All Out of Pretty

by Ingrid Palmer

  I’m not sure what to make of that until Judd’s gray eyes narrow. “I’ve put bullets in people before, Bones. Even people as pretty as you.”

  Chapter 13

  The weather warms, and Judd’s woods burst into full spring bloom. The trails are now dotted with purple cress and wild geraniums. They’re also more populated, with day hikers and kids riding shiny mountain bikes along the trails. Judd and I move some of his equipment into the house to reduce the risk of being discovered on our frequent hikes to the shed. He doesn’t hold the back of my head anymore. He thinks he has scared me enough, that I am no longer a threat.

  I hate that he’s right.

  I may have lost my dignity, but at least I won Essex. Somehow I convinced Judd that a teenager not attending school would invite suspicion, that I could go to Essex and still work enough to cover room, board, and bus fare. I think he agreed just so he wouldn’t have to watch me twenty-four hours a day.

  I’ll say one thing in Judd’s favor—he’s organized. There’s never any waffling when it comes to business. Fridays are for packaging. After school, he tells me straight away where to hide the drugs, and he doesn’t waste time. I’ve come to appreciate this. Our deliveries, which take place on Saturdays, are efficient and mapped out in a way that leaves me time to make dinner and complete my homework. Even when he makes me work on weeknights, I get to bed before midnight and that is a small victory. Believe me, I count every victory I can these days. It is amazing what a person can get used to.

  When I’m not working for Judd, the woods belong to me. I hike to the secret pond and let my troubles fade away. It’s sunny today, so I shuffle down the muddy bank, pull off my boots, and wade in up to my knees. Squishing the muck between my toes, I tilt my head back, spread my arms, and let the wind sway me from side to side. I feel light enough to be plucked up and carried away like a dandelion seed.

  After my toes are good and numb, I climb my favorite tree and stretch out. Up in my nest, my body relaxes further. It convinces my mind to do the same. A band of sunlight falls across my face and plants a long, warm kiss on my skin.

  Plunk! There’s a splash below, like someone launched a big rock into the water. Peering down, I see that girl from the other day diving into the pond again. When she breaks the surface for air, she taunts, “Come on, you chicken!”

  For a moment, I think she’s talking to me but then I hear a boy’s laughter from the bushes on the other side of the pond. “Nice try. You’re crazy.”

  The girl flips to her back, indifferent.

  I can’t see the boy from my perch, but I have to agree with his assessment of her mental state. Even though the sun is warm, that water is frigid. And I know she has been swimming when it was even colder.

  “You’re going to catch pneumonia,” he warns. “This is Ohio, you know. Not Florida.”

  “You scared of a little polar bear plunge?” she mocks. “I thought you Southerners were supposed to be tough.”

  “Your tactics won’t work on me,” he scoffs, slightly annoyed. “Now, come on. I need to get back.”

  She stays where she is, treading water and blowing bubbles. “Why? The all-important homework gods are calling?”

  “Just wait a few years. Life’s not all fun and games.”

  The girl tilts her head back and laughs. “All the more reason for me to cut loose now. Run along and study then. I’ll meet you at the house.”

  “Right,” he says. “Like I’m going to leave you here alone to get hypothermia.”

  “Suit yourself.” Grinning devilishly, the girl slips underwater.

  I hear an exasperated sigh, but the boy doesn’t leave. He starts walking around the perimeter of the pond, getting closer and closer to me.

  I don’t know exactly where the boy is, but I can see the pond clear enough. The girl has broken the surface again and is treading water, scanning the sandy strip where her friend was standing before. A small rock suddenly skips across the water four—no, five times. It’s far enough away from the girl so as not to pose a threat, but close enough that she notices. She turns her head. “Jeez! You’d better not hit me with any of those.”

  The guy lets out a deep, hearty laugh. “Have a little faith,” he says and that’s the first time I hear the drawl. “You’ll be safe if you keep to that side of the pond. Better yet, get out and dry off so we can leave. Your towel’s over here.”

  “I’m not leaving yet.” She doesn’t say it in a bratty way, just matter-of-fact. Then she disappears underwater again.

