s not that I minded, but Cletus might’ve.
First, she was the daughter of one of my daddy’s top lieutenants. Cletus helped her out sometimes with lunch money or things like that, but I didn’t think he liked her company much. Because second, she had a huge crush on him. For Carla, that meant she was always trying to make him jealous, and usually by getting herself in a bad way with Prince King.
Anyway. Let’s just say, I was certain any warm feelings were one-sided.
“Uh—”
“Cletus won’t mind. But it’d be good if we didn’t walk on the road. I don’t want folks to see.”
“S—sure. Yeah. Fine.” I never took the road, so this was okay by me.
“West door, right? Just outside.” She glanced over her shoulder again, her eyes darting around the empty hall. Not waiting for me to respond, she turned abruptly and called back, “I’ll be there.”
The walk to my campsite from school was four miles as the crow flies, and that’s how I went most days, like a bird.
I could’ve walked on the side of the road, but that wouldn’t have made any sense. Taking roads to my campsite was much, much longer, twelve miles to be exact. Also, the trail was one of my making, not something others knew about. Walking in the woods gave me cover, kept me from being easily spotted or picked up by one of my father’s men. As far as I knew, he wasn’t looking for me, but better to be safe than sorry.
My trail’s entrance was located on the far side of the student parking lot. But once I was on the trail, I was home free. You couldn’t take a car on the path, or a motorcycle, or a regular mountain bike either. Half the walk was uphill, blocked by large roots, fallen trees, and a few streams—wider than a creek, not as big as a river. If someone followed me in, I’d lose them. No one was as fast as me in the woods, or as good on rocky terrain.
Well, no one but Billy Winston, apparently. But that was beside the point. I hadn’t seen him all week, and he wasn’t likely to chase me around the woods again anytime soon.
My point is, the only way through the trail was on foot. Since I had feet, and I was fast, and I knew every tree and shrub and ditch and stream, it was one place I felt safe and content.
However, sometimes, like today when I couldn’t go home straightaway because I needed to stop by the library first and wait in line to use a computer, I longed for a bike. The library was in the opposite direction of the campsite and twelve or so miles on a bike was much better than walking, even if I did have to use the road.
Yep. Afterwa
rd, the walk home was sure to be brutal. But looking on the bright side, I’d be so tired when I got home, I’d sleep great tonight no matter the temperature. Plus, the Green Valley Library was warm. Bonus, if Mrs. MacIntyre was out or on vacation, Mrs. Winston and Ms. Winters would make us kids hot chocolate while we did our homework. I liked that.
But first, I had to get through this awkward mile walk with Carla and Cletus.
“You seem like you want to say something, Carla,” Cletus said from my left. He’d placed me between them.
“I do.” She looked over her shoulder for the millionth time. “Just, let’s get further away from the school.”
Cletus and I glanced at each other, his eyebrows disappearing into the mess of hair on his forehead. “Any new jokes you care to share, Scarlet?”
“A few.” I kicked a rock off the trail and noticed I had I hole in my shoe, right under the big toe. Damn. I knew the rubber was getting thin, but . . . Damn.
“Well. Tell me.” He nudged me with his elbow, drawing my eyes to his.
“Tell you what?”
“A joke.” He glanced between me and my feet. “What’s wrong?”
I shoved away the frown that wanted to take over my face and arranged for a smile instead. “Nothing, just thinking.” I couldn’t tell Cletus about the hole, because then he’d want to buy me shoes. He did this with everybody, and I doubted his momma’s paycheck was enough to feed and clothe all the needy kids in Green Valley.
I was already camping in their old tent, using their old blankets thanks to his oldest brother, Jethro. Even if none of them but Jethro—and now Billy—knew my situation, I wouldn’t take more advantage of the Winstons.
“So, a joke.” I mentally thumbed through the latest ones I’d made up. “Okay. What did the peanut butter say to the grape jelly when she asked him to the dance?”
“Grape jelly asked peanut butter to a dance? How would that work? They’re both viscous liquids.”
“It’s a joke, dummy. Just say, ‘What?’”
“Fine. What?”
“No thanks. You’re not my jam.”
Cletus wrinkled his nose, but he cracked a reluctant smile. “It needs work.”
“It’s still in progress. I feel like I need to add music somehow, so jam means jelly, music, and preference all at the same time.”
“Maybe you could talk to Beau. He makes up jokes too. And he’s—”
“Okay, y’all. Shut up a sec.” Carla put her hand on my arm, bringing me to a stop and looking around the woods. After a long moment, she heaved a watery sigh and looked between us. “I need your help.” She looked like she was about to cry.
“What is it?” Cletus stood straighter, because she’d said Cletus’s version of the magic words. I need your help.
“You know how someone turned in Prince and the other kids on Wednesday? Someone who was there?” she whispered, stepping closer to Cletus. “Well, it was me. I ratted them out.”
Both Cletus and I flinched away and now suddenly I was glancing around at the woods, the hairs on the back of my neck standing tall. Shit.
“Do they know?” I asked, fighting not to become frantic.
She shook her head, looking an alarming shade of green. “No. They think it was someone else, not one of the Wraith kids. But if they find out it was me . . .” Her big blue eyes drifted to Cletus. “Help me. I don’t know what to do.”
