by Bridget Farr
“And what would the world do without Goth Boy?” I don’t know why I’m being so mean, but I can’t stop myself.
Mr. Ramirez’s sudden presence near our desks stops our conversation, but Hamilton’s hurt lingers. We each go back to our double bubble map comparing and contrasting Stephen F. Austin with Sam Houston, but it’s not even thirty seconds before Piper is off again.
“Goth Boy is great, so we could do variations on his look. Maybe day versus night for Goth Boy? Or Goth Boy Glam for prom or something?”
“Or Goth Boy Golden Glow for his days at the beach.… Oh wait, Goth Boy doesn’t sunbathe,” I say mockingly. “How’d he deal with a tan?”
Piper chooses to ignore me. So does Hamilton.
“Can you come over tonight?” Piper asks, doodling a rainbow on the edge of her paper. “We can pick up some makeup from Target after school and then shoot the video. It’ll be great! My dad can order pizza. Do you want to use my phone to text your mom?” She digs around in her backpack for the phone she isn’t supposed to have at school.
“Well… I don’t know about tonight,” Hamilton says, his eyes darting to me. “Maybe tomorrow?”
“It has to be tonight, or we’ll lose the attention.”
“It’s just…,” Hamilton says, his face pained, as he clearly wants to say yes. I decide to end his problems for him.
“Film it tonight,” I say.
“But it’s our last chance to practice with Meridee,” Hamilton whispers, leaning closer to me so Piper can’t hear.
“Practice what?” she asks, leaning over, too.
“I can do it.” I add another circle to my map. “She’s ready to go. And Piper’s right. You don’t want to lose the attention.”
“But I want to…”
“Just make your video, Goth Boy. Your fans need you.”
I focus on my paper, surprised by the tingling wetness at the corners of my eyes.
“Hamilton. Pavi. Piper. You three need to find new seats.” Mr. Ramirez sighs as he walks toward us.
“But we weren’t even talking,” Piper whines, and Mr. Ramirez gives her the look of every teacher who’s been challenged on something so obvious: tilted head, lips pursed as if to say, “Really? Really?”
Mr. Ramirez drops our lyrics project onto the center of our desks. The glaring purple 82 stares at all of us, the happy-go-lucky color not making me feel any better than if it was red ink. It’s worse seeing it in person.
“I’m not moving, since I wasn’t the one talking last,” Piper says as she glares at me. “And I wasn’t in charge of typing that project, so, really, that shouldn’t be reflected in my grade.”
“It’s called a group project for a reason. Group work. Group grade.” Mr. Ramirez folds his arms across his chest. “And I don’t care who moves as long as you each find seats where you can be productive.”
I pick up my papers, not having the energy to argue.
“I’m going to come with you,” Hamilton says as I stand up and push in my chair.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine on my own.”
I find an empty desk in the front of the room, underneath the old TV that looks like it could fall off the wall and squash me at any second. Hamilton sits down beside the girl with gray lipstick, and Piper preens from the desk she never left. I catch Hamilton’s eye for a second before turning to my notebook and the practically empty bubble map.
I can do this alone. I can do all of it alone.
FINAL PREPARATIONS
The bus stinks. Everyone inside is varying levels of damp due to the light sprinkling outside. The heater being used for the first time this season makes it smell like old closet. I can feel my temperature rising as I sit crammed between two elderly ladies in puffy coats that are meant for the snow we’ll never see here. I sprinted to the bus stop after school, and now my sweaty stink adds to the garbage-dump mixture of the bus. Thankfully, I’ll be at Crossroads in a couple of blocks.
I lean my head back against the window, the metal edge cutting into my neck. Meridee is going to ask for Hambone. She’ll want to know where he is, why he didn’t come to play Ouch with her. She’s already without her mom, and soon she’ll leave her new Crossroads friends. Now she has to lose Hambone, too? I knew I shouldn’t have let him help. My clients have serious problems and can’t be dropped the minute something better comes along.