  I lean over a little and spot the boy. Or at least, the top of him. Brown hair. Broad shoulders. He’s only a few yards from the base of my tree, standing on a large, flat rock. He keeps bending down to pick up more skipping stones while the girl floats.

  After a few minutes of this, I start to feel restless. They could stay here for hours if the girl has her way! I glance at Gram’s watch. It’s almost six. If I don’t show up at Judd’s soon, I’m toast. Slowly, I edge closer to the tree trunk and start to climb down. If I’m quiet, I can probably sneak back into the woods without being seen.

  As I near the lowest branch, there is sudden sloshing nearby. “I want to try,” the girl says and scrambles onto the big rock. Wrapping up in her towel, she asks, “Got any more stones?”

  The guy swivels to scan the ground and I freeze. I cling to the tree trunk, press my cheek against it.

  “Hey,” he says. “What’s that?”

  Oh great. He must have seen me. I peer around the edge of the trunk, but he hasn’t seen me. He’s seen my bags. Shoot! I forgot I left them by the log where I waded in earlier.

  Perplexed, he starts walking toward my bags and she hops along next to him like some curious woodland nymph. Crap. Any moment now the girl will remember seeing me in the tree before and will look over this way. There’s no escape. Besides, I don’t want anyone pawing through my stuff. Or worse, taking it.

  “Hey, those are mine!” I call out and scramble down the tree. In my haste, I completely miss the last foothold. I hear my jeans rip as they snag on a branch and I go tumbling toward the earth.

  “Whoa! What the—?”

  “Omigosh! Are you okay?” The girl cuts off her friend, then rushes toward me flapping her skinny arms in dismay.

  I quickly climb to my feet. “I’m fine,” I say, then glance down to be sure it’s true. Aside from the torn jeans and a small scrape on my leg, I am fine.

  The boy gazes at me and then up at the tree, more perplexed than before. “Were you watching us?” he asks slowly. Rather than accusatory, he sounds amused.

  My face is suddenly five shades of hot. I don’t want them thinking I’m some voyeuristic weirdo. “No,” I say, flustered. “I was…resting.”

  Their eyebrows go up in surprise, in unison. Then the girl breaks into a delighted grin. I guess she thinks resting in trees is cool. The boy squints at me. “Are you sure you’re all right?” Apparently, he is now worried about my mental state.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” My voice is clipped, out of habit. I walk over and hoist my bags onto my shoulders. “I have to get home.”

  “Oh!” The girl, who has followed me like a baby duckling, sounds excited. “Did you just move here? Where do you live? I haven’t seen you at school. How old are you?”

  God. Does she ask enough questions? I glance over and notice that her cheeks are still glistening with pond water. Her eyes look wide and hopeful, but I recognize another emotion hiding there—loneliness. I have to admit, I am drawn to this girl. And that, for us both, is dangerous.

  I glance at Gram’s watch, desperate for an out. “I really have to go,” I say apologetically, turning away. I take two steps before stumbling magnificently over a root jutting out of the ground. The girl giggles as I fight to keep my balance.

  “Careful,” the boy says wryly. I can hear the smile in his voice.

&nbs
p; “Hey, what’s your name?” calls the girl just as I reach the path.

  Without answering, I break into a run.

  I don’t slow down until I’m halfway back to Judd’s and one hundred percent sure they didn’t follow me. God, I am an idiot. An idiot who can’t remember how to act around normal people. Or walk, apparently. I’m just glad I got out of there when I did.

  When I reach the last clearing, I take a breath and compose myself. Thankfully, Judd’s car is nowhere in sight when I emerge from the woods, but I open the front door quietly, just in case.

  “That’s ridiculous.” Ayla’s voice echoes from the bedroom, strident. I roll my eyes. Judd must not have given her enough happy dust today. As I tiptoe past the door, she explodes again. “That amount wouldn’t last anyone six months. She’s a teenage girl. Do you know how much crap teenage girls need?”

  Puzzled, I stop in the kitchen and listen.

