All Out of Pretty

by Ingrid Palmer

  On day five, I think I’ll go insane if I have to hear Ayla screech and moan for one more second. Judd is working on delivery routes while I cook. After I set his plate on the table, I implore, “Can’t you give her something, to take the edge off?”

  Amused by my emotional request, he says, “Didn’t know it bothered you so much.” Then he makes me sit outside Ayla’s door for the rest of the night. I bury my head in my knees and try to block out her pleas, her hissing threats, her delusions of demons sucking her eyeballs. In between, softer, she sobs pitifully for “Mama.” I want Gram, too.

  By the time Judd sends me to bed, I’m bawling. For hours I hemorrhage silent, unwelcome tears. I don’t understand why it affects me so much. Ayla has never concerned herself with my well-being. Why should I care about hers?

  But somehow, for some reason, I do.

  Chapter 24

  The pond water is a little lower now, after two hot summer months. I watch a frog leap from a rock onto the muddy shore. With a stick, I write my name in the goo. ANDREA. But it looks more like ANDRE because the second “A” gets lost in the mush.

  We’ve been back in Haydon for a month. It’s early August and I still haven’t worked up the nerve to mention school. It was only three days ago that Judd finally let me out of the house on my own, and I’ve spent all three afternoons at the pond.

  Ayla and Judd are back to their original arrangement. On the surface, all is forgiven. On the surface, Judd doesn’t care what I do as long as I cook, keep my mouth shut, and work as his runner. But he watches me for signs of rebellion. And thinks up new ways to keep me down. Like last Wednesday, when he didn’t unlock my attic door at eight as usual. I knew something was up, but I had to observe it all helplessly from inside.

  First I heard tires crunching up the drive, and then car doors opening and closing, unfamiliar voices. I stood on tiptoe, peered through my hexagonal window, and watched in horror as a middle-aged couple poked around inside the Buick. With friendly smiles, they traded Judd a wad of cash for the keys—my precious keys!—and drove Gram’s car away.

  Tears spilled down my red-hot cheeks as I watched our car, our hope, our independence disappear in a cloud of dust. Judd stood outside counting the money, then turned and grinned at my window, fanning the bills.

  I’d be lying if I said that didn’t break me.

  Since then, I haven’t questioned or complained or schemed. I do my job and sprint to the woods every chance I get.

  The woods caress my wounds. With their shady paths and myriad hiding spots—logs, bushes, tall trees good for climbing—I pretend that I’m not enslaved. But I’m no fool. I thought the mountains in West Virginia would protect me, too, and that turned out to be a joke. Still, it’s all I’ve got.

  “Who’s Andre? Your boyfriend?” The chirpy voice comes from nowhere, from everywhere. I whirl around, but the wooded space behind me is empty. “Yoo-hoo,” she says. Then I see the girl up in the tree, lying horizontal on a thick branch where she must have been watching me this whole time.

  Before I can react, she swings around and drops down next to me. My eyes widen at her crazy stunt, but—unlike me—she lands intact on all fours. Her fingers squish the earth and she smiles, her face as bright and open as the sun.

  “Nice…dismount,” I say.

  “Three years of gymnastics,” she explains, standing up. Then her voice turns earnest, “Please don’t run off.”

  I nod. There’s nowhere safe to run, anyhow. Found that out the hard way.

  “I’m Chloe.” She extends her hand, dripping with mud.

  “Andrea,” I say, pointing to the smeared “A” with my stick. “Not Andre.”

  “Oh.” She nods and scratches her arm. The mud sticks to it in a clump, then falls off. An awkward silence descends until Chloe says brightly, “I got your messages. The stones? That was cool.”

  “Yeah, I got yours, too. Sorry, I couldn’t…” My voice fades.

  A cloud of uncertainty passes across Chloe’s face, but it’s gone just as fast. “Well, it’s too hot up in the tree.” She begins pulling off her clothes to reveal the light blue bathing suit she always wears. “You came here yesterday, huh? I saw tracks last night, and no one else bothers with this place.” She tosses her T-shirt on top of her shorts and shoes in a lumpy little pile. “Want to cool off?”

