All Out of Pretty

by Ingrid Palmer

  On my way out, I stop at the fountain machine to refill my cup. The cashier isn’t watching me—he’s busy getting slushies for a group of middle school girls—and my stomach is so empty that I decide to fill my cup with Sprite instead of water. I take my time walking out, mostly to prolong the inevitable return to Judd’s car, to Judd’s house, to Judd’s strong, veiny hands that grab and smack and choke. As I loiter around the checkout area, a girl with white-blond stripes in her dirty blond hair bounces through the door. Our eyes latch and before I can pull mine away, her whole face brightens. It’s the girl from the pond.

  She’s heading toward me now with a huge smile on her face and for some reason, this makes me incredibly happy. Maybe I could have a friend, I think. A secret friend. I could allow myself that. Couldn’t I?

  I start to raise my hand in hello, but as soon as my arm moves, the girl’s cheery face pales. She’s staring like she’s seen a ghost. No, a monster. My whole body flushes hot. Did she think I was someone else and now realizes that I’m actually the freaky weirdo who spied on her from the tree?

  But no. Her eyes aren’t on me anymore, I realize, as a group of middle schoolers walks up the aisle behind me. The girl from the pond has halted at their approach, horrified.

  The gaggle of girls stop directly between us, huddled like they’d blow over without each other for support. A tall, straight-haired blond with a huge purse slung across her torso, says loudly to her companions, “There’s that little bitch. She probably buys her clothes here.” The whole group laughs viciously.

  What the hell? Are they bullying her? The girl from the woods stares wide-eyed, then starts backing up on the balls of her feet. Before they can taunt her again, she whirls around and walks quickly outside, the automatic doors swooshing her out of sight.

  The girls laugh harder as she retreats. They flip their hair and sip their slushies as the ringleader proclaims, “She’s such a loser.”

  I stroll slowly past them toward the door, and they are so wrapped up in their nasty talk that they don’t even notice me. They also don’t notice the contents of my cup being dumped silently into the wide-open purse strapped across blondie’s back.

  Smirking, I swing my bags of Walmart clothes and toss the empty cup into the nearest trashcan. I pop another stick of gum in my mouth and walk outside, where the girl from the pond has completely disappeared. Still, I’m feeling so proud of myself for sticking it to that bitchy girl that I almost want to stick it to Judd too. I blow a huge bubble as I saunter to the back of the parking lot. I’m not as brave as I act, though. I spit my gum onto the pavement before getting close enough for Judd to see.

  When I reach his car, I drop my bags on the backseat, then hand him the receipt and the 78 cents in change. I try not to smirk when he stares at the coins and then at me, his eyes cutting like claws.

  “Have fun?” he asks.

  I nod, keeping my face placid. But actually I did.

  Unimpressed, he puts the car into drive.

  Chapter 16

  On the morning of the last day of school, I pull on my new clothes and eat a huge breakfast. I’m back in survival mode, stuffing myself every chance I get. For lunch, I pack three peanut butter sandwiches and everything else in sight.

  I want to savor this day at Essex, so I ignore the dirty word that keeps circling my brain—summer. Spending three months cowing to Judd makes me want to rip out my hair. But it’s not like I have a choice. I can’t escape until I get into college and Judd’s ‘retirement plan’ goes into effect. Two years. In the scheme of my entire life, I rationalize, it’s not that long.

  Escape feels closer when I spend my lunch hour perusing the Best Colleges book in the career center. There’s a stack of fliers on the table announcing a new scholarship for promising Essex grads. I can’t apply until I’m a junior, but I stick a flier in my backpack anyway. A little piece of hope to keep me going until Fall.

  At the end of sixth period, as the teacher reminds us not to let our brains go to mush over break, a voice crackles through the intercom asking me to report to the school office. As I walk down the stairs, a million scenarios whiz through my mind…Judd got busted, Ayla OD’d, the little shed went up in flames.

  As soon as I sign in at the main desk, a side door opens. “Andrea? I’m Ms. Cruz,” says a young woman with smooth skin and pixie hair as black as mine. “Come into my office, please.”

