A box lay in the ditch, wiggling. What the fuck? I blinked, wiped the rain out of my eyes and took another look.
It was wet and folded down on itself, the cardboard soaked, but it was rocking, almost tipping over. I slid down into the tall grass. Puddles of fetid water sucked at my feet as I crossed to the box. Inside was a dog. A small, black puppy with pointed ears and a snout speckled with white. He started whimpering, brown eyes still half-closed with newness.
I put my hand into the box. The dog sniffed, curious, too young to be scared. A little pink tongue shot out, rough and warm, licking my fingers, drinking the raindrops.
“You’re hungry,” I said out loud. I had no food for myself, never mind the dog. Could he drink ditch water? I wrapped my hands around his middle. Wet and skinny, his heart beat like crazy and he tried to scramble out of my hands.
“Shush, shush,” I soothed him, holding him against me. His paws scratched me, but I patted his head, the skull impossibly small under my fingers. How old was he? A few weeks? Tossed onto the roadside to die. Whoever did it should have just killed him, not left him to starve.
The dog calmed down, nestled against my chest. Tucked himself into my jacket. A bit farther up was a truck stop. They might not want to give me food, but a helpless puppy?
Exhaust fumes belched at me as I crossed the parking lot. The asphalt was slick with rain. One of my shoelaces had come undone, but I couldn’t bend down to tie it, in case the puppy ran off. I needed to find something for a leash so I could keep him with me.
The guy at the till looked me up and down when I walked in. “No dogs,” he said catching sight of the one in my arms.
“He’s a puppy. I found him in the ditch.” I tried to push his head towards the guy at the counter so he could see how helpless the dog was.
“Don’t care,” he growled. I looked around at the perfectly stocked shelves, bright drinks glowing in the coolers, racks of shiny magazines, and the rotating corn dog display.
“Come on, man. You can’t help me out? I just want some food for the dog.”
His face stayed blank. Did he want me to beg?
“This place is a fucking rip-off anyway.” I kicked the door open. I didn’t care if the other customers stared at me. I stumbled back outside, into the rain. I’d take my chances in the garbage, or keep walking until I found someone who wasn’t a heartless bastard.
A frayed pink rope lay beside bundles of firewood for sale. I picked it up and wrapped it around the dog’s neck, but it was too loose and he slipped his head out of it. “Don’t like being tied up, do you?” Tossing the rope away, I remembered the gauze I’d taken from the pharmacy, first aid for my hands. It seemed like so long ago that I’d left Lumsville, but it had only been hours.
Damp from the rain, the gauze stretched and stuck to the dog’s fur so he couldn’t wriggle out of it. When I put the dog on the ground, he skittered away, not sure what to do, and then lay down, pawing at the leash.
I took a minute to look around. Another stretch of highway led into the city. The downtown skyline loomed in the distance. If I made it there, I’d be able to find food and a place to crash.
I wasn’t just thinking of me anymore. I had a dog to look after.
If I got the city, I could find Hope. She’d help me. I just had to remember the name of her school. My brain was fried.
And the dog. It needed a name. I bent down again and checked, lifting a paw against his wishes. A girl.
Rain dripped from my forehead onto my lips. I licked it away. Fresh. A paper cup rolled across the pavement toward us. I ripped off the top half and let the water collect in it so she could drink. My jacket’s odour, pungent wet leather, musky, reminded me of my hockey gear. The smell trapped in the bag, released when I opened it. But I pushed those thoughts away. I’d left that world behind. I was here now, lost on a highway. Better than being stuck in Lumsville.
I smiled as the dog’s pink tongue darted out to lap the water up. She needed a tough name, something nobody would mess with.
Storm.
“Come on, Stormy,” I tried. It sounded right.
I wrapped the gauze around my fingers and started walking. I wasn’t as tired anymore, or as dazed. The rain and Storm had brought me back around. As long as I could find Hope, I’d be okay.
