by Lacey Dailey
“They did that once in all the months you’ve been gone, and honestly? They didn’t even look around. We could’ve been hiding you in the next room and they wouldn’t have given a shit. The dude in the suit was just collecting his payment.”
“That’s actually super depressing for the teens who are actually missing.”
“The system is screwed, man.”
“Yeah, and now you know why I’m laying low with a plastic bed and two pair of pants for a few more months.”
“You need money?”
“No, I don’t need money. I told you I’ve been working at the motel and doing some odd jobs for Reggie.”
“Right. The intern who bosses everyone around. How’s that going?”
“Not bad, actually.”
Reggie’s company has become a source of escapism. The stories he’s willing to share about his life are endless. I’ve gotten lost in the tales of his past––his childhood, his work as a nurse, the first time he drove a car, the day he asked his wife to marry him and forgot the ring. His opinions and views are sort of their own treasure, but they come with their own story, and they’re something I can keep with me without needing a big plastic bin.
I don’t have to talk about myself, but I usually do. He’s the only other person besides Alma I’m comfortable opening up to. There’s a vibe Reggie has that’s familiar to me. One lone wolf to another, maybe.
“The first time he paid me, he slapped some cash in my hand and demanded I get a haircut and a pair of shorts so I didn’t die of heatstroke.”
He barks a laugh. “Did you listen?”
“Hell yeah. It was hot as hell. I bought two pairs of shorts and an ice cream cone.”
“And the haircut?”
“It was, ah––" I smirk to myself. “A hair trim. It just brushes my shoulders.”
“Isn’t that how you always have it?”
“Yup. Reggie wasn’t impressed until I showed him how I tie it back in a knot with only one hand.”
“That’s how you should make some money.” I can practically see the mischievous look in his eyes. “Charge people to witness your one-handed wonders.”
“Pimp me out? That’s your solution?”
“Well excuse me for trying to get you some fast cash. Maybe if you did that you could afford two ice cream cones and ask Alma to go steady.”
“Piss off.” My tone doesn’t match my harsh words. There’s laughter behind the insult as I push up to my elbows. The desk creaks under my weight. “I will ask Alma on a proper date. She deserves that.”
Alma deserves everything under the sun. If it were possible, I’d spend forever traveling the world and collecting it all for her.
“But for real, my next shopping endeavor is going to be a coat. Apparently, it’s supposed to be fifty degrees next week. I swear, man, Michigan’s weather doesn’t know how to act.”
“Hey, why don’t you give me the address to the motel? I can send you some of the stuff you stored here before they shipped you off to the hellhole. Mom won’t notice.”
Drumming my fingers against the desk, I find his idea doesn’t totally suck. It sure as shit would save me some money. “Let me ask Alma for her house address. Her parents are at the motel more than the house.”
He makes a tsking noise. “You don’t even know the address of the place you’re sleeping.”
“Oh, bite me. It’s not like I––Ace?”
I come off the desk with the sight of my girl. Cocking my head, I watch her pull open the glass door, the movement seeming to take a lot out of her. Small feet covered in shoes with cat ears are unhurried as they make their way across the room. The dress she’s wearing is vibrant––fire engine red with matching socks that go up to her knees. The lively outfit is bursting with a charisma she normally wears like a second skin.
Today is different.
“Ace, you okay?”
She doesn’t answer me, and it doesn’t matter. The slight hunch of her shoulders, the refusal to meet my eyes, and constant wringing of her hands are enough to tell me something is wrong.
I move to walk around the desk, halted by the damn phone cord. I fight with it, untangling my arm. Alma raises her chin at the sound of my struggle. Our eyes meet, and I want to hit something.
Tears.
There are tears swimming just below her forest green irises.
“Baby, are you––"
My tongue dries up, and I lose all communication skills when I catch sight of the two figures stepping up beside my girl.
Harrison and Clare are staring at me, not with anger, but with an expression that says I’m not who they thought I was.
“Rumor, dear?” Clare steps forward, approaching me as if I’m a wild animal.
I don’t understand until I see it. My bag hangs loosely from Harrison’s fist. My knees buckle and I reach out to steady myself. The desk rocks with my movement.
“Dude, are you still there? I’m assuming you drowned me out because Alma showed up. I am definitely not your baby.”
“Josh, I gotta go.”
The line goes dead, and I’m afraid a piece of me dies with it.
23
Just A Name
Rumor
This is not happening.
I’m sinking. From the inside out, I’m sinking. My organs are submerged, drowning alongside my heart. My lungs sputter, unable to pump under the weight of all the water.
It fills me, rising up my throat, seizing any chance I may have had at talking or gasping for air.
I look at Alma beside me, focusing on the rise and fall of her chest. I try to mimic it.
Up, down.
Up, down.
Up, down.
It’s no use. With every pull of air, I choke, my throat burning as though it’s been ripped open and exposed.
“Rumor?”
Both of her hands enclose around mine. My fingers twitch beneath her touch but it’s all the movement I can manage.