  Without waiting for a response, she runs straight into the pond and disappears under the black water. I climb onto the big log to watch. It is really hot, but my orange bathing suit is back at Judd’s and I’m not going in with just my underclothes on. At least, not with anyone else around.

  Chloe’s head pops up way out in the middle, where it is deep enough that she has to tread water. She waves, then flips to her back like always, face to the sky. I take the opportunity to study her. She is a tiny thing, even smaller than me. Her features are not proportioned or smooth—her chin is pointy, her forehead short. And her eyes are like an owl’s, protruding and innocent, the color of wheat.

  After floating for a few minutes, Chloe dog-paddles over to my log, heaves herself up and leans back on her elbows to dry in the sun. “That felt amazing.” She grins. “It’s been so hot.” She shakes the water out of her hair and some lands on me. It feels good.

  In the next awkward lull, I glance sideways at her, feeling like a complete moron. I barely remember how to speak to kids my age, it’s been so long. Chloe doesn’t seem to mind my silence, so I go with it. I learned long ago that keeping quiet is far better than saying something stupid that you can’t take back.

  “I’m going to miss this pond when school starts,” Chloe says eventually, her eyes closed and her face tilted upward. “I like coming early in the morning, before the woods wake up. You know?”

  “No, I…haven’t come that early,” I fumble.

  “You should. It’s so peaceful. But I’ll have to settle for the weekends now because my cousin’s driving me to school this year and he’s one of those annoying people who has to be thirty minutes early for everything,” she says with an eye roll.

  I start fiddling in the mud again with my stick. I don’t know what to write. Or say. Or think. She hasn’t mentioned anything about seeing me at Walmart, so I don’t mention it either. Maybe she’s embarrassed.

  Chloe shakes her hair out again. “I looked for you all summer. Thought I’d see you more after—”

  “I was out of town,” I explain, cutting her off.

  “Oh. Well, I guess we’re even now. We’ve both spied on each other.”

  “I didn’t spy on you!” I protest, but Chloe just smiles.

  “I’m not mad, Andre. I don’t own the trees,” she says with a laugh.

  “Right.” But I can’t tell if she’s laughing at me or she’s just one of those giggly girls.

  “Do you go to Belmont?”

  Her question brings back images of the high school’s website—the tan building, the sports fields, the corn stalks. When I lost Essex, Belmont seemed like the worst alternative. Now I will do anything to attend. “I will this year,” I say with resolve. “I’m transferring there from Essex.”

  “Ooh, snazzy school.” Her eyebrows wiggle, and then she says, “I’ll be new at Belmont, too. It’s my freshman year. Are you a sophomore?”

  “Junior.”

  “Do you know anyone who goes there?”

  “Not a soul,” I respond and suddenly feel a little sick. I was nervous starting at Essex too, but last January when Gram’s death scraped so raw against my heart and life with Ayla was so unpredictable, I didn’t have the energy to stew on it. Back then, life was still happening in a sort of haze. Now everything seems razor-sharp.

  “My cousin’s giving me a tour of the school tomorrow. He says that way I won’t be so overwhelmed next week.”

  “That’s nice of him,” I say mildly.

  “He’s the one you m
et…or sort of met, anyway.” Yes. The rock-skipper who knows that life is not all fun and games. I remember.

  “You could come, too. It’d be fun to check things out together. The last thing I need is to walk into the wrong classroom on day one. That would be just like me.” She snorts. “So, you wanna come?”

  My first instinct is to decline, to push away from this effervescent girl, but I’m tired of being alone and if I’m stuck in Haydon now—which it seems I am, since we have no money and no car—then maybe having an ally would be smart. Anyway, tomorrow is Tuesday and Judd won’t need me for anything except making dinner.

  “What time?” I ask.

  “After lunch. I’ll meet you here at noon, okay? Then we can walk to my house. It’s not far,” Chloe promises.

  I hesitate. Then I nod slowly.

