“That’s a long time.” Lana’s face falls. “Are you sure you can’t go home and avoid him until then? Then you can be at school. Things can stay the same.”
I shake my head thinking of the way he looked at the bathroom door, the cold threat in his eyes. “Something happened that day. He said I’d come crawling back, and it felt like he’d be waiting for it. He gave me chills.”
“So where will you go? You can’t stay here forever,” she says.
The regret in her voice is genuine. She’s my friend. And Maria is a good lady. But she’s not the kind of mom who won’t start asking questions if I don’t go home soon.
Still, that’s the one piece of this I haven’t resolved. I’ve enrolled in a new school, I have the schedule for the next SAT (February) and the next ACT (March), and I’m going to petition for early graduation. I even have a week-by-week study schedule. What I don’t have is a place to live.
Lana scoots away from the headboard, touching her sock-clad toes to my arm. “You know I wouldn’t care. You could move in if it were up to me.”
“I know.”
“When we’re in college, we’ll get an apartment. You and me.”
“Sure,” I say, and I cover the way my voice cracks with a smile. I don’t tell her that all those plans we talked about feel a million miles away. My future is boiled down to the essentials. Getting my mom and the baby away from Charlie. Working because we’ll need both of our incomes to afford anything.
I can’t say that to Lana, though, so I hug her tight and tell her how much I appreciate her help. It’s the truth, even if it’s not every truth.
We shower and dress and head out. I thank her for the laptop again. Then I walk the twenty-two blocks to the Fairview Public Library. It’s farther away, but it’s quiet, and there’s less chance of running into someone from Whitestone.
I spend my whole day working through classes, attending the scheduled lectures, and working ahead in every class I can. It’s so much easier when I’m not on a library computer.
I don’t know what I’ll do when I have to return Lana’s laptop. The library computers require guest passes with a two-hour maximum. A stone formed behind my ribs the first time I saw the “time expired” message, and it hasn’t entirely gone away. I need more than two hours or I’m going to start missing scheduled lectures.
And I need more than time. I need a new plan for where to stay. Lana’s mom is almost done with her night shift weeks. I need to figure out something long term.
Lana thinks I could come again after Thanksgiving, but that feels a long way off. I could try Aneela, but her parents have never been big on overnights and always want to talk to the parents personally. I’m not really close enough to my other friends to ask. Plus, I don’t have a phone to call, which makes this all even trickier.
Maybe I should have brought my phone. He couldn’t track me if I leave it powered off.
I slip the laptop into my backpack and roll my stiff shoulders. My stomach growls. It’s been doing a good bit of that, but with eighteen dollars on me, I need to be frugal. The original plan, of course, included more money. Mom had a couple hundred on her, but that’s blown to smithereens now.
I’m sick to death of sitting, so I take a stroll. I get a drink from the fountain and check the programming calendar for something to do. A mock-up of an old movie poster catches my eye. Pizza, Popcorn, and Rebecca? We’ll see you Thursday.
That solves one meal. I don’t want to think about how many are still a problem. I’m still not ready to sit again, so I head downstairs where the technology center and children’s books live. There’s a vending alcove there, a couple of machines set across from a table and chairs. Beyond the glass walls of the alcove, a bulletin board stretches above a padded bench.
Tour time’s over. I need to do something. The boredom is not something I accounted for, and it’s already wearing me out. Upstairs, I stop in the restroom and go through my bag in the stall after I pee. Laundry will be an issue soon. I fish through my pockets, hoping I’ll find a few bills I missed, but I come up dry.
Okay, think like Lana. What’s my plan?
1. Call Mom—somehow—or go check on her so she knows I’m fine.
2. Call the women’s shelter for options.
3. Brainstorm ways to make money?
I’m in the stall rolling my dirty jeans and T-shirt tightly when the bathroom door opens.
I freeze like I’m doing something wrong, which is silly. It’s a public bathroom. I’m allowed to be here.
Someone enters with slow, slapping steps. Do shoes sound like that? Have I ever paid attention? Probably not, but I’m paying attention now, because there’s something wrong about that sound, especially when the footsteps stop.
I slow my breathing, holding myself utterly still. I can’t be sure, but I think whoever this is, she’s near the sink. Why is she just standing there?
Goose bumps rise on the backs of my arms. I want to pick up my feet, in case she looks under the door, but I don’t dare risk the noise. I curl my shoulders in instead, my breath shaking in and out.
What is she doing out there? Does she know I’m in here? Can she see me?
My gaze darts to the thin space around my stall door.
Oh, God, wait.
What if a man saw me come in here? What if Charlie found me?
A quiet snap interrupts my thoughts. The soft brush of fabric. Another plastic rattle, something being snapped open. Makeup? It sounds like someone messing with powder or a tube of lipstick. I strain my ears, catching the barely there groan of the countertop under pressure. I can picture someone leaning against it to see the mirror more closely.
Probably because that’s exactly what’s happening. I close my eyes and sigh. A little old lady probably shuffled in to powder her nose, and I’m in here convinced Charlie is about to burst into my stall with a knife. I am such an idiot.
I sag back, feeling ridiculous as I flush the toilet. If she did notice me, I don’t want to be the creepy silent girl who sits in the stall for no reason. I shove the rest of my stuff in the bag. I have to get a grip.
The footsteps—still strange—shuffle-slap back toward the door. It bangs open and I hear someone exhale loudly.
“Thank God.”
A muffled whimper and a comforting hush answer. The first woman whispers, then two sets of footsteps retreat. The door swings closed again, and I wince in the sudden quiet.