  I follow her into a small room with large windows, half expecting to see Ayla or Judd waiting. Thankfully, it’s empty.

  “Am I in trouble?” I ask tentatively as I sit down across from Ms. Cruz.

  “No, but we may have a problem,” she answers, shuffling some papers on her desk. “Where are you living right now?”

  I gulp and order myself to calm down. “With my mom’s boyfriend.”

  “Can you give me the address?” she asks, pen poised.

  I comply, but as soon as she writes it down, I get more nervous. Did Mr. Marsh tell her I looked unkempt that one day? Is someone coming to Judd’s place to check on me? That would be bad, for all of us.

  “When did you leave the apartment on Blake Street?”

  I shrug. “A month ago? My mom wanted to move in with her boyfriend.” I know I’m repeating myself, but I don’t want to say too much.

  “Well, that explains why a discrepancy arose when checking residency requirements for next year.” Ms. Cruz puts down her pen. “Your mother didn’t notify us of the address change, and we don’t have open enrollment. You must live in Essex County to attend Essex schools.”

  “What?” I whisper, though I knew this. If I hadn’t been so panicked earlier, I would have realized right away where this conversation was going. I would have lied.

  I stare at her desk, crestfallen. My mask is gone. I must look as devastated as I feel, but I can’t hide it anymore. Everything I worked so hard for, everything I put up with…

  Ms. Cruz tries to make me feel better by saying, “Andrea, we’ll be sad to lose you, but you’re an excellent student and you’ll do well at…” She swivels her chair and types something into her computer, then finishes, “…Belmont High School. When I send your transcripts, I’ll write a personal note to ensure you get placed in every honors class offered. You won’t have to re-test in any subject.”

  I know she’s doing me a favor, and I am grateful, but Essex was the one thing keeping me afloat. And now, in a breath, it’s gone. Just like Gram. Just like everything good.

  I want to argue, to beg, but there’s no point. Rules are rules. Laws are laws. People—children, especially—don’t have a chance against them. Standing up, I force a small smile. “Thanks.”

  Instead of going back to class, I head straight to the library and google ‘Belmont High School.’ The picture on the homepage sure looks like Haydon—barren and dusty. Vast farmland surrounds the athletic fields and a meadow of high corn bumps up to one side of the lone brick building. The school is nowhere near as large as Essex. Or as prestigious. Clicking around the website, the myriad photos of smiling students serve only to depress me.

  In slow motion, I return to homeroom. I turn in my school ID and clean out my locker like everyone else. It’s hard not to notice how empty mine is when all around me kids are unfolding old notes or peeling off magnetic white boards, laughing at farewell messages scribbled by friends. I drop the scholarship flier in the nearest trashcan.

  Outside, I tuck myself against the side of the white library building, where I’m mostly hidden by bushes but still have a good view of campus. I sit there all afternoon hugging my knees and memorizing the details. I wanted this so badly. And now that I’ve had it and lost it, I just want to remember something nice. Someplace nice.

  Later, I walk to the corner where Doug’s hot dog cart was parked the other day. In its place is an Audi sporting an Ohio University bumper sticker. Slowly, I trudge to the bus stop, l
etting the tears roll down my cheeks and into the neck of my T-shirt. I don’t bother to wipe them away.

  My walk from the market to Judd’s house is dreadful. I try not to think about the next three months, or the next two years. I just put one foot in front of the other in front of the other, until the sun starts to dip below the horizon, until the rhythm feels like a dance instead of a death march.

  There’s a blue BMW parked in Judd’s driveway when I arrive. A man leans against the hood talking to Judd. He has dark, wavy hair that grazes his shoulders and when he catches sight of me, he does a doubletake.

  “Wait for me in the cellar, Bones,” Judd commands.

  I make a beeline for the front door. Just as I’m stepping inside, the long-haired guy lets out a low whistle. “You sly little shit, Judd. You never said the daughter was hot, too.”

  “She’s a kid,” Judd replies, his voice tight.