  “Yay!” she squeals, delighted. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and squeezes. “You’re my first high school friend!”

  You’re mine, too. I don’t have the courage to say that aloud, but I need to give her something. So I offer half a smile, and judging by the happiness smattered across Chloe’s face, it’s enough.

  Chapter 25

  It is ridiculous how nervous I am, pacing the bank of the pond waiting for Chloe to show up. Worried that she won’t. Afraid that she will.

  I spot her skipping—yes, skipping—through the woods like some modern-day Little Red Riding Hood. Her hair is in two low pigtails, sprouting from the back of her head. The blond streaks glint in the sun. She has broken out overnight across her forehead, and I wonder if she’s nervous, too.

  “Hey, Andre!” she calls, practically knocking me down as she approaches. “Whoops, sorry.” Chloe laughs and grips my arms to steady us both.

  I resist the urge to pull away because even though it feels nice, I’m not used to all this touching. And giggling. And I wonder how I’m going to fit in with Chloe at school. She must have a slew of bubbly little friends who will take one look at surly old me and ask her what the hell she’s thinking.

  “Let’s go,” she says, pulling me by the hand. “Brick’s waiting, and I swear he’s the most impatient boy in the world.”

  I let her lead me. “Brick?”

  “Yeah. Weird, I know. It’s a Southern name,” she explains as we walk through a section of the woods I have never explored. “He lives with us. It’s kind of nice, but also kind of annoying. Mostly because he’s three years older and thinks he can boss me around.”

  Having zero experience with siblings or extended family of any kind, I’m not sure what to say. Which doesn’t even matter because Chloe changes the subject like lightning. “Do you have your schedule yet? If so, we can find all your classrooms.”

  Schedule? “No. When did they send yours?” I ask, wondering if mine was mailed to Judd’s house over the summer. He would’ve trashed it anyway.

  “About a week ago, via email.”

  “Oh,” I say, relieved. “I haven’t checked my email all summer.”

  “You can check it at my house before we leave,” Chloe offers. “And print your schedule.”

  “I don’t want to hold up your cousin,” I say, but I really want to get my hands on that schedule.

  Chloe smirks. “Brick will just have to learn some patience. Besides, good manners have been bred into him since infancy. He won’t complain, at least not in front of you.” She laughs.

  “Okay,” I say and take a breath. Somehow being with Chloe makes my whole world seem lighter.

  Brick is leaning against his car with his arms crossed when we emerge from the woods. He stands up straight when he spots us, and his frown turns into a smile. I’m suddenly glad I chose to wear simple shorts and a gray T-shirt today instead of my leather.

  “So the girl in the tree does exist,” he teases as we approach. I cringe, remembering that embarrassing fall and how I stumbled away like a crazy person afterward.

  “Hi…again,” I say, sounding stiff.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Andrea,” Brick drawls politely in his thick accent.

  I finally get a good look at the guy. He’s stocky, athletic-looking, not too tall. Except for his hair color, he doesn’t resemble bird-like little Chloe one bit. I like how his soft brown eyes look directly into mine when he says hello, as if talking to me is actually important. But this also makes me nervous. People used to look at me all the time, but I’ve spent so many months trying to be invisible that I’m no longer used to such scrutiny. Chloe is right about his manners, though—when she explains that I need to print out my schedule, he acts like waiting doesn’t bother him at all.

  My new friend tugs me through her garage into a sprawling country house. We thump through a mudroom and enter a large kitchen, where a heavyset white-haired man is peering at the stove. “Dad, this is my new friend Andrea,” Chloe says as the man glances up, surprised. He has red cheeks, kind eyes, and a smile he’s not afraid to use. He reminds me of Santa Claus.

  “Well, hello there,” his voice booms and I half expect him to finish with a jolly little “ho, ho, ho.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr., uh….” My voice trails as I realize I don’t know Chloe’s last name.

