Astray (Gated Sequel)

by Amy Christine Parker

  Nothing good can come of flirting with Outsiders. How can you keep company with death and not expect it to rub off on you?

  —Mr. Brown

  SEVENTEEN

  Jack heads into town, the main drag to be exact. She’s got the radio turned up extra loud and music I’ve never heard before shakes the car. She taps the steering wheel as she drives and sings along, her voice high-pitched, clear, and … well, bad. But she doesn’t seem to care at all.

  “This is why in public I’m a writer, not a singer,” she explains with a grin.

  I smile and she gestures at me like she wants me to sing too.

  “I’ve never heard this song before.”

  I’ve been listening to some of Cody’s and Taylor’s music, but I still don’t feel like I recognize more than a handful of songs. But even if I did know the words, I’m not sure I could let go and sing them as unselfconsciously as Jack is right now. Back home I’d almost always mouth the words instead of really singing them. I have no idea why. I’m not really even sure if I’m all that bad a singer … I guess I’m just a really, really private one. I lean back against the seat and look out the window. I try to work up the desire to start singing too, but I can’t, so I just listen to Jack and tap my fingers on my leg to the beat. I feel like an idiot.

  Jack parks in front of the diner on Main Street, in the heart of downtown. She leads me inside and we pick out a booth in the back corner, away from the front door—at my request. If they’re still watching me, I don’t want to make it easy.

  “We might as well add lunch to that coffee, since we won’t make it back to school in time to eat … if we make it back at all.” Jack shoots me a mischievous look, her eyebrows raised.

  I don’t want to go back, but I also know that it’s only a matter of time before someone realizes that I’m gone. When Chad returns to my classroom, he’ll figure things out and tell the sheriff.

  “I can’t stay gone. Cody and his family will be looking for me soon, especially after what happened this morning,” I tell her.

  Jack puts her menu down without opening it. “Which was what exactly?”

  I start with Pioneer’s interview from the night before. Turns out she saw it too—probably most of the people in town did—and she guesses where I’m going with the story even before I actually get there. I purposely leave out what happened at Cody’s house this morning. I am positive it’ll scare her away.

  “Wow. Do you think they wanted to cut their hair or did their parents make them?” Jack asks. Her tone is measured—careful—like she doesn’t want to upset me by saying the wrong thing.

  “They decided.” I was sure that they had … until the words come out of my mouth. “I mean, I think. Maybe not. I … I don’t know.” I try to imagine Heather volunteering to lose her hair and I can’t, even after seeing her chanting earlier. Could her parents have forced her?

  “Aren’t you two supposed to be in school?” Mrs. Rosen is standing over us. My heart nearly drops to my shoes. I start to stammer and can’t answer.

  “The other cult kids shaved their heads,” Jack says like this makes any sense to Mrs. Rosen at all.

  Mrs. Rosen motions Jack to slide over and sits beside her. They seem to know each other. I look at Jack and she blushes a little.

  “I see Mrs. Rosen sometimes too.”

  And it is in that moment that I understand why she keeps trying to be my friend. In some ways we really are alike.

  “Girls, leaving the school without permission is not okay, no matter what’s occurred.” She’s not reprimanding us so much as stating a fact. She sighs and pulls out her phone. “I’m going to call the school and let them know that you’re with me. Lyla, we need to talk anyway about what happened the other night at your session. Your parents were worried sick and so was I. I was hoping you’d call to explain, but since you haven’t, now seems like as good a time as any to address it.”

  I don’t even know where to begin. So much has happened since then.

  Mrs. Rosen makes her call to the school and then folds her hands and waits for me to start talking. She sends Jack over to the long counter by the cash register to order a coffee and wait for her to give the okay to come back.

  I tell Mrs. Rosen everything. I know that the sheriff will fill her in anyway even if I don’t. And it feels good to get it off my chest. I start with the day I got the owl from Will and came to the trailers for our counseling session. I describe the circles and the photo album in my room and about finding the shattered owl on Taylor’s window-sill all glued back together. She pulls out her phone at one point and asks if I’ll let her record what I’m saying and I agree. After seeing Will and the others today, I feel like I have to. I was afraid of having them get mad at me before because I know how much they don’t want to leave the Community, but now I’m starting to see that what’s happening to them is wrong and someone needs to stand up and say so.

  Mrs. Rosen looks sick by the time I stop talking. Her face is white and there are tears in her eyes. She reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers. “You are a very brave girl.”

  I pull my hand from hers and pick up the salt shaker, make a big deal about wiping off the smudges from the silver top. “Um, thanks,” I say.

  “I know that telling me all of this wasn’t easy, Lyla, but you have to see that it isn’t a betrayal of your friends and family. They need help, and because of your honesty, we’re going to make sure that they get it. I’ll start working on this today. Right now, in fact.” She gets up from the table and motions Jack back over.

  “Can I count on you girls to head right back to school?” She eyeballs Jack when she says this.

