Punch Like a Girl

by Karen Krossing

  Joel taps a beat with his fingers against his thigh. I strain against my seat belt to see how fast Mom is going.

  “Can you at least go the speed limit?” I grip the back of Dad’s seat with my good hand.

  “It’s not me,” Mom says, frowning into the rearview mirror. “It’s this traffic.”

  The cars ahead of us are crawling, even though it’s after rush hour and we’re on a side street.

  “Shouldn’t these people be at home watching TV or something?” I scowl.

  When we turn the corner onto Mill Street, a line of cars with red brake lights jams the road. More cars are parked in front of the houses, on both sides of the street.

  “This is as far as we go.” Mom wedges the SUV between two other cars.

  “What are all these people doing here?” I grab a flashlight and open my door.

  “Maybe they’re joining the search,” Dad says.

  “You think?” I glance at all the people heading toward Mill Pond Park.

  As we hike the few blocks to the park, a stream of people joins us, and clouds cover the evening sun just above the treetops. When the playground and pond come into view, I can’t help but relive the horrible moments with Stewart Foster and Casey.

  I shiver. My broken hand throbs.

  Dad grips my good hand as if he understands. Mom squeezes my shoulder.

  The parking lot across the street from the playground is packed with people. The two entrances are blocked off by police cruisers with flashing lights. I’d be overwhelmed by the number of people if they weren’t all here for Casey.

  Red and white lights from the police cars blaze across the faces. I see my World History teacher, Mr. Hadley, with a woman who must be his wife. There’s Jamarlo with Carmen and a few other people from school. I spot Alena with both of her parents. Her bald, round father is still in his suit. Her mother gives me a somber wave. Janice Reese blabbers while her cameraman films her and the crowd. Residents and workers from the shelter meet up with Sal and a boy who has to be his brother. They have the same swoop of dark brown hair across their foreheads.

  “There’s Roger,” Joel says, and then he pushes off into the crowd.

  “Keep your cell phone on,” Dad calls.

  “He forgot his flashlight.” Mom follows Joel.

  Marla, Nong and Trish from the Screamin’ Demons swarm me. They look different out of uniform and with their hair down.

  “Tori!” Marla yells. “You were awesome on TV. Coach is here too. And Alena.”

  “I can’t believe you came.” I shake my head.

  “Of course we did.” Nong elbows me.

  “We’re a team.” Marla smiles. “Even if you can’t play.”

  They ask me how I know Casey, and I tell them about working at the shelter. I don’t mention that it’s community service for my supposed crime.

  Then I see Lenore from the house with the blue door. She’s at the far end of the lot, near a group of six or so police officers wearing fluorescent vests. I catch glimpses of her passing out flyers. Her cane is propped beside her.

  With so many people looking for Casey, we have to be able to find her or at least some clue to where she is.

  I say goodbye to the Screamin’ Demons and make my way over to Alena and her parents.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say.

  “We want to help.” Alena’s dad kisses both of my cheeks and says something in Greek that I don’t understand.

  “That poor girl!” Alena’s mom clears her throat. “And her mother! That man is a monster.”

  Alena hugs me. “Are you okay?”

  I swallow hard. “Yes. No. I don’t know.” Alena’s sympathetic eyes make me want to collapse against her shoulder, sobbing.

  “Were you there…when it happened?” She bites her lip.

  Tears well in my eyes, and I wipe them away. “I tried to stop him…”

  “Oh, Tori. We’ll find her.” Alena’s eyes gleam, and I’m grateful for my friend. Whatever issues we had seem to be gone. “Come on. You need both your best friends right now. Let’s find Jamarlo.”

  As we’re pressing through the bodies toward Jamarlo and Carmen, a cop with a megaphone calls for the crowd to quiet down. I don’t recognize any of the officers. We stop to pay attention, straining to see over the heads and shoulders in front of us.

  “Welcome, search-and-rescue volunteers!” the cop bellows through the megaphone. “I’m Constable Riyad from the emergency response unit. We’re here to conduct a basic search of the surrounding area, including the park, residential areas and side streets. The main objective is the safe return of Casey-Lynn Foster.”

