Alma Underwood Is Not A Kleptomaniac

by Lacey Dailey

  “So how do you know he won’t show up asking around?”

  “Josh isn’t pushy.” I lift my head. “I also promised to call him twice a week.”

  Her fingers slip between mine. “I’m proud of you, Rumor. That must’ve felt great, hearing from him.”

  “It was awesome, Ace.” His voice was like the raft that kept me from sinking. “After he bitched at me the first time–– and then bitched at me again–– we just talked. Like we used to. He told me his class schedule, and I told him about the GED. We were just shooting the shit back and forth about skateboarding and the sludge his sister keeps making him taste test for her culinary class. The whole conversation just slowed me down, ya know? Made me feel––"

  “Like you could do anything?”

  “Yeah. I guess after hearing he wasn’t absolving me from his life, I was so compelled to find my mom, telling you about my phone call with Josh just didn’t matter anymore. I was on top of the world.” I run my thumb across her knuckles. “And then I woke up the next morning and it sort of felt like the world was on top of me.”

  She palms my face, and I lean into the touch. The tips of her fingers trail down my neck, whispering across my skin— a barely there touch I’m afraid will disappear if I breathe too hard. The touch continues up and over my shoulder, sweeping down my back. I close my eyes and imagine the butterfly kisses she’s drawing with the tip of her finger.

  And then she’s pulling me close. Our chests meet, her cheek falling against my shoulder. I let go of her hand to fist the back of her shirt, forcing her closer. Putting my nose to her neck, I breathe.

  She smells like home.

  “You don’t have to do this. Not tonight.”

  I shiver at her breath moving down my neck. “Yes, I do.”

  “Hey!”

  We jerk apart with the yell. Peering over Alma’s shoulder, I welcome Shepherd’s glare.

  Worth it.

  “What are you guys doing?” Shepherd grinds.

  Arthur makes a tsking noise. “Looks to me like they’re studying for the GED.”

  Alma curses under her breath and then whips a pack of sticky notes at him.

  “Team Slytherin is losing by a lot,” Jackson announces, scanning the pile of yearbooks we haven’t even opened.

  My ears perk up. “This is a competition?”

  “Winner gets a gift card to Doggy Style sponsored by Doggy Style.”

  Alma’s brows dip. “You bought a gift card for this?”

  “No. They donated it.” He shrugs, uncapping a pen. “I told them it was for my handless friend searching for his mother.”

  I bark a laugh.

  Alma throws her hand over her mouth as if it will tame her giggle. She holds up a yearbook. “Are you ready to win this thing?”

  Translation: are you ready to find your mom?

  “Ready.”

  I shake out my limbs and flip open a yearbook. She flashes me a million-dollar smile, and I almost keel over.

  Every time she smiles at me, I can’t decide if I’m dying or getting more life pushed into me.

  Alma Underwood doesn’t give out counterfeit smiles. There is nothing more real than the curve of her lips and the radiance in her eyes as she stares at me.

  “Rumor?” She waves her hand in front of my eyes. “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing.” I lie, flipping a page. “Let’s find my mother.”

  15

  If You Were A Star

  Alma

  When I was a kid I asked my parents to get me wings because there was nothing I wanted more than to fly.

  Then I met Rumor, and I discovered what it’s like to soar.

  It’s euphoric, really. To feel so weightless in the presence of another. Rumor draws the breath right out of my lungs and then gives it back with his laugh and the way he says my name.

  “Alma.”

  Yes. Just like that.

  I turn, resting my head in the crook of my elbow. “Hm?”

  “Are we supposed to be up here?”

  “On top of Mo? Absolutely not.”

  He smiles, and I’m floating–– right next to the butterflies that appeared when he did.

  “What if someone catches us?”

  “We run.”

  He laughs with no limitations or reservations. It’s full throated and choppy, the type of laugh that makes his sides crumple up and forehead pinch. It’s his happy sound, and there is nothing better.