  “Come on, Mr. Phipps. Surely there’s something you can do? The whole point of my mother’s trust fund is—” Ayla’s voice goes quiet for a long moment. “No, no need to schedule any hearing. We’ll get by somehow until July.”

  After she hangs up, a string of curses escape her lips. Dresser drawers slam against their frames. She bursts into the kitchen and I jump, afraid she’ll know I was eavesdropping. But when her blazing eyes land on me, they light up with hope.

  “Bones!” She hurries toward me. I step back until I bump the counter. Her hands squeeze my arms and she grins like I’m her savior. “You know where Judd keeps everything, don’t you?”

  I shake my head. No way am I giving her drugs behind Judd’s back. I think of the tuna sandwich, the flame inside his silver lighter. I’ll take anything Ayla can dish out before facing Judd.

  “Don’t lie to me,” she hisses, and I grimace at her rancid breath. “He locked the door to the cellar, but you know where the key is.”

  “No. He doesn’t trust me.” That much is true.

  “Where do you go in the woods? Show me the way.” Her voice is pitchy and a layer of sweat sparkles on her skin.

  “It’s locked. Just have some wine or something.”

  “He took it all. Every last bottle, the bastard. Even my goddamn cigarettes.”

  “Drive to the market, then!” I yell, because her hands are pinching my arms harder.

  “I can’t drive to the market, you little snot. He hid my car keys!”

  This scares me into a momentary stupor. I knew Judd had taken our keys, but I figured Ayla would have access. I feel suckerpunched. We are not just hidden out here—we’re trapped.

  Ayla starts shaking and swearing, and I know it’s only going to get worse. It always gets worse until she makes it past the frenzy, then lies twitching and moaning.

  I try to sidle away, but she clings to me like an anxious toddler, her eyes red and hysterical. “Listen, did you…did you look in the pockets of his flannel shirts?” I suggest. “Judd puts the keys in there sometimes.”

  This is a lie. Judd doesn’t ever let me see what he does with his keys. But the lie serves its purpose. Ayla rushes into the bedroom to search his closet. As soon as she’s gone, I grab the loaf of bread on the counter and sprint back to the woods. When Judd gets home, things will get worse. I’m afraid for Ayla, and I’m worried that the repercussions of the coming fight will spill over onto me. Best to stay hidden.

  The pink sunrise streams in the rear window of the Buick. Thank God the doors were unlocked or I’d have been stuck in the woods all night. I sit up and stretch, feeling achy. I’m too used to sleeping in a real bed now. Judd and Ayla’s little fight messed up my plans to shower last night, so my skin feels grimy. I peer at myself in the car’s mirror and drag my fingers through my hair. It’s a tangled mess, so I give up and pull on my ski cap. No boys will try to woo me today, that’s for sure. Not that they ever do anymore.

  My textbooks and papers are scattered all over, but I got my work done before the sun set. I scoop it all into my backpack. My bags feel heavier than usual as I hoist them onto my shoulders and glare at Judd’s dark house.

  Thinking about yesterday, I feel just as dark. At least now I know why Ayla wants to keep me so bad. It’s not like I was expecting anything as outlandish as maternal affection, but I guess I was hoping to be more than her cash cow. Man, I wish I could get my hands on the money Gram left—apparently dispersed in installments to whoever “takes care” of me. What a joke. The worst part is, I know that as a minor, I can’t cash in without Ayla any more than she can without me. We are linked, like two convicts chained at the ankles.

  My walk to the market is miserable. As the sun glows hotter, I stop chattering from cold and start to sweat instead. On the bus, I smooth out my clothes and munch my bread and wish I had some water.

  In the bathroom at Essex, I wash my face and brush my teeth with my finger. I braid my knotty hair and tie it with a rubber band since hats are not permitted in class. I slip through half the day before a teacher asks if I’m feeling okay.

  “Yeah, of course.” I give him a strange look.

  “You look a little…tired.”

  I force a smile and complain, “Yes, because I was up late doing homework. I’m fine, Mr. Marsh.” I say it in a tone that makes me sound like the authority figure. Like I’m telling him to run along and play. Grinning, he does.