And it’s not like I needed him anyway: I made the plan. I researched all the symptoms and their correct order. Haven’t I learned anything from years of being on my own? If you want it done well, you’ve got to do it yourself. If you want it done at all, even badly, you have to do it yourself. You’re on your own. I can’t believe I let myself think otherwise.
At my stop, I mutter a thank-you to the driver, grateful the rain has cleared and the sun is starting to break through the gray clouds. I wait for the bus to move before crossing the street, a lesson I learned in one of my first Crossroads workshops on independence. Once an older man finds the right change, the doors close and the bus rumbles past, splashing gutter water onto my shoes.
Then I see him. Across the street, standing beside the chain-link fence is Hamilton, his backpack and his baritone beside him.
“Pavi. Sharma. Get over here!” Hamilton stands with one hand on his hip, the other pointing down at the sidewalk beside him. I look both ways before crossing toward him, keeping my head down, since I’m not ready to make eye contact. Up close, his face is red like a cartoon character ready to blow steam out of its ears. He drops his arms to his sides and stares at me, a dark cloud brewing behind those red glasses.
“Did you walk here?” I ask, and he rolls his eyes, something I’ve never seen him do before. The movement is even more dramatic with his eyes lined in black.
“How would I have beaten you here on foot? Piper’s dad gave me a ride, though he didn’t really want to drop me off in this part of town. I told him I was doing community service.”
“What about Piper’s video?”
“What ABOUT Piper’s video?” Hamilton shouts, his hands flying into the air like a symphony conductor signaling the first note. “You turned that stupid video into this huge deal, and for what? Nothing! Yes, I made a video that became popular. Yes, I enjoyed my celebrity status for the afternoon. Yes, I agreed to let Piper put waterproof makeup on me in the bathroom during lunch and now I might be having a slight allergic reaction, but that doesn’t matter because I am not a bad guy for having fun!”
He takes a deep breath and adjusts his glasses.
“You didn’t—” I try, but he cuts me off.
“And it is NOT okay for you to just kick me out of this operation, because it is not a real company and you are not a real boss, so you can’t fire me! Also, I didn’t even do anything to compromise the state of the mission! This is my project, too, and you can’t just tell me not to be a part of it. You don’t get to do it by yourself! I am here and I am going to help Meridee as Goth Boy or as Hambone, but it doesn’t matter what she calls me, because what matters is her! And teaching her to properly fake the symptoms of appendicitis! So, no more telling me I’m out. Got it?”
Stunned, I only manage to nod.
“Now, let’s get in there and make this girl sick!”
Hamilton slugs his backpack over his shoulders and grabs the baritone by the middle, bending his knees to lift it up. He takes one step before bumping into the closed gate.
“Let me help you,” I say as I slide past him, opening the gate and grabbing the bottom of the baritone. Together, we move to the front entry, resting the baritone on the step as I open the main door.
The front office is quiet again. I lean over the counter and see a half-drunk cup of coffee and two leftover bites of a Snickers bar atop a stack of manila folders. Lenny must be here somewhere. I am in no mood to talk to him.
“Hey there, Pav,” Lenny says as he rounds the corner, a large cardboard box obscuring his face. I grab his coffee cup and the Snickers bar from the desk befo
re he plops the box down on top of the folders. “Thanks!”
He tosses the last piece of candy in his mouth, chomping away as he sorts through the box of papers. Hamilton is trying to hide behind the edge of the wall, rubbing at the black eyeliner.
“Hey, man, who’re you?” Lenny leans around the edge of the counter, and I realize he hasn’t met Hamilton yet. We don’t have time for them to get to know each other, or for Hamilton to begin his barrage of questions, so I quickly take over.
“This is my foster brother, Hamilton.…”
“Nice to meet you.”
“So you live with Pavi, huh? Hopefully she doesn’t boss you around too much?”
“Saying ‘bossy’ is antigirl, but she does like things done right, especially when it comes to her busi—”
“We need to get home before the rain really starts,” I say as I step behind Hamilton, placing my hands on his shoulders and directing him to the hallway door. “Can you buzz us through so we can see Meridee? I want to say good-bye before she goes tonight.”