“Rumor?”
Her eyes are wide now, and her hands drop mine to palm my face. She turns my head from side to side. I’m not sure what she’s looking for.
“Rumor, are you okay?”
With a shake of my head, I wrap my hand around my throat.
“I’m sinking.” My eyes say.
“Swim.” Hers scream back.
So I do.
With my eyes locked on hers, I swim just enough to breach the surface and allow my lungs some relief. I cough, my nostrils sizzling and chest like lava. Despite my ability to breathe, I’m not home free. With half of me still sinking, I’m trapped. Stuck in limbo. Breathing but still fighting.
“I don’t want to go back,” I say when I’ve found my words.
Her face is granite. “Over my dead body.”
“Rumor? Honey?” I don’t want to look at Clare and Harrison but I do it anyway.
Sitting on the couch opposite of Alma and me, they hold hands, regarding us with cagey expressions.
Reggie’s off to the side, leaning against the nearest wall, tapping his cane in time with my breaths.
“Rumor.” Clare moves forward so she’s perched on the edge of the couch. With her hair held together by a pencil on the top of her head and the avocado people holding hands on her T-shirt, I shouldn’t be afraid of her.
I am.
“Alma told us you’ve been living in her room. Is that correct?”
I clear my throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
Harrison makes a noise. “I’m going to assume everything Alma told us was accurate.”
One look at my girl’s face is all the confirmation I need.
“Yes, sir.” My knees bob as I look him in the eye. “I’m sorry for being so deceitful. My intention wasn’t to work here under false pretenses or disrespect you by living under your roof without your knowledge. I just, uhm, I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Ah, son.” Harrison rubs at the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry about your father.”
My t
hroat constricts. “Me too.”
“Alma said you don’t have any family back home but I need to hear it from you.”
“I don’t. I have a best friend. Josh. His family tried to get custody of me but there were a lot of hoops to jump through. I ended up in a group home. It was, uhm, a—"
“A shithole.” Alma jumps to her feet. “It was a real shithole, Dad. He wasn’t safe there. He wasn’t safe anywhere until he got here. Okay? I know the set up wasn’t much but he felt safe, and if you try to make him leave, I will riot.”
She shocks the shit out of me by plopping right down in my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Call this a symbolic protest,” she announces. “Like when people chain themselves to trees to protect them from being cut down. Rumor is my tree. You cut him down, you cut me down.”
Harrison slaps a hand over his face.
Me? I wrap my arms around my girl’s waist, burying my face in her neck. I press a kiss to the skin below my lips.
My love for her at this moment intensifies.
Just like she’s been doing since day one, she stands up beside me, connecting her shiny shield to my dented one. Alone, I fight and I survive. With her, I conquer and I live.
“Rumor is my tree!” Alma shouts, and I hear Reggie’s muffled laughter.
Harrison presses two fingers to his temples and looks to Clare. “She is so your daughter.”
Clare smiles as though she’s pleased. “Alma, sweetheart, we are not going to cut down Rumor. We want to help him.”
“You are helping him,” Alma says. “He has a job and a home.”
“Honey, he is sleeping on a pool toy.”
“In your room,” Harrison adds. “Those living arrangements aren’t acceptable. Not to mention, it is probably illegal for him to be here. He is a minor.”
“It’s not illegal.” Alma crosses her arms over her chest.
“Actually, it might be, Ace.”
Her jaw falls limp.
“Technically, if I were found, I’d be shipped back to the group home until I turn eighteen. But the thing, Mr. Underwood, is that almost two million teenagers run away from homes every year. Some are found by the police and are returned and some aren’t. The ones that are returned usually run away again.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, straightening my spine. “I felt safer sleeping in a laundromat and a train car than I did in that home. I’m laying low because I don’t want to give them a reason to come after me. But the fact is, I’m just a name. I’m a name on a sheet alongside thousands of other teens who ran from a shitty situation before it became even worse.”
My heart wilts thinking of the kids who are still running, searching for their ace card and a chance to catch their breath.
Alma’s face is painted in shock. “I didn’t realize there were so many.”
“Neither did I.” I capture her hand. “Not until I did some research.”
“You are not just a name.” She looks in the direction of her parents. “He isn’t just a name.”
“We agree,” Clare says, and I try to keep the shock off my face.
What I can’t stop myself from feeling is hope. My hope. Alma’s hope. The intensity of our combined hope.
Don’t make me go back.
“Rumor is not just a name, and I wouldn’t dare send him back to a place he feels unsafe in. But your father is right. His living arrangements need to change.”
“The living arrangements are fine.”
Clare isn’t buying it. “Alma, honey, he doesn’t even have a bed. He needs more than that.”
“I don’t,” I blurt. “Really. The pool toy is great, and it’s only for a couple more months.”
Thinking about leaving sheaths me in a blanket of desolation that wasn’t in existence months ago.
“Alma mentioned you came here in hopes of finding your mother.”
I simply nod at Harrison’s remark, unsure if it was a question or a comment.