  “Pete Masterson,” he supplies, enclosing my small outstretched hand in both of his. “Oy, sorry about that.” He pulls his hands away and I realize mine is now covered in flour. Handing me a towel to wipe it off, he says excitedly, “Baking day. Want to try a plum raisin cookie?”

  “Sure!” I respond because I never turn down free food, but Chloe drags me into the other room.

  “We’ll get it on the way back,” she yells. Once out of his earshot, she whispers, “My dad’s a farmer. He’s great with food in the ground, but when it gets to the kitchen? Not so much.” She shakes her head solemnly.

  I laugh out loud, then gasp at the tickling sensation the laughter makes in my throat. It feels so foreign, but so nice. We cross a wide-open great room and attached foyer. The house is beautiful, but not in a fancy way. There’s lots of wood and colorful pillows on overstuffed furniture. Everything has a cozy, country feel. It’s the most homey I’ve felt since…home.

  “Computer’s in here,” Chloe says as we enter an office with an L-shaped desk. I sit down at the keyboard and pull up my email. There are exactly two messages, both from the school. The first subject line reads WELCOME and the second CLASS SCHEDULE. Boy, a whole summer and that’s all I got? I hope Chloe doesn’t notice.

  Because Brick’s waiting, I don’t even look at the schedule. I just hit PRINT and close the program. While Chloe grabs the papers from the printer tray, I am drawn to the bookshelves like a hummingbird to sweet nectar. I’m wondering whether she’d let me borrow a book when my attention is swiftly diverted. Propped in front of a tattered volume of War and Peace is a photo of Santa/Mr. Masterson with his arm around a woman who is a carbon copy of Chloe, about thirty years older. “Wow, you look just like your mom,” I say, peering at the photo.

  Chloe looks up. “That’s my Aunt Stacey, actually. Brick’s mom. My dad’s sister.” Her voice sounds different, not so chirpy, but when I look back at her she’s shuffling out of the office, my schedule in her hand. I follow on her heels, without the book, but graciously accept a warm, lumpy cookie from her father on our way out.

  “Thanks, Mr. Masterson,” I call as I’m pulled toward the garage. “It looks delicious!”

  “Hope to see you again soon, Andrea,” Santa responds.

  I lift the cookie up to my nose. It smells heavenly. I hope Brick won’t mind me munching in his car because I am not giving it up.

  “All right, this is the quad,” Brick explains as we circle the parking lot in his green Ford Explorer. My eyes follow his outstretched finger to a large grassy area bordered on three sides by a squat tan building. “See the section in the far right corner, where the trees are thickest?”

  “Yeah?”
Chloe leanis forward to get a better look.

  “Stay away from it.” Brick’s voice is firm.

  “Why?”

  “That’s where all the burnouts hang. Low-life druggies,” Brick explains in what I assume Chloe would call his bossy voice. “Those losers will harass anyone in range.”

  My cheeks feel warm and I’m grateful to be in the backseat. The embarrassment irritates me. I’ve never taken drugs in my life—at least not knowingly—but I’m too close to all that stuff with Judd and Ayla. Sometimes I feel like one of them.

  Pursing her lips, Chloe demands, “Is that why you wanted to give me this tour? To warn me about all the bad influences lurking around?”

  Brick grins and drawls, “Yeah, partly.” He pulls into a spot in the near-empty lot and shoves his gearshift into park. “What does your schedule look like?” While Chloe shows it to him, I unfold my own printout and glance down the list. AP U.S. History, Honors English III, Advanced Trigonometry, AP Chemistry, French Composition, Gym, and an elective, Musical Masters.

  “Musical Masters,” I mutter out loud. “What the heck is that?”

  Brick and Chloe stare back at me through the hole between the front seats. “Why’d you pick that elective?” Brick asks with disdain.

  “I didn’t. They must have assigned me to it, since I’m transferring.”

  “So that’s how they fill it.” At my sudden look of concern, Brick backtracks. “It’s not so awful, Andrea. You’re supposed to learn about all the great musicians, from Mozart to Dylan, but the teacher just geeks out and plays music the whole time. A lot of people use it as a study hall. What else do you have?”