Lenny gives me a strange look. “I didn’t know you knew her that well.”
“I’ve been spending some time with her. I remember my first time in the shelter.”
Lenny nods, his face softening. Foster care words affect shelter staff, too.
“Can we leave this here?” I say, gesturing toward the baritone, and Lenny nods.
“Whatever you need, Pav.”
The door buzzes, and I reach past Hamilton to turn the knob and push it open.
“Nice look, man,” Lenny says to Hamilton.
“Thanks! You can find the tutorial at SparkleGirl—” I shove Hamilton before he can finish, closing the door behind me. “Thanks for making me seem like an antisocial weirdo,” Hamilton says as he wriggles out of my grasp. “I didn’t even get to explain all this.” He swirls his palm in front of his face.
“Let Goth Boy’s look speak for itself. We don’t have time to talk. Her caseworker will be here to get her soon.”
We don’t find Meridee in the playroom or in the den. I leave Hamilton on the back steps while I run across to see if she’s in the girls’ dorms. I search the rooms, even checking under the twin bed frames in case she’s using an escape I tried, too. My heart starts to accelerate when I don’t find her in the bathroom or in the closets. I hope we’re not too late.
“She’s not in there,” I yell as I return to the backyard. Hamilton’s sitting on the step, Meridee standing below him so she’s eye level. As I walk toward them, Meridee scans Hamilton’s face, her nose centimeters from his skin, her mouth in tight consideration. She delicately picks up a glittered strand of clumped hairs, holding it away from Hamilton’s head before letting it fall. She lets out a giggle.
“You look weird, Hambone.”
Hamilton laughs. “That’s okay. Weird is good.”
She squats down and looks up at him. “Weird is weird.”
“Weird is wonderful,” Hamilton says as he leans toward her, googling his eyes and sticking out his tongue. She giggles and reaches out to touch his pale cheeks.
“Okay, you two weirdos. We don’t have long, and we need to play Ouch one more time.”
“Do you have candy?” Meridee asks, and I nod. She races ahead to the grass by the swing set, and Hamilton and I hurry to follow her, taking a seat in the same circle we made yesterday. The grass is still damp, but we don’t have time to worry about that. Without pulling out his notebook, Hamilton starts going through the symptoms, giving subtle corrections and adjustments like a sculptor perfecting his masterpiece.
“Eyes closed a little more,” he corrects. “Hands a little lower on your belly.”
Meridee repeats each of his moves, occasionally reaching out to squeeze his hand before sitting back in the grass. Together they frown and groan, holding their stomachs and tilting their heads back in mock pain. She looks good. She can actually pull this off.
After twenty minutes of practice, I realize it’s time. I swallow back the guilt that fills my throat as I think about what I am going to say next.
“Okay, Meridee. That was great.” I hand her the last Tootsie Roll and watch her sticky fingers twist the ends of the wrapper, dropping the candy into her palm. “Remember how tonight you’re going to sleep somewhere else? At a new house?”
Meridee frowns. “I want to go home.”
“I know you do. And do you know how you get to go home?”
She shakes her head sadly. I give her a cheerleader smile.
“I do! Do you want to learn how to do it?”
She pops to her knees, nodding her head like the bobblehead Jane Austen on Marjorie’s front dash.
“The lady who comes to see you sometimes is going to come here and take you to the new house. You’re going to be really quiet and put your hands on your tummy. You’re going to get ready to play Ouch, but you can’t get started until you get out of the car, okay? That’s the rules.”
“That’s the rules,” she repeats, looking over at Hamilton.
“That’s the rules,” he echoes.
“And when you get to the new house, you’re going to play Ouch but all by yourself. Do you know what things to do first?”
She nods, putting her hands on her stomach and groaning slightly, her eyes squinting. After a few seconds, she breaks into a huge grin.
“Good, good,” I tell her, and Hamilton gives her a high five. “The lady isn’t going to do Ouch like Hambone; she’s going to play by saying, ‘Are you sick, Meridee?’” I do my best old-lady voice and she laughs. I shouldn’t make her laugh. She has to be serious. “And when she asks you, then you do the next step of Ouch. Do you know the next one?”
