Stand Alone

by P. D. Workman

  Justine flipped through the baby book, looking for anything else that might help her to solve the puzzle. At the beginning of the book, she stopped at the long form birth certificate. She’d never really paid any attention to it before. But she realized that there was a different town listed as the place of birth. Justine had been born in another city? Burbank  … where was that? Why hadn’t Em ever mentioned that she was born in another town? She always said that Justine had lived in this house her whole life. Had she just been born while Em was out of town? Or had Em lied about that too? What was the story?

  Justine took a picture of the page with her phone and carefully put everything away.

  She stopped and looked at Em’s jewelry box. It was locked, as usual. Casting her eyes over the orderly dresser top, Justine grabbed a sharply pointed letter opener and pushed it into the flimsy little lock. The lock was more decorative than functional. It certainly wasn’t a safe. Justine pushed and twisted and pried until the clasp popped up. She put the letter opener aside and took a look through the jewelry box. Everything was neatly corralled in individual little boxes and sections. She could remember when she was little, Em would let her sit on the bed with the jewelry box and paw through the contents, holding up various items to ask Em where she had gotten them, or if they were real diamonds, or to model them for Em. But that had ended when Justine kept tangling and breaking the jewelry, or losing small parts. Some of the lost charms and earrings had made it to hidden stashes in Justine’s room. She never wore them. She didn’t wear any jewelry. She just liked having them. Justine looked through the neatly-partitioned jewelry and took out a locket. She used her fingernail to open the catch. Inside was a tiny picture of baby Justine and another lock of fine, dark hair. Justine put it around her neck, careful not to get it tangled in her hair as she did it up. Justine looked at herself in the mirror, then hid the locket under her shirt, and shut the jewelry box. She tried pushing the jewelry box clasp closed again, but it didn’t catch. Apparently, it was broken. Justine shrugged and left it like that.

  CHAPTER 11

  SUMMER VACATION HAD SPED by. It was worse now with an extended vacation at Christmas and in the spring; the summer break seemed like it had barely started and it was over. And Christmas and spring break didn’t really seem like they were any longer than they used to be. Not long enough to really do anything. So instead of one good break and two little breaks, you just got three mediocre breaks. At least Justine hadn’t had to suffer through summer school this time. Em had tried that one year, hoping to have Justine out of her hair over the summer. She had never tried that again.

  Now, everything was back to routine. The same kids either making fun of Justine or ignoring her. The same teachers and administrators giving her a hard time, not listening to her complaints, not giving her any attention. But, at the same time, it was a comfortable sameness. She knew what to expect and it was easier to get through a day when she was used to the routine than when things happened unexpectedly.

  It was raining, so Justine didn’t feel like going out skating over the lunch hour. She ate her lunch quickly in the hallway, avoiding sitting down in the cafeteria. Then she went to the library to see if she could snag a computer before the rush. One of the boys from her grade was packing up his stuff at one of the computer stations. Hardy met her eyes, and jerked his head slightly in an invitation.

  “Here, I’m just finished. Go ahead and take this one.”

  “Thanks,” Justine acknowledged. It could be hard to get a computer, especially over the lunch hour, so she appreciated being able to jump the queue.

  She sat down and Hardy zipped up his backpack. He gave her a nod and a casual ‘see ya,’ and left.

  Justine checked to see if she had any messages. Nothing much in her in box other than spam. A few articles or newsletters that she had subscribed to, but mostly just junk. And nothing was happening on her social networks. Why would it? She didn’t have any ‘friends.’ Justine switched tracks and did a search on the delivery ticket for her new skateboard. It looked like it would arrive tomorrow. She might just fake sick to ensure that she was home to get it and Em didn’t see it before Justine got her hands on it. Justine was excited about the new board. It was going to be a sweet ride, and would ensure that Em could not hold her hostage again.

  She typed Burbank into the search engine and started to research the city. It wasn’t a big city, but not just a little hick town either. They had their own hospital, fire department, and police department and was a suburb of the bigger city. Not a big tourist draw, but they had all of the basic amenities. Was that where she had been born? Justine was baffled to think that she had never really known her birthplace before. She had always just assumed, or Em had always just told her, that she had lived there her whole life. She searched Em’s name in Burbank. Not surprisingly, there were no hits. She searched her own name. She searched just ‘Bywater’ in the online white pages and got back a bunch of unrelated hits. She didn’t know what the search engine was doing, it seemed to have a mind of its own. There certainly didn’t seem to be any Bywaters living in Burbank any more. If that was where Em had come from, or where her people were, they weren’t showing up. Justine leaned back, closing her eyes.

  What about Em’s maiden name? Was Bywater her maiden name or a married name? She’d never been exactly forthcoming about whether she had been married or not when Justine was born. Justine always kind of assumed that she was single. Otherwise, wouldn’t there have been a father in her life? Someone to help take care of her, feed her, make sure that his baby had a stable life? Justine pulled out her phone and enlarged the photo she had taken of the birth certificate.