  “Yeah, yeah. But can we eat first? We missed lunch.” Jack makes sad puppy-dog eyes at her and Mrs. Rosen laughs a little in spite of herself.

  “You have thirty minutes to return to the school. If you order now, you should have time to eat and get back before I call to check up on you.”

  “Deal, thanks, Mrs. R.” Jack smiles at her and flags down our waitress.

  Twenty minutes later we’re back out on Main Street, making a beeline for Jack’s car. I’m not watching where I’m going because we’re in such a hurry, and my feet hit an uneven spot in the pavement.

  My arms shoot out in front of me and I grab the closest person on the sidewalk—and it’s not Jack. I clamp my hands down on both the person’s arms to keep from falling. Too late I notice the way one of his sleeves is rolled up and the wide white bandage covering his left forearm and hand. He sucks in a breath.

  “Watch it!” he shouts, and I let go immediately, but it’s too late. I can see that I’ve hurt him. He pulls his arm into his chest and shudders.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to do that. Are you okay?” I look up—right into Jonathan’s face. It’s him. The Freedom Ranger.

  He stoops to pick up the bags that he must have been holding before, but dropped when I ran into him. I kneel down to help him and introduce myself. “I’ve seen you over, um, with my family … at the trailers. You’re Jonathan, right?”

  He stares at me. “You didn’t see me by the trailers. It was the barn.”

  I stand up fast and step a little closer to Jack. He saw me that night? But he never let on to the others. Why? It can’t be because he was trying to protect me. He doesn’t even know me. But then I think about Pioneer’s video and Mr. Brown’s talk and realize that he probably knows me pretty well—at least their version of me.

  “Um, yeah,” I say, because there doesn’t seem to be any point in denying it.

  “I’m Jonathan.” He nods at me. I can’t help noticing that he still has his hair. I’m sort of surprised. I thought he was becoming part of the Community.

  “What happened?” I ask, my eyes on the pink skin peeking out from underneath the bandage.

  He hesitates long enough that I almost ask him again. “I was carrying a pot of boiling water and bumped into the counter. My potholder slipped and I grabbed the
pot with my bare hand to keep it from falling. Stupid trailer kitchens don’t leave much space to move around in.” He frowns at me like he doesn’t like me asking him questions.

  Jack grimaces. “Not good.”

  Jonathan mumbles, “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Did you go buy some analgesic cream?” I ask, gesturing to the bag, which he holds a little closer to his chest. “It’ll help relieve the stinging.” I know something about this. I worked in the clinic at Mandrodage Meadows at least once a week. You’d be surprised how often people burned themselves, and it wasn’t like Pioneer would let us go to the hospital unless it was something pretty serious.

  I don’t know why I’m trying to help him. I guess because I’m hoping if I’m nice he’ll let his guard down and I can ask him why he’s joining the Community, why he’s decided to believe in Pioneer.

  Jonathan looks down at the bag and then at me. “Yeah, I just got some.”

  I look at the bag, which is gaping open; only one of its handles is in his grasp. There are a couple of bags filled with nails, nuts and bolts, and several rolls of duct tape, but no cream.

  He sees me looking and pulls the bag closed.

  I shrug and try to act like he doesn’t unnerve me, but he does, especially the way he’s barely answering my questions. I start to turn away.

  “So, are you happy now?” he asks.

  The question is almost an accusation, and seems to come out of nowhere since I’m still thinking about his injured hand. “What?”

  “Are you happy now? Now that you’re with the sheriff and his family?”

  I don’t know what to say.

  He inches a little closer and I take a step back. “You’ve put your trust into people who don’t deserve it,” he says.

  Here we go.

  He steps even closer to me until he’s right above me, staring me down, his bright blue eyes laser-focused on mine. “Your family has given you chance after chance to come home. They shouldn’t. You’re a fool.”

  He has blue eyes.

  I watch openmouthed as he brushes past us and hurries down the sidewalk and past the diner. Was it him this morning with the owl? Is that how he hurt his hand? Did the owl scratch him or something, and he’s trying to cover it up with the boiling-water story? My blood seems to rush from my head to my feet and I feel a little faint. But he doesn’t even know me. Why would he do that? It makes more sense that it was Mr. Brown … and yet his body, the size and shape … it could be him.

  I almost ask him right there in the middle of the street just to see the expression on his face when I do, but he’s already too far away, and I’m not sure I want the whole town to know I’m curious about anything remotely linked to the Community.

  Beside me, Jack’s bent over furiously writing something down on a small pad of paper she’s balancing on her knee.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I need to write this down before I forget what I’m thinking right now. It’s going to make such an awesome article.”

  I stop walking. “I thought you weren’t going to write about me.”

  “I’m not, I’m writing about him.” She points her pencil at Jonathan, who’s halfway down the street now, headed for the van that he uses to pick Will and the others up from school. “He’s an angle I need to explore. What was up with the purchases? Random, right? And he couldn’t have been more creeptastic about it.”