  The crowd is quiet now.

  “You may have heard that we located the suspect’s car on a nearby street, and that we hope the quick response of witnesses and police search-and-rescue teams has prevented the suspect from fleeing the area.”

  Alena elbows me. “He’s talking about you!”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I shrug.

  “We’ll be searching the network of nearby parks and ravines in particular, as well as local schoolyards, community centers, shopping centers and so on. Officers are already inquiring door to door in the neighborhood. We have a lot of ground to cover, so we’ll be organizing you by task and location,” Constable Riyad continues. “But first, a few instructions.

  “Do not search alone. Travel in groups of at least two people. Report back here when it gets too dark to see. We don’t want anyone lost or injured.”

  “We’ll search together,” Alena whispers.

  I nod.

  “Be on the lookout for articles of clothing or other personal belongings scattered on the ground. If found, do not disturb. Alert a nearby police officer right away.

  “And immediately report any sightings of Casey-Lynn or Stewart Foster to the police by calling 9-1-1. Provide information on the location as well as a description of the victim, the suspect and any vehicle involved.”

  Constable Riyad motions to the row of cops beside him. “Please see one of these coordinating officers to be assigned a task and location. You can also pick up flyers with the photos and descriptions of Casey-Lynn and the suspect.” He raises his voice. “Let’s bring this child home safe, folks!”

  The megaphone squeaks as he powers it off.

  The crowd surges forward to the line of officers. Alena and I are heading sideways toward Jamarlo when I bump into Sal.

  “Hey, Tori,” he says. “I didn’t get to talk to you at the park.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses; I’m sure Sal will blame me for not protecting Casey. “It all happened so fast. I couldn’t stop it.” I take a step toward Alena, who’s still walking. I can’t look Sal in the eyes.

  Sal pulls me back. “What are you talking about?”

  I shake my head and examine my feet.

  “You think this is your fault?” He sounds amazed, even angry. “I was there too, Tori. You’re not the only one who wishes it didn’t happen. Jia and Francine are beating themselves up.”

  “They are?” I glance up at him.

  “Of course they are.” His face softens. “We all are.”

  Then Sal’s brother, who looks about thirteen, elbows him. “Oooh, who’s this? Your girlfriend?”

  “Cut it out, Carlos.” Sal messes his brother’s hair. “This is my friend”—he emphasizes the word—“Tori.”

  Carlos madly smooths down his ruffled hair and glares at Sal.

  “Hey, Carlos.” I must have imagined Sal was asking me out when he suggested we go bowling. I’m such an idiot. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I’m—” I glance toward Alena, Jamarlo and the rest of my crowd.

  And I see Matt.

  My legs tremble. My head pulses.

  “Oh, shit,” I mutter. What’s he doing here? Did Daniel drag him along? As if Matt cares about a kidnapped girl.

  Matt is standing next to Daniel, who’s talking to Alena. He’s wearing the same bomber jacket he once lent me on a cold evening, and he’s b
rought his golden retriever, Digit. I watch him smooth the fur on Digit’s head and laugh with Carmen, who’s with Jamarlo. My hands get clammy. Then I see Melody, linking arms with Matt while glaring at me.

  I don’t want to breathe the same air as Matt. How can my friends even stand near him? How can they fake-smile at Melody? If they knew what happened—

  “You all right?” Sal follows my gaze. “Do you know them?”

  “Uh, yeah. They’re my”—I hesitate—“friends.”

  Meet my friend Matt, a random guy at the library said to me on a cold day in March.

  I was checking out books for a school project that would be due in only two days, so I ignored him.

  The guy grinned and shoved his friend forward. Matt’s stunning smile and piercing eyes made me drop my library books. Outside, he introduced me to Digit, who greeted him with three happy barks.

  I didn’t know that Matt would treat his dog better than me.

  “Listen,” I say to Sal. “Do you want a partner for the search? I could use one.” I nod toward Carlos. “Or two.”