  The father’s name was Cliff Bywater. Her mother’s last name was listed as Smith. Seriously? She tapped the name into the Burbank white pages, and got back over one hundred results. If Em’s family came from there, they were well hidden in the forest of Smiths. Googling Em Smith resulted in millions of hits. She paged through the first few pages of results, finding a singer, a tennis player, an artist, a social activist, a reporter  … the world seemed to be bursting at the seams with Em Smiths. Googling Cliff Bywater had comparatively fewer results. Most of the hits seemed to be a singer and guitar player. Justine scrutinized his face for any family resemblance, but there was nothing that she could see. His face was too thin, his blond hair too shaggy. And he didn’t have the look of any of the men that Em had ever showed an interest in. Em didn’t really date, but she seemed to be attracted to the tall, rugged, maybe darkly mysterious men. The kind that gave off a sort of ‘dangerous’ vibe. But here in palookaville, ‘dangerous’ probably just meant that he shot ducks out of season, or didn’t stop at red lights when it was two in the morning and there was no other traffic. There weren’t any truly ‘bad guys’ around that Justine knew of.

  Not that Justine let Em date. There had been a time  … Justine could remember Em leaving her with babysitters, trying to go out with men that Justine didn’t know, or had only met once or twice. But it didn’t take too many panicked calls from babysitters before Em got the hint and decided it wasn’t a good idea for her to leave Justine with someone else. Her single life had gradually petered out, and now involved just looking twice at a darkly handsome man walking down the street in the dusk, or flirting playfully with the plumber when he came to unplug a drain that Justine had clogged up. None of the Cliff Bywaters she found in Google or Facebook looked anything like the men that interested Em.

  So Justine had taken her father’s last name, not her mother’s maiden name. Justine pondered on this thoughtfully. Em had taken Cliff’s name. They had been married. Had he been a part of her life when she was born? You wouldn’t give the baby the name of a father she was never going to see again, would you? If you gave your baby her father’s name, didn’t that mean that you thought you would stay together? That he was going to be part of the baby’s life after the birth?

  Try as she might, Justine couldn’t remember a father f
igure in her life. Not in the deep dark past. Not in her dreams or imaginings. That part of her was just a blank. The closest person she could think of as a father figure was Dr. Morton, and he certainly wasn’t fatherly. He just happened to be the man that she spent a couple of hours with every week or two. He wasn’t a part of her life or of Em’s. It wasn’t like he’d ever taken her to the zoo or anything like that. His voice and his presence were comfortingly familiar, and he was a listening ear when Justine was upset with Em for something, but he definitely wasn’t a father.

  “Hey, are you done?” a voice demanded.

  Justine opened her eyes and looked at the computer screen. She hadn’t realized that she had closed her eyes while trying to visualize a father. Justine swiveled her chair to find the owner of the voice. It was a boy, probably younger than her, still in early puberty with a squeaky voice and soft, rounded face. Sandy hair. Blue eyes and glasses. Probably a nerd. Justine stretched. She closed the browser, then cleared the cache.

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “You can have it.”

  “You looked like you were just going to sleep there or something,” he complained, as if she was arguing with him about it instead of agreeing to give it to him.

  “No, just thinking,” Justine said. “You ever do that?”

  His eyes flashed to her face, and he grinned suddenly.

  “A thinker, eh?” he questioned. “Haven’t you ever heard of video games? Thinking is out of style.”

  Justine shook her head.

  “Still practiced in some parts of the world,” she told him.

  Picking up her phone, she let him take her computer.

  Justine was at her locker, trying to figure out the easiest way to squeeze her second skateboard in amongst the rest of the books and bags and crap. She luckily did not have to share her locker with a partner like most of the students did. No one wanted to share with her, and she’d been the odd man out, which left her with the whole locker to herself. But even with twice as much room as most of the kids in the school, it was cramped.

  “Hey, Justine,” was the low, cool greeting from Kenny, a boy whose locker was two doors down from hers.

  Justine glanced aside at him.

  “Hey,” she returned, and continued to rattle around her locker trying to get everything to fit properly.

  “How’s it going?” he pursued.

  Justine paused for a moment, looking up at him to try to figure out what he wanted. Why was he talking to her?

  “Fine,” she said slowly. “How about you?”

  He leaned against the bank of lockers and smiled a slow, luscious smile. He swept his shaggy blond hair back with one hand, and it fell back into place exactly where it had been before he performed the gesture. Justine went back to her locker, pursing her lips thoughtfully.

  “I’m good,” Kenny purred. “Say  … you going to the dance Friday?”

  “No,” Justine answered instantly. She had no interest in the school’s social functions. She imagined that Em would be delighted to have her attending something normal, acting like a regular student. Like someone who cared and had friends.

  “It looks like it’s gonna be cool,” Kenny persisted, looking at one of the posters on the wall advertising it. “Good DJ, and there’s going to be good food—pizza and stuff.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You ever been to one of the dances?”

  “No,” Justine said flatly, trying to shut the conversation down.

  He stood there looking at her. Justine pulled out the books that she needed for her next block of classes.

  “Later,” she said.

  “You’ve got English next, right? I’ll walk you over.”