Hope
I’d been avoiding Lizzie, Vivian, and Emily. There were no more invitations to sit with them in the common room or dining hall. Instead, they dipped into whispered conversations when they saw me, Lizzie and Emily throwing cold looks my way. And Vivian, frowning with disappointment. Their new recruit had failed.
“You were right about those girls being a prickly bunch,” I said to Cassie as we got ready for bed. My hair was still wet from a late-night shower and hung in long clumps down my back. I was looking for sympathy from her, maybe an invitation to join her friends at breakfast tomorrow. She ignored me.
“Cassie? What’s wrong?”
Crawling into bed, she punched her pillow and looked at me with watery blue eyes. “I know what you’ve been saying behind my back.”
I stared at her, confused. I hadn’t said anything about her.
“You told Vivian you heard me talking to my brother, telling him lies about Lizzie, about how many guys she’s been with,” she accused. “Which is a total lie, because Parker and I don’t talk on the phone. We only text!”
I froze, paralyzed by her words. “Vivian told you that?”
“Yeah, she wanted me to know what a backstabber you are. I guess you’ll do anything to get in with them, won’t you? Even spread lies about your roommate.” Cassie’s eyes bulged at me, her cheeks flaming red.
Shaking my head, I tried to argue with her, my chest tightening with frustration, the need for her to believe me. “I swear, Cassie, none of that is true! They flipped everything around to make me look like the bad guy.”
She just snorted with disgust at me. I almost blurted out the truth, that I’d stood over her with scissors, on the Ravens’ orders, willing to cut her hair to satisfy them. But that made me sound even less trustworthy.
I was ashamed I’d even thought about doing it.
“Cassie?” I wanted to explain, but she wouldn’t look at me. It was like talking to a statue.
The Ravens had turned on me. I’d gone from their inner circle to their enemy in two days. They’d also managed to turn Cassie against me. I rolled over in bed and stared at the wall. Tears collected in my eyes and tumbled out onto the pillow. I’d only been looking for friends, for someone to spend my time with. Instead, I’d gotten so tangled up in drama, I didn’t know how to find my way out.
In the dim light of the room, I searched for a pen.
Coiling under my skin
A viper waits to strike
Poisoned fangs
Bared.
For now
I sit alone
Waiting
Hoping it won’t
Bite me first.
The words scrolled across my arm before I realized what I’d done. I stared at them, loving the way they snaked down to my wrist, the sting on my skin from the pressure of the pen. A hurt that matched how I felt on the inside.
My body, paper, walls, sheets, furniture: my poems could mark them all.
Eric
A church. They’d help. Didn’t they have to? I let Storm down. The rain had almost stopped—just a light drizzle sprinkled us, pinging in the puddles. Storm zigzagged around the grass, sometimes losing her footing and sliding down but then scrambling back up.
Church was a big deal in Lumsville. Not for our family, though. Mom had stopped going, even though her parents were big Bible-thumpers. Maybe that was why she married my dad so young. Wanted to rebel. Kids at school used to tell me I was going to hell because we didn’t go to church, but once I got good at hockey, that all stopped. Maybe hockey pl
ayers got into heaven no matter what.
There were two cars in the parking lot, but the front doors were locked. I went around to a side door marked OFFICE. A lady with grey hair and glasses, who looked like the best grandma anyone could want, spun around in her rolling office chair when I walked in.
She did a double take, blinking away her shock at my arrival. “Can I help you, dear?” She said dear like an afterthought.
Storm twisted in my arms, nipping at my chin. “Sorry to bother you,” I began, not even sure what to say. “I found this dog and she’s real little, just a couple weeks old. I wondered if you had something for her to drink, some milk or something.” I huddled farther into my jacket, soaked and heavy. “I’m real hungry too, but it’s no problem if you just want to feed the dog. She’s what I’m worried about.”
“Oh my.” The lady raised her eyebrows and looked at Storm. “Poor thing. Wait here and I’ll see if we have anything in the kitchen.”
I nodded, conscious of the wet spot I’d made on the carpet. I started to shiver too, now that I was inside and standing still. Storm kept licking the rain off my neck.