  “Sure.” Sal beams.

  I silently apologize to Alena as Sal, Carlos and I head over to get our assignment. It’s the second time I’ve ditched her in the last week, but I can’t face Matt.

  The mood at Mill Pond is completely different from earlier that day. As the evening sun dips below the treetops, police dogs in bright-orange vests lead officers along paths and into bushes. Searchers stream to their assigned locations, some by car and others on foot. Sal, Carlos and I head around Mill Pond to where the asphalt ends and the gravel path curves through the forest. We’ve been assigned a stretch of ravine between two communities of large two-storey homes, and it’s a bit of a trek to get there.

  In the last of the daylight, we cross a stream that has been diverted into a culvert and pass grasses that are taller than I am. We circle a smaller pond and traverse a well-kept park with a playground. Everywhere, I see hiding places that I want to check, hoping I’ll find Casey’s scared, dirty face peering out at me. I picture her arms wrapped around my neck as I bring her home to her mother. If only.

  When we reach our assigned location, the path disintegrates to nothing. The sun sinks lower in the sky, and the forest darkens.

  Carlos wanders ahead, climbing over logs and kicking up the dusty scent of last year’s leaves. Sal and I find an old newspaper and what looks like someone’s chemistry homework.

  The sound of voices and music from the nearby backyards reaches us. A woodpecker taps at a tree, and squirrels go about their business like there’s nothing wrong.

  When there’s a screech from a nearby search team, we rush over. They’ve found a smashed computer hard drive and monitor, which they plan to show to an officer even though I’m sure it has nothing to do with Casey.

  The sun sets behind the trees. We’re supposed to go back, but I pull out my flashlight. We find cigarette butts and broken beer bottles. My shoe gets stuck in the mud. As Sal helps me try to pull it loose, he asks why I didn’t want to search with my friends.

  “There’s this guy I don’t want to see.” It feels strange to talk about Matt. “He’s an asshole.”

  “So why are your friends with him?” Sal is on his knees in the mud, tugging at my shoe.

  I put my hand on his slender back to keep my balance. “Maybe they don’t know how big an asshole he is.”

  Sal looks up at me like he knows something I don’t. “Maybe you should tell them.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it.” With anyone. Ever.

  “Yeah. I get that.” Sal gives my shoe another yank. “But do they need to know?”

  My shoe comes free with a squelching noise. Sal and I tumble backward together into the dry leaves, my flashlight aimed at the purple sky. I flinch when I land on my broken hand.

  “Thanks.” When I look up, Sal’s face is inches from mine. I gasp. His bangs have fallen over one eye; the other is gazing at me, warm and curious. The freckle on his lower lip is terrifyingly kissable.

  I scramble backward, my fingers digging into the earth, pebbles under my nails, a root jamming into the small of my back. As I untangle from him, I’m grateful that his fingers didn’t wander to any awkward places.

  “Any time.” Sal helps me up.

  My hand hurts. I rub the small of my back. What just happened?

  Then Carlos is beside us, peering into the darkness, his hands out in front of him. “I can’t see anything.”

  I give him a turn with my flashlight and try to stop my hands from trembling. We search for another hour or so, until we finish our assigned area.

  When we arrive back at the parking lot, Matt and the others are nowhere in sight, and Mom and Dad are waiting for me. I say goodbye to Sal and Carlos to avoid awkward introductions.

  “Where were you?” Mom shines her flashlight on me. “We were phoning you.”

  I squint into the light. “I left my cell at home.”

  “Tori, we got it for you so we could stay in touch!”

  “I know. Sorry. But it’s waterlogged, and I don’t think it works.” Except to get Matt’s text.

  Around us the search is winding down, and volunteers are heading home. I don’t want to leave without Casey. I march over to Constable Riyad, my muddy shoe squishing with each step.

  “What happens next?” I ask him.

  The streetlamp shines on his face. “We continue the search at first light,” he says.

  He sounds positive, but I’m losing hope. All I can think of is Casey’s terrified face when she recognized her father. What was she so afraid of?