  For the moment, his shoulders are free of weight and the burden of the future. His mind is vacant and at peace. I revel in seeing him this way because I know it won’t last long.

  His brain will catch up to the night’s events, and it won’t be nice to him. The heart resting inside his chest will suffer, and he’ll fight the tremble of his chin.

  I’m defenseless in the face of his past and the pain that still lingers there. I attempt to shield him anyway, walking side by side down the road he chose, putting my own on hold because there’s nowhere else I’d choose to be.

  “If you were a star, you’d be the brightest one.” He tells me, hand behind his head as he gazes into a phenomena of dark and light. “You wouldn’t need the other stars to light the way but you’d make them feel like you did anyway.”

  I look up at the stars above us, dotting the dark sky for miles. “If you were a star, you’d be the rare one everyone looks for, only appearing for something special.”

  “I’ll always appear for you.”

  “What if we were both stars?”

  “I’d wish for the sun to never rise again.”

  I don’t remember climbing upward, but I fall anyway.

  The rush from the descent begins in my stomach and extends to the very top of my head.

  The inevitable drop that comes with falling is nowhere in sight. It’s just me—drifting.

  “If my mother were a star she’d be the impossible one to find. One that only emerges sometimes, and never in the same place twice.”

  “I think those are the types of stars that shine the brightest. So you can find them when you’re ready to look.”

  “They all look so similar.” He turns his head, eyes wild and vulnerable. “What if I choose the wrong one?”

  “You try again.”

  His hand falls off his chest, resting palm up in the sliver of space between us. I set mine over top. This time, there are no hesitant fingers or twitching wrists. We link together and I squeeze.

  “Sixteen, Ace.” He blows out a breath. “Sixteen women named Alice and one might be my mother.” He’s completely on his side now, cheek against the blanket spread out beneath us. “What do I do now? Google them, get their address, knock on their door, and ask if they gave birth to a one-handed baby seventeen years ago?”

  I inch closer.

  “We are working off the assumption she is similar in age to your parents. What if she isn’t any of the Alices we found?”

  “What if she is?”

  “That’s a good thing then, right? Gah.” He brings our joined hands to his forehead. “I should just do it, right? I mean what’s the worst that can happen?”

  I push one of my legs between both of his. “You tell me, Rumor. What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

  His eyes become misty, and I watch him struggle to blink it back. His lip suffers beneath the assault of his front teeth. “She won’t want to know me,” he rasps. “That’s the worst that can happen.”

  My heart weeps.

  “Then what, Ace? I am constantly teetering between desperation and distress. I want to find her so badly, look into her eyes and see if they are the same as mine. Ask her if she loved my dad and why she ran away. I never cared about answers before but now they are all I think about. Except I’m not sure I can step on a porch and make myself knock. Because what happens when the door opens only to be slammed shut again?”

  I sweep the pad of my thumb across his lower lip, seizing some of its trembling.

  “What if I
stand there, in front of that door, and I break?”

  “I’ll put you back together.”

  A tremor moves through him. His forehead comes to rest against mine and he whispers a tortured, “Thank you.”

  There are a lot of ways to say ‘you’re welcome’ and not one of them feels right.

  “I asked my dad if it was my nub.”

  I pull away from him. “What?”

  “The reason she didn’t stay. I asked if it was because of my nub. He swears it wasn’t but I’m not so sure. Having a kid is scary enough, let alone one so abnormal.”

  Babe.

  “There’s something peculiar hidden in each one of us. If we were all the same, we’d live life in black and white. There’d be no color.” I bop his nose with the back of his own hand. “That would be a shame, don’t you think?”

  His nose twitches. “That’s true. You are pretty strange.”

  “So strange.” I laugh. “The only difference is that your rarity is constantly on display. Me? It takes some digging to see what makes me special.”

  “Not that much digging, Ace. I knew you were special the second you sat down in that Big Joe.”