There was church music playing. A choir singing sombre notes. She came back with a Styrofoam cup of steaming water and a tea bag bobbing on the surface. In her other hand was a bowl of cream. I was at least two feet taller than her and crouched down to take the tea from her hands, which were mottled with veins. They shook a little, but I think it was ’cause she was old, not because I scared her.
Storm sniffed the cream and then took a few licks.
“Here are some cookies, dear,” the lady said. The sandwich kind with icing that matches the colour of the biscuit part. She’d put them on a hard plastic tray in an overlapping row. I wanted to stuff them all into my mouth, but I didn’t. Even though my stomach was twisting itself in a knot because I was so hungry, I only took four and nodded my thanks, sliding the tray back onto her desk.
“My car broke down, a ways back. I’m trying to get to the city to see a friend of mine. Do you know about buses around here?”
If she knew I was lying, she didn’t show it. “No, I don’t. But we have a van coming to pick up some donations for a church downtown. I’m sure Albert would give you a ride to wherever you need to go. Or I could call you a tow truck?”
“A lift with that guy, Albert. That would be great. I’ll deal with my car later.” Relief washed over me. I looked at Storm, her tail wagging as she lapped up the cream. She was bringing me good luck.
For a second, a glimmer of doubt rose up. I’d be trapped alone in a car with a guy, some stranger I didn’t know. What if he tried the same thing as Mike?
And then the self-hatred washed over me. My mind cartwheeled back in time, spinning through images like a merry-go-round in high gear. All the way back to the road trip in Duluth. The first time. I couldn’t handle the memories this clean. I needed a fix.
The fake sweet icing in the cookies coated my stomach, sticking like tar. Sitting here would kill me. The clock ticking by, her fingers clacking on computer keys. I’d get so agitated, I’d go ballistic.
“Actually, thanks, but I’ll just head out on my own. Don’t want to trouble you. Thanks,” I babbled and scooped up Storm. A droplet of cream clung to her chin, caught in a stubbly whisker. The lady tried to get out of her chair, claiming it was no trouble, but I was already out the door. Happy to be breathing fresh air.
“Come on, Storm,” I said to her, more of a whisper. I could feel myself sinking. No meth for, what was it, twelve hours, maybe more? Thoughts of Coach Williams would swirl around me, squeezing me until I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I needed something to feel good again.
The city was within reach. I just had to get there.
Hope
I’d spent the day skirting the halls like a ghost. Lizzie, Emily, and Vivian had ignored me. Cassie had too, but worse, she’d told some of the other girls why she was mad at me. I had gotten evil glares in every class.
When I got back to my room at the end of the day, I tossed my books onto my desk and turned on my computer, hoping Mom had sent a message. Proof that someone was thinking about me.
I stared at the screen in surprise. Today, in bold print amid the junk mail, was a new message.
Wednesday, September 10, 4:46 p.m.
To: Hope Randall
From: Devon Huddington
Subject: Hi
My name is Devon, and I’m on the Melton-Ravenhurst Welcoming Committee. You probably figured out that Melton Preparatory Academy is the brother school to Ravenhurst. We check in with new students to make sure they’re settling in okay and to see if they have any questions.
Let me know if you need anything. Where were you before starting at RH? By the way, nice profile pic. You look good in your uniform. J
Cheers,
D.
Profile picture? I opened the Ravenhurst websites, entered my password, and clicked on “Student Directory.” Sure enough, there was my student ID photo and contact information. I went to the Melton website and found Devon Huddington. He was cute. Like, really cute. Brown hair that flopped over his forehead and warm, dark eyes. I found myself smiling as I typed a reply.
Thursday, September 11, 9:10 p.m.
To: Devon
From: Hope
Re: Hi
Thanks for the email. I’m from Lumsville. It’s a really small town, so don’t worry if you’ve never heard of it. I guess I’m settling in okay. I’ve never boarded before, so it gets kind of lonely. Have you been at Melton a long time? Do you like it?