“I will,” he said immediately, putting his arm around her shoulder. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
She turned toward his chest, her chin wobbling. Meanwhile, I gave Cletus a stern look, because he was making silly promises he couldn’t keep. I didn’t want to scare her, but—
“And how’re you gunna do that, Cletus? Once her daddy finds out, and he will, there’s no place a hundred miles around here she’ll be safe. Ratting on The Family? This is a beating, if she’s lucky.”
Carla made a sound of distress, now fully crying, and she should. She still lived at the compound. She’d been beaten before, so she knew what was coming. Cletus held her tight and leveled me with a thoughtful frown, his intelligent eyes determined.
I wanted to laugh. No amount of determination was going to change the facts: Carla was in serious shit, and now so were we because we knew.
“We’ll just make sure they don’t find out,” Cletus reasoned, whispering non-comically for once.
I paced away, dropping my backpack and shoving my fingers into my hair. Damn. “Dammit!”
I wanted to ask her what she was thinking, but I thought maybe I already knew. She wanted to impress Cletus. She wanted to help him. She expected him to be impressed, and then what? He’d like her?
What a fool.
“That’s not how things work for people like us,” I muttered under my breath, the air in my lungs bitter with despair. My mind didn’t even try to look on the bright side of this. There was no bright side. This was a dumpster fire of assholes and arsenic.
Sure, people might pity kids like Carla and me, but they didn’t ever actually care about us. Pity was not compassion. I understood that, I got it. Clearly, she did not. We were unfortunate charity projects, worthy of what other folks were willing to give, which was usually just a sympathetic glance and a Whatcha gunna do?
And that’s it.
So, yes, I took charity when it was offered. I took it to survive, so I might pull myself above this ditch of unworthiness. I might get passed a rope every so often, but it was always going to be me using my own two hands to claw myself out.
What I didn’t do was build myself a shovel to make the hole deeper!
“Calm down, Scarlet,” Cletus whispered kindly. “We’ll figure it out.”
I spun on him. “Easy for you to say, Cletus. Your momma loves you. You got brothers and a sister that care about you!” I wasn’t going to cry, but my throat was closing up. I had to clear it to continue. “But Carla? She’s got a daddy who likes beating on women and a momma who’s too strung out to know she’s got a daughter. She’s got no one.”
He seemed to be trying to form a cocoon around her, which was exactly the wrong thing to do. What he needed to do was shove her off and teach her to be strong, teach her to fight. Not coddle her, not give her a false sense of security. Now she might think he would keep her safe and take care of her.
Don’t get me wrong, Cletus cared. Just like he might care about anyone else in the same situation. He cared deeply, and then he went home to his comfortable house, and comfortable bed, and food on the table, and a momma who loved him something fierce.
While Carla and me? Well, let’s just say, this is why you don’t pet strays. You don’t teach them to expect gentleness. Getting their hopes up just ends up being an unkindness instead, in the end.
My breath spilled out of me, my nose stinging, my bones feeling like they were on fire, my heart feeling like it might crack in half, and I wanted to scream.
But I wouldn’t.
“This ain’t my problem,” I said on a rush, crossing back to my backpack and slinging it over my shoulder. “I don’t know anything. This ain’t my problem.”
“Hey.” Cletus stepped away from Carla quick as lightening and caught my arm. “Where are you going?”
I shook him off. “I’m going to the library. I have two papers to write.”
His eyes searched mine. “You’re no coward.”
I laughed. “You’re wrong, Cletus. You’re so wrong. I am the biggest coward you’ll ever meet. But you know what? I’ll survive.”
A flash of what looked like disappointment and hurt passed behind Cletus’s gaze, his eyebrows pinching and lifting on his forehead. “You’re no coward,” he repeated firmly, as though just saying so could make it true.
I shook my head. If he was disappointed in me, so be it. I’d rather be a disappointment than a canvas for my father’s cruelty.
Carla’s croaky voice interrupted. “Wait, there’s something else.” She came to stand next to Cletus, wrapping both her arms around
his bicep, but her wide eyes were on me. “Your daddy, he heard about Ben McClure and you.”
My stomach fell to my feet and the world tilted. “What?” I breathed the question, more air than sound.
Cletus’s hand gripped my elbow, presumably to keep me from falling over.
“Prince told his daddy about it, and Raymond King told Romeo and Razor.” Cletus grew still and Carla lifted her eyes to him, her gaze apologetic. “I’m sorry, I mean, Darrell Winston and Razor.”
His eyelids lowered by half. Cletus glanced away, and I could see he was working on keeping his temper. Romeo was his daddy’s club name and it always had been—even when Mr. and Mrs. Winston weren’t separated. For obvious reasons, none of the Winstons liked hearing it.
“He don’t like it, Scarlet,” Carla continued, her eyes red from crying. “Your daddy wants you brought in.”
I couldn’t concentrate on divine right monarchs of Europe because I was scared.
Strategies that worked for other stuff—like sadness or hunger, or anger or being so cold my teeth wouldn’t quit knocking together—never worked when I was scared. Nothing worked.
Maybe I should just go up there and try to smooth things over. If I went up there on my own, calling it a visit, and told my father the truth, that nothing was going on with Ben and me, then maybe he’d let the whole thing drop and that would be that.
My daddy and his men had mostly left me alone since September. I’d moved out of the biker compound in the middle of August and left him a note, saying I was going to try living on my own for a bit. I’d left the note so he wouldn’t think I was being willful.
He didn’t like that and cornered me outside the library on a Friday afternoon. He didn’t ask where I was staying, but once he figured out I was truly living on my own and not accepting charity, or staying with some random family, he let me be. For a while.