  I think I swoon.

  “You know, you’re the first person who has looked at this thing and said it was cool over asking a ton of questions.”

  “For real?” I knock on the side of his socket with my free hand. “I think this is badass. Especially the hook. You look like you could be in a Marvel movie, except better because you aren’t in costume. You’re just you.”

  His lips curve into a massive smile, and Lord help me, I get dizzy.

  He holds it up, admiring it with a smug smile I’ll miss when it disappears. “I am pretty good with this hook.”

  “Rumor.” I school my expression. “You do everything with that. You can sign your name faster than I can.”

  “Am I detecting a hint of jealousy in your voice?”

  I make a face. “It’s not my fault the stupid socket wouldn’t fit over my fist.”

  “Ah, come on, Ace. Don’t pout.” He bops my nose, mimicking what I did to him. “We all can’t be Marvel heroes.”

  “Well, I––"

  Clink!

  Rumor jerks and propels himself forward with impressive momentum. Jumping to his feet, he holds himself in a squat, shoulders tense and eyes vigilant. “Ace, did you hear that?”

  Clink!

  He throws his arm outward, creating a barrier between me and the noise. “There’s somebody out there.”

  I scramble to my knees.

  He spins and puts his hand on my shoulder, halting any further movements. “Ace, I’m not playing.”

  Clink!

  “Clearly.” I try to shrug his hand off. “I want to see who it is.”

  “Yeah, nope.” His fingertips dig into my shoulder. “Stay behind me.”

  It takes me a second to understand his urgency, but when I do, my heart all but melts. “Rumor Rawlings, are you protecting me?”

  “Trying to,” he grunts, dropping his hand. “Just stay behind me, yeah?”

  The butterflies rise to the surface of my skin and bat their wings like never before.

  “I think it’s a guy.”

  I inch closer to Rumor, putting my chest against his back so I can peer over his shoulder and make out the intruder. “Oh geez.” I snort when I spot the familiar beard. It’s braided tonight, and it’s kind of cool. In a homeless, Dumbledore sort of way. “That’s just Ralph.”

  “Who the hell is Ralph?”

  “He works here.” I watch Ralph move, scratching at his beard while he hobbles down the line of boxcars, tapping his fist against the steel siding every few steps.

  “People actually work here?”

  “Well, yeah. Not a lot of guys hang around the back of the lot with the reject train cars. I’m not exactly sure what Ralph’s job title is but I think he’s like the keeper of them.”

  He peers over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “The keeper of the rejects?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Ralph is singing now, and Rumor is lit up with silent laughter.

  “What is he doing working in the dark?”

  “Like I said, I have no clue. Let’s just let him do his thing.”

  “If he finds us, will he try to make us leave?”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  At a leisurely pace, Rumor lies down beside me, pressing his finger to his lips. I follow suit, stretching out on our blanket bed.

  “Do you do this often?” he whispers.

  “Stargaze on top of Mo? Sometimes.” I run the tops of my fingers over the moonlit shadows cast on his face. “It’s better with you.”

  “I like it up here. We aren’t too elevated but I feel like I can see things differently.” He takes my hand again and tugs it close to his chest as if he’s decided it no longer belongs to me. “We can’t always grasp how big the world is when we’re only looking at it from one point of view. Being up here really puts into perspective everything I would’ve missed out on if I hadn’t found it in me to run.”

  Except he’s not looking at the sky. He’s looking at me.

  He presses his nose to our hands. “This is kind of like camping.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. We might be stuck sleeping out here. Ten to one says Arthur’s asleep in my bed in his underwear and Echo stole the pizza.”

  “Sleeping outside with you? There are worse things.” He flops to his back and drums his fingers across his chest. “Get comfy.”

  My limbs feel heavy, my movements sloppy as I slide my body across the blanket and lay my head over his beating heart. My hand falls lightly against his chest, and my leg is tingling when it throws itself over both of his.