  “Old enough,” the man counters with a laugh. “Hell, when you feel like sharing your toys, you let me know.”

  I shut the door, shut out his disgusting words. But then some other words jump into my mind—the ones Judd spoke to me weeks ago—What you oughtta be worryin’ about is yourself. I got people lookin’ now. Breaking my back to protect you, girl.

  I didn’t pay attention to his warning then, but now it’s all I hear.

  That night, after Judd and Ayla pass out on the sofa, I slip outside and pick my way through the cluttered storage area attached to the back of the house. It doesn’t take long to find what I need. In the dark, I tiptoe to the Buick and pour the gas into the tank. Then I hide the empty red can under some pots, wipe my hands on the front of my shorts, and slip back inside, quiet as a mouse.

  Chapter 17

  Judd works me to the bone now that school is out. We spend long hours in the shed and cellar, make extra deliveries during the week. Sometimes we go as far as Dayton and Cleveland on special errands. My role is twofold—I’m Judd’s cover and I always carry the drugs. I get it now—there’s less impact on him if I get caught in possession.

  I’ve visited the pond twice, but the girl wasn’t there either time. I wish she would show up. I want to ask her about Walmart. I want to tell her about the Sprite I dumped in that blond girl’s purse. I do find a stone message from her once. It spells Saturday? My heart sinks. Judd doesn’t let me out of his sight on Saturdays. Defeated, I kick the stones so they scatter. I start to walk away, then come back, bend down, and rearrange the stones to say Can’t.

  It’s true, in so many ways. I can’t plan a meeting with her because Judd controls my schedule, controls me. I can’t be her friend, anyway. What on earth would I talk to her about?

  I won’t come back to the pond again. It’s for the best.

  On a scorching June day two and a half miserable weeks into summer vacation, I’m listening to Ayla cuss Judd out downstairs. The two of them have never been averse to drama, but lately they’re arguing non-stop. Fed up, Judd slams out the front door, hops in his car, and takes off in a cloud of dust.

  Hope sparks inside me as Ayla grumbles about Judd’s disgusting teeth and receding hairline. Planting those seeds in her head about his shortcomings lately has paid off, I think. She’s ready.

  My bags are packed, as always, and I’ve smuggled a bunch of food into them. They’re super heavy, but I’d rather carry an elephant than starve.

  “Ayla,” I coax when I find her pacing in their bedroom. “Let’s take the Buick and go. Aren’t you sick of him?”

  She pauses, her eyes infused with…something. Not excitement exactly, and it may just be the effect of whatever pills she popped today, but for once, for real, she’s considering it.

  “We don’t need him.” I pull her bags out from under the bed, then go to her drawers and start packing her clothes. She watches me obtusely, but she’s not stopping me.

  “We’ll be better off on our own,” I say.

  “Yeah,” she says slowly, testing the idea in her half-baked mind. “I am sick of him. Sick of him ordering me around, rationing my supplies. I don’t need his crap!”

  “Exactly. You’re gorgeous. You can have any man you want,” I flatter her. “Judd’s not even in your league. He should be worshipping you.”

  Ayla’s with me now, grabbing clothes off hangers and shoes from the closet floor. I’m so excited at the prospect of getting away from Judd, away from Haydon, that I could burst into song. I’ve been waiting for this moment far longer than I realized. And now that I’ve lost Essex, it’s worth the risk, it’s worth everything, to run.

  Then Ayla pulls a clear sack of pills from one of Judd’s drawers and sticks it inside her bag.

  “No!” I grab for it, remembering how Judd deals with people who steal from him.

  Ayla snatches the baggie before I can. Holding it to her chest, she says lethally, “I’m not going without it.”

  I glance out the window, torn. “Fine, just hurry up.” My heart is pitter-pattering in anticipation of our getaway and who knows when Judd will be back.

  Then Ayla stops moving altogether.

  “What’s wrong? Come on!” I yell.

  “We can’t go anywhere.” She slouches dejectedly onto the bed.