Hope
I reread my email, frowning at the lie. Settling in okay. The truth was I’d never felt so alone in my life, but I couldn’t admit that to someone I’d never met. Before I could overthink it, I pressed Send. A few minutes later, another email appeared.
Thursday, September 11, 9:23 p.m.
To: Hope
From: Devon
Re: Hi
I call the place Hellton. I started in grade seven and I hate it. I’m from up north. Both my parents are doctors and travel all over the Territories for work, so I got dumped here.
The Welcome Committee actually doesn’t exist. I just wanted a reason to email you. Saw your profile on the school directory and was interested. ;-) Don’t be mad at me.
I’m just sick of the stuck-up bitches who go to your school.
D.
Eric
I hadn’t made it to the city yet. The skyline still clung to the horizon. Without meth energy, getting there felt impossible. But I’d come too far to do anything else.
We’d spent the night in the parking lot of an amusement park. Closed on weekdays, all the metal rides sat frozen, silent. But the garbage cans overflowed with things to eat: soggy plates of fries with congealed ketchup; half-eaten hot dogs rolled up like mummies in their foil wrappers; plastic containers with barely touched salads, the lettuce brown but edible; and bottles of pop, flat, but filled with sugary goodness. Wasps buzzed around the remnants of our meal, dive-bombing like fighter pilots. We’d gone to sleep last night with full bellies.
But now, the next morning, I needed a fix.
I needed to find Hope.
Hope
My stomach dropped when I read Mom’s email: “Call me ASAP.” Why couldn’t it just say “Everything’s great here. Nothing to worry about”?
I held my phone in my hand and stared at it, willing myself to press her number. I didn’t want any bad news and with an email like that, what else could it be?
It had to be about Eric. Something had happened to him. We all knew it was only a matter of time before we got a call from the hospital or the cops showed up at our door. He’d tried to hide that he was using at first, avoiding us and staying out all day, only coming home when he knew we
’d be in bed. But I’d lie awake until I heard him open the front door and turn the TV on. Sometimes it would be 3:00 or 4:00 a.m. I’d breathe a sigh of relief knowing he was home safe and tiptoe past his bedroom in the morning, careful not to wake him. We all thought he was just partying, out with friends, celebrating the fact that hockey was done for the season.
This went on for weeks until Mom cornered him one day at breakfast. Dark circles ringed his eyes and he looked haunted, not like himself. He’d told her he was having trouble sleeping and stormed out of the house. He’d slammed the door so hard the glasses in the cupboards rattled.
I didn’t tell Mom what I’d heard people saying at school. Shaking their heads at how low he’d sunk.
He appeared in my room one night, talking a mile a minute and pacing. He told me about his hockey games, reliving each one in detail. He wouldn’t calm down. The energy in him was like a volcano, ready to explode. And he wouldn’t look at me. It was like he was in his own world and I was stuck behind glass, watching him. “Eric!” I’d shouted. “What are you doing?” When he’d looked at me, his eyes were wide with shock that someone was in the room with him. He took off again, yelling that I’d ruined his life. I ran after him on newly thawed ground, the ice crystals cutting into my bare feet.
He didn’t come back for days. We found out later that he’d stayed with a friend whose parents were out of town. He’d trashed their house. They wanted to press charges, but Dad talked them out of it.
The cops brought him home one night. He’d been wandering around downtown Lumsville. Muttering and kicking garbage cans over, or trying to. I crept downstairs at the sound of voices, cowering behind the spindles. Mom sat in her housecoat at the kitchen table, listening to the cops. Dad ran his hand through his hair, over and over, a nervous tic. When the police left, Eric went ballistic. He tossed the kitchen chairs to the ground and kicked the fridge. “I don’t need any of you!” Eric shouted. “You think you know me, but you don’t.” And then he barrelled up to his room, racing past me on the stairs. I heard him moving furniture around in his room, playing music so loud the walls shook.
Finding Hope Page 6