She blows out her cheeks, lunging over as if she’s about to puke. When she brings her head up, she lets her lip hang heavy, her brow furrowed. “I’m gonna vomit.”
“We should have taught her to say ‘throw up’ instead of ‘vomit,’” Hamilton whispers. “What kid says ‘vomit’?”
“Too late now.” I give Meridee a huge smile and a thumbs-up.
“She wants you to stay at the new house, but you just keep playing Ouch until you’re back in the car. Then she’s gonna take you to the hospital and it will be so fun there! You’ll get Jell-O and special pajamas!”
“Red Jell-O?”
“Yeah!” I say.
“I love Jell-O!”
“Me too!” I continue. “And once you get to the hospital, then you can stop playing Ouch. Nice nurses are going to come see you, and then you say you feel better, okay? You don’t play Ouch anymore, okay? You DO NOT play Ouch in the hospital.”
“Got it, Meridee?” Hamilton says, leaning toward her. “You play Ouch in the car and at the house but not. At. The hospital.”
“Where do you play Ouch?” I ask again.
“At the car and the house!”
“Yes,” I say. “And where do you never, ever, ever play Ouch?”
“At the hospital!”
We all cheer, Meridee looking back and forth between us to take in our approval.
“And if you play right, Ouch in the car and at the house, and no more Ouch at the hospital, then…” I take a deep breath, feeling awful about what I’m going to say next. “Then you’ll get to stay with Mama again. But she won’t come if you don’t play right.”
I force myself to look at the fear in her eyes, feeling tears spring into mine. I remember that desire, the overwhelming panic that I would never see Ma’s face again. I try to swallow. This is something I had to do. I would never, never say this to a regular client, but she can’t make a mistake tonight.
“So you have to play right, okay?”
Meridee nods. I grab my backpack and set it in my lap. Meridee leans forward to watch me unzip the top pocket. I pull out a small red sock with lace trim around the top.
“This is for you,” I tell Meridee, and she scrunches up her nose.
“You’re giving her a sock?” Hamilton asks.
“It’s a lucky soc
k. I had it when I was a little girl and it helped me be safe, so I want you to have it.” I reach in my backpack and pull out the more practical gifts I have. “Here’s some granola bars and some fruit snacks.”
I don’t know what she’ll eat when she gets to the Nickersons’. No one ever made dinner for me when I lived there. Most times he’d leave different boxes of cereal on the counter and a carton of milk in the fridge. Sometimes it smelled a little sour, and I would eat the cereal plain, tossing it into my mouth like popcorn.
I tuck the snacks into the sock, stretching it out so that it will never fit her tiny foot. The sole is already threadbare from the years I actually wore it. I’ve kept it in my pillowcase every night since, an embarrassing security sock to help me fall asleep. It smelled like home for a long time. It doesn’t anymore.
“It’s time for us to go now,” I tell Meridee as I zip up my backpack and sling it over my shoulders. Hamilton rushes to stand up beside me, and for a second, Meridee sits below us, looking smaller than she actually is. I can’t look at her anymore.
“You can stay out here until Lenny comes and gets you, but remember, Ouch in the car and at the new house…”
“But never, ever at the hospital!” she finishes for me.
“That’s right. You got it.”
“High five!” she shouts, and Hamilton and I both lean down to give her a high five. “Another one, Hambone!”
Hamilton gives her palm another slap.
“Another one!” she says, leaning toward him.
“You’ll get another one after you get back from the hospital, okay?”
She sinks back down in the grass, a frown erasing her smile.
“Go,” I whisper to Hamilton, and he takes one small step before I give him a shove.
“Ouch in the car and at the house,” he yells over his shoulder.
“And never, ever, ever at the hospital,” she replies.
We take two more steps and leave her. Now she has to do it on her own.
Hamilton and I are quiet as we sit side by side on the back seat of the bus.
“What do we do now?” he asks as he wipes his eye, shoving his glasses so high on his nose they crunch against his eyebrows. I want to say I don’t know, because that’s the truth.