  His arm moves around me, holding me flush against his body. He drops his cheek to the top of my head. “You comfy, Ace?”

  I hum. “Never better.”

  16

  I Don’t Even Go Here

  Rumor

  “Does he even go here?”

  I shove my thumb and forefinger into my eye sockets.

  No. I don’t even go here.

  “You are popular today, my man.” Arthur slings his arm over my shoulders, towing me into his side. I can see myself in the reflection of his oversized sunglasses.

  I look like a crotchety jackass.

  Around me the air is thin and stale, shared by hundreds of mouths talking all at once. I lurch forward when somebody jogs past me, waving a pamphlet in the air like they’re about to go cash in a lotto ticket.

  With each body that wedges itself through the front door of the school, the impatient faction of teens gagging to have answers inflates and presses against the sturdy walls. The foundation beneath my feet threatens to crack.

  It’s suffocating. The lobby is so full I feel like I have to step outside just to have space to think.

  “Want to escape out the side door and go munch on some weenies at Doggy Style?”

  Tempting. But no.

  Lingering eyes give me an itch I can’t make go away no matter how many times I scratch it. But I can’t leave. Not when one pair of eyes belongs to her.

  Not when she looks at me like that.

  Mesmerized.

  Like she’s woken up from a dream only to realize it wasn’t a dream at all.

  Cue the tiny violins.

  Arthur fans himself. “Hot damn. She’s all the way across the room and I can still feel you two studying for the GED.”

  “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

  He dips his chin, sunglasses coasting down the bridge of his nose, allowing him to gaze dubiously at me over the slim frames. “Oh, you know what it means.”

  I really don’t.

  Using his pinky finger, he pushes his glasses, letting them settle in the space between his eyes. He takes back the hand that’s resting on my shoulder and starts to pick at his pink nails.

  “What’s with the sunglasses?” The fluorescent light strip
s hanging above us are bright but not that bright.

  “If recruiters can’t look you in the eye, it’s less likely they will try to talk to you.”

  Any other day I would’ve found his logic amusing. Now I find nothing but a blanket of jealousy as it drapes over me.

  “My outfit was also designed to repel people.”

  My eyes roam his all black ensemble. “I was wondering who died.”

  “My soul as soon as I stepped through the door.”

  I bite my lip to cover my smile.

  Arthur is nothing if not dedicated to his mission to revolt against all things regarding his future. He isn’t just wearing black. No. In a full suit the color of ink, accessorized with a matching scarf wrapped around his neck, he doesn’t seem concerned he’ll drop dead of a heatstroke. The get up is a stark contrast to the neon colors he normally slathers himself in, typically dressing like this decade’s Fresh Prince.

  I rapt my knuckles on the wall behind us. “So, what’s your plan?”

  “Stand here until I spot the guidance counselor, and then move in the opposite direction of her. I’m not above collapsing if that’s what it comes to.”

  “Could you take me down in the process? I wouldn’t say no to a mild concussion.”

  He holds out his fist. “I got you.”

  One shouldn’t attribute misery with a career fair, but for a couple of dudes like us, you might as well throw our tortured bodies down a well.

  The only reason I’m spending Saturday afternoon inside this stuffy, teenage trap is because Alma begged me. And trying to say no to that girl was like ripping off my own skin.

  “This is like one of those nightmares that robs me of a wet dream.” Arthur’s lips curl in disgust. “There are forty-seven colleges being represented in this lobby today. That’s basically half of the higher education in this state.”

  “I know.” I drag my hand down my face. “That’s what Ace said. She kept going on about how the trash whispers didn’t work and it was time to find the right road.”

  “The trash what?”

  “I have no freaking idea.”

  “I don’t know who that girl is trying to kid.” He folds his arms over his chest. “We all know she and Lenox are going to pack their bags and zip off to the University of Michigan. Same as Shepherd did. Same as their parents did before that.”