  Panic clutches my chest. “Yes, we can. We have to! If we stay, he’ll just keep pushing us around. We need to go now,” I say, glancing out the window again.

  “But he’s got our keys, Bones.” Ayla looks up at me with the disappointed eyes of a child being denied some treat.

  Luckily, I haven’t been a child for a long time, and I’m not waiting for someone to rescue me. “No, Ayla. I have our keys.” I pull them from my pocket and dangle them in front of her.

  Her face lights up. “Where’d you get those?”

  “Found them,” I say, pushing her off the bed. Now is not the time to explain how I’ve been secretly searching since the last day of school, memorizing the placement of clothing in Judd’s drawers so I could put it all back the way I found it. After a few days, I discovered the keys in a cigar box under his dresser. “Now come on. You still have some money, right?”

  She nods.

  “Okay, then.” I take Ayla’s hand and pull her out the front door, my heart knocking against my ribs. I usher her into the passenger seat and toss our bags in the trunk. I don’t stop to look back at Judd’s house as I start the engine and hit the gas. Unlike Essex, this is a place I don’t want to remember.

  I have to force myself not to speed on the two-lane highway. Getting stopped by the police would derail everything. As we approach the market, the light turns red and I have to bring the Buick to a stop.

  Sinking low in the driver’s seat, I scan the lot. Judd’s car is easy to find. He always parks in the back. “Oh no,” I whisper when I see it. Thanks to his tinted windows, I can’t tell if he’s inside it or not.

  “Oh no, what?” Ayla asks.

  I spot Judd walking out of the liquor store gripping a brown bag. He stops on the curb to light a cigarette. Don’t look up, don’t look up… To Ayla I say, “Get the map out of the glove compartment.”

  She starts rifling around. Good. That’ll keep her busy. The last thing I need is for her to see Judd and freak out.

  After ten thousand hours, the light turns green and I ease smoothly onto the gas. I watch Judd the whole time, holding my breath.

  “Aha!” Ayla pulls out the map, triumphant. She gets so proud of herself for the simplest tasks. I roll my eyes as we leave the market in the dust, but I can’t help smiling too. She fusses with the map, turning it all different ways as if it’s the hardest Sudoku puzzle. She’s too high to read it but I memorized the route to the interstate long ago. As soon as we’re heading east on it, cruising at exactly fifty-five miles per hour, I roll down my window and let out a victory whoop.

  I don’t really have a plan, other than to get far away fast. We can’t
go back to Indianapolis—Judd would find us there. I concentrate on driving, since I haven’t done it in a while. And I refuse to stop for the first two hours, even though Ayla says she needs to pee. She probably just wants her bag of contraband in the trunk.

  “Hold it,” I tell her. “I don’t want to risk running into anyone who knows Judd.”

  Ayla harrumphs, but doesn’t argue. When we do stop east of Wheeling, West Virginia, I stay in the car and tell my mother she has five minutes or I’m leaving without her. I keep her purse. Normally she’d be irritated with my bossiness, but she’s stoned and pliable, and I’m running the show.

  After the pit stop, Ayla falls asleep and I’m left to navigate. A feeling of empowerment courses through my veins as I put more miles between us and Judd. He could be on our trail. But even if he discovered us missing soon after we’d left, he wouldn’t know for sure which way we’d gone. If he guessed correctly, though, and he drove fast, he could catch us. Or he could send his cronies out in every direction.

  I decide it’s best to get off I-70 and onto a different interstate. The first one I come across is 79, so I head south toward Morgantown. The scenery is breathtaking and the towering mountains surround us like a fortress. I feel safer here.

  Ayla is cranky when she wakes up, so we stop for an early dinner at McDonald’s. Nibbling our fries, we regard one another warily, as if we are surprised by each other, and ourselves, and what we did.

  I sigh so deeply I feel it in my toes. “I like West Virginia. It’s pretty.”

  Ayla scratches her neck. She doesn’t care about pretty—unless she’s looking in a mirror.

  “I thought we could stop in Morgantown,” I add. “It’s only a little farther.”