  “You know him?” I ask.

  Jack smiles a little. “Um, not exactly. Did the basic digging already, but I don’t have much yet. Just that he’s ex-military and a recent convert to your Community. But give me a few days to dig around some more and I will.”

  “Will you tell me what you find out?” I ask.

  “Absolutely. Whatever you want to know.”

  Jack and I get back to school in time for our last two classes. Will and the others are supposed to be in them with me, but their seats are empty. My eyes keep drifting to their spots, and I have trouble concentrating on the teacher as he drones on and on about proofs and postulates. I wonder how long it’ll be before Mrs. Rosen shows up at the trailers to take them to foster homes. About halfway through the class period, a girl seated near me tugs at my shirt and leans over to whisper into my ear.

  “They were sent home. The superintendent got called down here because of what they did to their hair. He suspended them from school.” Things seem to be unraveling so quickly now. I wonder if Pioneer will regret asking them to shave their heads once he hears, once they’re taken away.

  As soon as the final school bell rings, I’m up and out of my seat and in the hall, looking for Cody. It doesn’t take me long to find him.

  “I heard,” he says before I can open my mouth. He takes my book bag from my shoulder and puts his hand on my back. “Dad said things would get worse the closer we got to the trial. Still sure you want to be there tomorrow?”

  “I have to,” I say. I have to hear what Pioneer says when the judge asks whether he’s guilty of the charges against him. When he opens his mouth to lie, I want him to see me in the crowd and know that whoever he sent to the house this morning failed to scare me away.

  I feel a lot of relief and, um, joy that the end of this world is still coming. We all do.

  —Julie Sturdges

  EIGHTEEN

  When we pull up to the courthouse, I can see why the sheriff tried to convince me to stay home. The crowd standing outside is enormous. It’s like a bigger, scarier version of the one that surrounded the hospital at Pioneer’s transfer, and my palms start sweating as we search for a place to park. I’m squished in between Taylor and Cody, so I can’t get a clear picture of exactly how many people are outside, but I can hear them—people shouting, lots of bodies rushing past the car and toward the courthouse.

  We have to park several blocks away. On the walk to the courthouse, Cody’s dad keeps his arm on mine and the rest of the family walks in front of or behind us. It feels like they’re trying to build a human wall around me.

  The sidewalk is jammed with people. Their eyes are focused straight ahead on the people just past the stairs leading up to the building. My Community. Every single one of them is bald, their heads gleaming softly in the weak sunlight, their faces pale but smiling. It’s both scary and weirdly comical. At first I can’t find my parents in the group. The absence of hair has made everyone look the same. They’re all in a line, holding hands and chanting. It sends a ripple of disquiet through the crowd. Everyone falls silent as the members of the Community get louder and louder, their voices sure and clear and strong. My insides feel like they’re literally shaking apart.

  I finally find my parents. They’re at the center of the line, between Mr. and Mrs. Brown. Will is beside my father, along with his parents. None of them have seen me; in fact I’m not sure what they see, if they’re looking at anything at all. Their eyes have that weirdly blank detachment in them, what I realize now is their way of insulating themselves from the Outsiders. The sheriff tightens his grip on my arm and moves me away from the spectacle.

  Off to one side of the Community are the Rangers. They aren’t chanting. Their arms are folded across their chests. They stare out at the crowd, and when I look to see what’s got their attention, I notice Mrs. Dickerson and a large crowd of other townspeople. She looks angrier than the last time I saw her, fired up by what happened at school the other day. Now that Will and the others are suspended, she’ll probably start working on kicking the whole Community out of town.

  The sheriff and I begin weaving our way closer to the steps that lead up to the courthouse itself.

  “Lyla! Lyla!” I turn in time to see that my parents are looking right at me, calling for me, their arms outstretched. Will’s calling me too. And Heather. And Julie. Every one of them pleading for me to turn and join them. Their eyes aren’t as blank now, but they are needy and desperate-looking. For a moment I can’t move. It’s like they’ve got hold of one part of me and the sheriff and Cody have the other part
and no one’s letting go.

  Several of the reporters close in. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Taylor stand up a little straighter and position her body into the pose she’s forever practicing in the mirror, the one movie stars do when they’re on a red carpet. The sheriff frowns and nudges her forward.

  We slip inside the courthouse before the reporters are able to catch up with us. A couple of minutes later and we’re through security, down a long hallway, and through a set of double doors into a large room filled with wooden benches all facing where the judge is supposed to sit. It reminds me of a church or the meeting room in the clubhouse back at Mandrodage Meadows. We settle into the benches behind what Cody explains is the prosecution’s side. The lawyers are already at the long table set up for them, whispering to one another and riffling through thick stacks of paper. On the other side of the room, Pioneer’s lawyer is busy setting his briefcase on another table. I watch his movements, his hands, his face. He seems calm, sure of himself. I wonder if this means he feels certain of Pioneer’s innocence or just confident in his ability to convince people of it.