  After school, I wander downtown and look in shop windows. It’s risky not to go straight back to Judd’s, but I need a break. And if Judd and Ayla made up, they’ll go clubbing tonight. That’s their pattern.

  I treat myself to a hot dog and Sprite from a vendor, even though it means I won’t have bus fare one way this week. The guy selling the hot dogs smiles at me in a shy way, peeking up every few minutes. As he works, he shifts from one foot to the other, reminding me of the boys in elementary school who could never stand still.

  Wrapping my food up in wax paper, he says brightly, “Here you go. One of ‘Sam’s Famous Dogs’ for the girl in red.”

  I look down at my thin red sweater, fraying at the cuffs, and feel a little self-conscious. The boy keeps talking, explains that he’s working for his uncle, who owns five of these vendor carts.

  “Are you named after your uncle?” I ask as I pay.

  He squints at me, confused, until I point to his nametag, which says “Hi, I’m Sam.” Then he laughs. “Oh, duh. Forgot about the tag. No, I’m Doug.” He wipes his hand against the apron and holds it out.

  I shake it. “Andrea.” My voice comes out like a bullet. It’s because I’m so sick of being called Bones or girl. Or any number of cuss words. It’s because I haven’t talked to anybody but my teachers in so long. And I’ve been avoiding even them lately.

  Doug must be bored because he rambles on about how he and his uncle are expanding soon. “I’m in my last semester at community college and then I’m taking one of the carts to Lexington. I’ll be a junior partner in the business,” he says, puffing out his chest.

  I really have to restrain myself from blurting, Can I come with you?

  Doug keeps chatting so I stand there and listen, eating my hot dog and giggling at his jokes. They are lame jokes, but he’s nice. And he’s talking to me. And it’s safe.

  That night, after a much-needed shower, I spread out my books and papers with good intentions, but my mind keeps wandering to Doug the hot dog vendor, that brave mermaid-girl at the pond, and her no-nonsense friend. All mere strangers that crossed my path, nothing more. But there’s something inside me that longs to connect with them, with someone. I have been too alone for too long.

  Then my mind takes me to Indiana, to Gram, and I wish it wouldn’t but I can’t stop it. I double over, press my forehead against the papers. There’s this battle waging inside me—the memory of Gram’s love trying to push its way in versus my own raw energy, trying to think of anything but her. If she could see Ayla
now, her eyes would fill with pity and pain. If she could see into my brain she’d call me a cuckoo bird, and that’s exactly how I feel. My mind won’t settle—I’m worried about Judd and his “two-year plan,” about summer vacation, about our missing car keys. I feel like I’m going to burst into a thousand pieces and there’s no one I can talk to.

  Except…I haven’t called Delaney since I left Indianapolis. And the house is empty tonight.

  In the dark, I tiptoe downstairs and pick up the phone. Slowly, I dial her number. She answers on the third ring.

  “Hellooo?” she asks, impatient when I don’t say anything at first.

  “Delaney?” My voice sounds small, even to me.

  Pause. “Oh my God, Andrea! Where are you?” I picture her bolting upright on her purple comforter. I love hearing her voice, the normalcy of it. But how do I answer? What can I say?

  “I’m in Columbus.”

  “Ohio? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I think I was in shock or something,” I mumble.

  “It was so creepy the way you disappeared,” Delaney says after a moment. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

  “Sorry. We had to leave pretty fast.” So fast, I couldn’t find out where they buried Gram. No one told me anything about her after I got dumped at the foster home. “Dee, do you know if…was there ever an obituary or anything? For my Gram?”

  “No,” she says quietly. “My mom looked for it. She heard from one of your neighbors that the house sold really fast.”

  My house. I wonder what the realtor did with all our stuff. And the money…I saw how Ayla squandered that.

  There’s a pause before Delaney asks in a low voice, “Are you with your mother now?”

  The question throws me because I’d never told her much about Ayla, or why I lived with Gram in the first place. How can I fill in those details? Would it even be safe for her to know?

  “Yes.” That’s all I offer. I feel the walls rising up as I slip into a resigned silence.