“I don’t mean to be pessimistic, but what if you don’t find her. Then what?”
“I’ll be okay, sir. I have a plan for when I turn eighteen.”
Bracing his elbows on his knees, I have his full attention. “Care to share this plan?”
“Alma’s been helping me study for the GED. I’ll pass that and apply for college. I should qualify for aid but if I don’t, I’ll receive social security money from my father’s passing in about two months. I planned to buy a car and find a place to live with it but I could do without the car and put it toward college. I’m also not opposed to taking out loans.”
Harrison looks like I just kicked his puppy. I’m not sure why. It’s a good plan.
“I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry you have to deal with this when you should be out, enjoying your last year of high school and making memories.”
I shrug. I haven’t allowed myself to mull over all the extra things that disappeared from my life when my dad did. Why inflict that sort of pain on myself?
“Your job is yours for as long as you’d like it. When you turn eighteen, we will reassess. Do you have your documents?”
“You mean my social security card and all that mumbo jumbo? Yeah.”
Clare rests her hand on Harrison’s shoulder, rubbing. “We will do our best to help you out, Rumor. Your GED, applying for college, buying a car, finding your mom. Whatever you need.”
“I—" can’t speak. I’m capable only of steady eye contact I’m desperately hoping conveys the appreciation I feel. Even sitting down, the weakness in my knees is apparent. I drink in this moment at a leisurely pace, wishing to never forget its impact and vowing to pay back their kindness one way or another.
For all the days I have left, I’ll take a second out of each of them just to say thank you.
“My children tell me you’ve been part of this family for some time now. Apparently, my husband and I were the only ones not in the loop. I’m so sorry about your father and all you had to endure before you came here. We’re happy to help you get back on your feet. As for where you’ll be living—"
Alma cuts her off with a wild groan. “Where is he supposed to go, Mom?”
“With me.”
Reggie’s been so soundless, standing motionless and becoming one with the wall, I forgot he was even present. His proposal leaves me flabbergasted.
I lick my lips absentmindedly, blinking ever so slowly. “Wait, what?”
He pushes off the wall, giving his weight to his cane. “Pack your stuff, kid. I’m taking in a stray.”
24
Stay
Alma
Stay.
I trace the word on his arm with the tip of my finger. Right below his elbow, I drag my skin across his, silently pleading.
Stay.
“Ace.” His eyes are closed and he’s lying on his back. He speaks from the corner of his smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I stop.
He chuckles and rolls to his side, wrapping his free arm around my back. Before I can blink, I’m pulled across the mattress, his chest against mine, his lips on my forehead.
He does that a lot now. Kisses my forehead. The butterfly kisses are extra intense whenever he does, and I wonder what they’d do if he were to give me a real kiss. I want to find out, but also I don’t because I’m not sure I’d deserve it.
“I miss you too, Ace. You know that, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He tells me every day. “But this is a better place for you.”
“I disagree.”
“How could you possibly disagree? Look around.”
The bedroom Reggie gave him is painted a light blue color. There’s a window that opens to a balcony, and I know he stands out there at night, looking at the stars and wondering which is his mom.
The mirror on the back of the closet door and the drawers lined with floral paper are the only indicators this room used to belong to his mother. He thinks Reggie offered it to him because it was the largest of the three.
I know better.
<
br /> Pushing my face into his chest, I rub my cheek against the cotton covering it. He hums and pulls me closer. With our movement, the mattress rocks. The bed we’re laying on isn’t just a slice but big enough to be the whole pizza. He has dresser drawers to put his things in and a bathroom across the hall he can use without tip toeing.
He’s free here. Free to live and wander and wonder. And when it all comes crashing down, I hope this will be a place he finds peace.
His lips whisper across my exposed shoulder. “The best place for me, Ace, is wherever you are.”
I shiver because damn.
He is my favorite.
My favorite friend. My favorite treasure. My favorite person to do everything with, to do nothing with.
Rumor is my favorite everything, and I love him the same way stars love the sky.
Palming the back of my head, he holds me tight to him, keeping me captive as if I might try to get away. With the tip of my nose in the base of his neck, I breathe in his scent. The aroma is familiar and comforting––a smell I’ll always equate with love.
“We’re supposed to be doing homework,” I mumble but make no attempt at moving.
“What homework?”
I giggle against his collar bone, pulling my face free of its confines. The arms around me don’t loosen but I do manage to wedge my arm between our bodies and brush the hair from his face.
“Those words don’t sound like they’re coming from a man who wants to pass the GED.”
“What GED?”
“You’re killing me.”
His chuckle is rich, and he kisses my forehead one last time before reluctantly letting me go. With a quick roll of his body, he snags a textbook off a nightstand––because at Reggie’s he gets a nightstand––and then he’s beside me again, rearranging his body so he’s sitting cross-legged.
I mimic his position, opening up my own textbook. Chemistry. Gross.
“Ace, you look like you just swallowed sour milk.”
“I think I’d rather do that.”