  I head to the SUV with my family. It’s great that all these people came together tonight, but it hasn’t made any difference to Casey.

  RiSE

  to get up and move the hell on

  I wake up sweating. My clock glows in the darkness: 2:16 AM. Nine hours since Casey went missing. An eternity.

  A nightmare is still with me. Aliens had embedded a bomb in my chest that was about to blow up the entire world, destroying everyone I knew. The nightmare ended when it detonated.

  I throw off the covers and try to stop shaking. Decaf chai or not, I won’t be sleeping again tonight.

  I get out of bed and go to the window. I can’t lie still while Casey is missing. I have to keep going, just put one foot in front of the other. If I stop moving, I might implode, but I won’t be taking any aliens with me.

  The windows of the houses on my street are dark, the curtains shut. The streetlamps burn circles of light into the grass and asphalt beneath them. Pin-prick stars smolder in the coal-black sky.

  Where is Casey now? What will he do with her? I ask the stars, but they have no answers.

  Maybe he’s pampering her to win her over and make her forget her mother.

  But for some reason, I imagine the worst, maybe because Casey seemed so scared of him. I can see her shivering and cold in a damp drainage ditch, calling out for her mother as her father clamps his hand over her mouth. I imagine her in the trunk of a car with duct tape covering her mouth and pinning her arms behind her back while the car hurtles down some distant highway, her father grinning at the wheel. I imagine her tied to a chair in a dusty old cottage, her father standing over her threateningly.

  Then I wonder if maybe, just maybe, the police have found Casey while I slept. I open my laptop and check the news online.

  No luck. Just an article about the search teams and how the police suspect that Stewart Foster is still in the area. But how could they know that? He could be in another country by now.

  I fume at the cops for not finding her and at myself for not stopping Casey’s father in the first place. Can none of us help her?

  In the corner of my room, I see my cell phone glowing, the message light flashing. I’m tempted to check it, but what if it’s Matt?

  We should finish what we started, he texted.

  I shudder. Does he mean it? Or is he just messing with me?

 
I hug myself to stop the shaking. Then I head to the bathroom across the hall and dig around in Dad’s drawer, keeping the lights switched off.

  The straight razor lies beside the electric clippers.

  I open the razor, hold it in my injured hand and run the blade along the length of my wrist. Not hard enough to draw blood. Just enough to feel its bite.

  My hands get clammy. My chest hurts. Maybe Matt will come after me. Just look at what happened to Casey. Nightmares do come true.

  I shove the razor back in the drawer and settle for the electric clippers. In the glow of the streetlamp, I shave my head with my left hand. It’s awkward, but I manage.

  I staunch the blood from two small cuts. Then I wander through the house, pacing. Dad snores loudly behind my parents’ bedroom door. I run my fingertips over the stair railing, the back of the couch, the lamps and tables. It grounds me, connects me to the thrum of the house, solid in the earth.

  So why do I feel like I’m spinning?

  I find Joel in the kitchen, stuffing his face. He’s wearing pajama bottoms, and his scrawny chest is bare. The light from the fridge spills across the tile floor, and cold air wafts toward me.

  Mom would scold him for leaving the fridge open. Dad would swat the back of his head. I just shut the fridge with my foot and sit across from him at the table. The light from the streetlamp shines in a swath between us.

  “Want some?” Joel isn’t whispering, but he’s quieter than usual. He nudges his bowl toward me, which is strangely generous for him, and then scoops up a mouthful of Kraft Dinner with a chunk of sugared donut.

  “That’s just gross, Joel.” I turn up my nose.

  “Your loss.” He grabs another donut from the package beside him. “Shaved your head again? Mom will love it.”

  I shrug. “Why are you up?” I rest my elbow on the table and prop my head on my good hand.

  “Can’t sleep.” Joel takes another large bite and talks while he chews. “I just keep thinking about that missing kid and the asshole who took her.”

  “Really?” I wonder what he’d think of Matt, if he knew.