  “I know where it is,” Justine said repressively.

  “Sure. But I’ve got Social right across the hall. We can walk together.”

  Justine closed her locker and snapped the lock shut. She started to walk, and was annoyed at Kenny walking right next to her, uncomfortably close, violating her personal space. She pulled back, trying to put some distance between them. He stuck to her like glue. She could see by his expression and body language that he was just waiting for the right opportunity to put his arm around her. Her breathing quickened.

  “Back off,” she ordered.

  Kenny looked startled.

  “What?”

  “Gimme some space. You’re smothering me. Seriously.”

  His face reddened, and he moved a few inches further away. His movements were awkward and self-conscious. Obviously, she’d crossed the line by making her boundaries clear. She’d done something that nice girls were not supposed to do.

  “Sorry,” he said, getting even more pink.

  Justine shrugged, trying to ease the tension. She laughed shortly.

  “It’s just  … it’s okay, I just  … need more space than some people,” she tried.

  Kenny nodded, regaining some of his composure.

  “Sure, no problem,” he said. “I’m not trying to crowd you.”

  They walked in awkward silence to their next classes, still positioned too closely to each other.

  “Okay, see you later,” Kenny said, leaning in toward her.

  Justine jerked back wildly, sure he was about to give her a peck on the cheek. He stopped, frozen. Justine stared at him, her eyes wide. She could feel her face flushing with fiery heat.

  “Personal space, Kenny!” she snapped.

  He gulped.

  “What’s your problem?” he said defensively. “I just said goodbye.”

  “Say goodbye from further away,” she warned. “And I don’t need anyone to walk me to class.”

  He was bright red as he walked through the door into his classroom. Justine stalked over to her seat. Titters and whispers followed her all the way there. She shook her head and slammed her books down on the desk, opening them up and then burying her flushed face in her folded arms on top of the desk, hiding it from sight. What did Kenny have to be so stupid for? Why did he have to get in her face?

  The teacher started the class asking for their assignments, and Justine pulled hers out, handing it forward to the girl who sat in front of her. Sarah smirked at her. Justine ignored the look and buried her face again, waiting for everyone to stop looking at her and pay attention to the teacher.

  Justine closed her books and got ready, then actually headed for the door ten seconds before the bell rang. The teacher was distracted and tried to call her back, but as soon as he got her name out, the bell rang, and the entire class stood up and swarmed the door. But Justine was out of the room and down the hall before the general rush could catch up to her; ahead, she hoped, of Kenny and any efforts to walk her back to her next class or their lockers. She didn’t know what had gotten into him. She’d never encouraged any kind of amorous overtures before. Standard hellos and goodbyes, unemotional and unattached  … nothing to encourage him in any kind of fantasy that she was interested in him. Shaking her head, Justine hurried to the next class without Kenny spotting her. Sighing, she sat down and got out her math text book.

  There was nothing she could do about seeing him again at their lockers. They were two feet apart, how could she avoid him? Justine ignored Kenny, pretending that she didn’t see him as they both dove into their lockers to get their homework together and get ready to go. But as Justine got her things packed and closed her locker door, Kenny moved in.

  “Hey, I’m sorry if I upset you earlier,” he said quickly.

  “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

  “Would you like to go to the dance? I mean, I think it would be fun  …”

  “I don’t do dances.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t actually have to dance, you know. We could just hang out. Eat some pizza, listen to the music  …” he trailed off, raising a questioning eyebrow.

  Justine shook her head, scowling. A dance? That was what the trendy kids did. Okay, she knew some geeks and rejects attended the dances as well, and got bullied and m
ade fun of. She had no interest in attracting more negative attention from the other students. She didn’t like them, and they didn’t like her, there was no point in pressing the issue.

  “I dunno, Kenny. A dance really isn’t my thing. That’s for the cheerleader and football types. I just  … it’s not me.”

  “If you don’t have a good time, we can take off. Do something else,” he suggested.

  He leaned in closer, and Justine took a step back.

  “We could go to the mall to eat first,” Kenny said, “and go to the dance, and if it’s lame, we could go out and do something else. Go to the park, or to a movie or something.”

  Justine shook her head harder. This was sounding way too much like a date, and she had no interest in starting up a physical relationship with Kenny. Or with anyone. She didn’t really even want a friendship, though she did miss what she had had with Christian. Kenny was no Christian. Kenny and Christian were hardly even the same species.

  “No. Sorry, I’m just not interested.”

  “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” he persisted, disappointed.

  “Uh-uh,” Justine said firmly.

  He touched her arm, cocking his head slightly and opening his mouth to say something more. His touch panicked Justine and almost without conscious thought, she struck out, punching him square in the chest with a powerful blow that sent him crashing into the lockers and the crowds of students trying to get ready to go at the end of the day. The impact of Kenny hitting the open locker doors and the protests of people whose feet he stepped on or bodies he crashed into with the momentum of the punch were loud and made everyone stop talking, stop what they were doing, and turn around to see what was going on. Kenny was caught and supported by several bystanders while he steadied himself and got his breath back. He started to swear angrily.