The person with the makeup was probably just a lost kid or someone who needed help. I’m not sure I could feel crappier about my suspicion at this point. Paranoia is not a good look for me.
I secure all my zippers and heft my backpack onto my shoulder. Out the stall, I stop dead, a sudden chill zipping through the center of my chest.
On the mirror, in red-brown lipstick smears, is a message that was absolutely not here when I walked in.
Stay Hidden.
Spencer
Sunday, November 12, 9:19 a.m.
“How much more community service can you have?” Dad asks, looking incredulous.
“Dad, did you forget the meeting with Mr. Brooks? I broke a giant, sixty-year-old window.”
He mumbles something about remembering bits and pieces. I’m not surprised. Dad spent most of that meeting being relieved he wouldn’t have to pay his lawyer to get involved.
“You’re going to be busy with college visits and hockey tourneys soon. You did your bit. We paid for the damages. All this is getting ridiculous.”
I flash back to my knee buried in the window, glass raining down. “Community service doesn’t feel ridiculous.”
“Just tell me if it gets in the way. So, where are you on your essay?”
“What essay?”
“Very funny. Your college application essay. Stop acting like you don’t know this deadline is coming fast. Where are yo
u on scheduling tours?”
My stomach balls up tight. “Haven’t started.”
“Private schools pay attention to visits. You’re not going to win any points if you don’t bother to make the trip. Did you think about that?”
“Currently, I’m thinking of running away to join the circus,” I say.
Dad laughs. “My son. The comedian.”
Allison settles a small hand on my shoulder. It’s one of those big sister gestures she developed when her Amherst acceptance letter arrived two years ago. “Dad’s right. Now’s the time to get your lists together. Reach schools, good bets, a couple of safeties.”
Dad points his sandwich at me, brightening. “I’ve got people at UChicago and Dartmouth. If you want something bigger, we can talk Duke or Northwestern.”
“Don’t rule out Amherst,” Allison says with a smile.
“I think my C minus in English will rule out Amherst.”
“Pull up your GPA. What are your strong subjects?” Dad asks.
English usually is my strong subject, but he’s not really looking for answers. When we drove home from the library the night of my climb, he answered all his own questions. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. Who was I covering for? Probably Jarvey and Shawn. Those two are a nightmare. Did I even think about my senior hockey season? Obviously, I didn’t. But the next time I get a wild hair up my ass, maybe I could do it in the off season.
Maybe I should have cleared it up then, but how the hell do I bring it up now, two weeks later? Oh, heads up, Dad. I was alone that night. Also, my GPA is currently at a 2.3, so I think we can rule out any top schools. And sitting up on the roof—with a broken window and the police en route—made me wonder if I have any business at all living in Fairview.
“Jokes aside, you’ve got to make a list,” Dad says.
“Not this morning, Dad,” Allison says, standing up. “He’s going to be late. Doesn’t your shift start at ten, Spencer?”
“Library opens at ten on Sundays. They want me there at nine thirty.”
“I’ve got to pick up a couple of books I’ve got on hold. I’ll give you a ride if you can convince them to let me check them out.”
Allison’s good at diffusing awkward family crap. She’s good at a lot of things: a swell big sister, former class treasurer, and currently on the dean’s list. She’s also freshly back from some summer/fall study abroad thing with the university, which means she’s here until January.
Allison takes the lead out the door. Her pale eyes are bright, and her face is Mediterranean-tanned. She’s wearing a gauzy pink sweater and leather shoes she bought in Milan. I don’t know if I’d call my sister a snob, but she dresses the part.
We head down the stone steps outside our house. There’s a landscaping truck on the curb, and a couple of guys strapping on leaf blowers. We still have a couple of maples left to drop, but already the yard is carpeted in red leaves. We used to build forts in those leaves when we were little. Now Mom has them scooped and blown into bags and carted away before she gets home from work. The homeowners’ association prefers the neighborhood’s lawns leaf-fort free.
It’s maybe a ten-minute walk, so I’m not sure why she’s really offering this ride. She clears it up the second we get in the car.
“Are you ever going to tell me why you did it?” she asks. “The library, I mean.”
“The voices in my head?”
“Don’t be a jerk. You don’t hear voices, and you don’t break laws. You’re also fast enough to not get caught.”
She’s not wrong.
“Maybe I’m slowing down in my old age,” I say, deflecting. “Is this why you only took third in your last cross-country meet? Is there early aging in my DNA, big sister?”
She smirks. “You’re adopted, you little turd.”
“What? What are you saying, Allison?” I make my eyes big and round like I used to when I’d trick adults into thinking they’d spilled some adoption secret.
Allison laughs, because she remembers too. “I can’t believe how often you pulled that stunt on teachers. You were terrible.”
“I’m still convinced that’s why Mrs. Gates retired.”
“Could you blame her? You had her convinced she’d contributed to your emotional devastation.”
I sigh dreamily. “Good memories.”
“Spence, I know thinking about college is stressful, but don’t be afraid of it. There’s so much opportunity.”
Opportunity. I swear to God it’s everyone’s favorite word these days. I don’t reply, so Allison keeps going. “You can’t do this much longer. You’re a senior. You need to think about the future.”
“Duly noted. I also need to think about getting inside before the volunteer coordinator hands me my ass.”
“Fine, let’s go.”
We lope up the marble steps, and I scan my badge to open the heavy brass door. The quiet inside is suffocating. Most of the lights are still off, which makes it worse. The few staff members gathered around the circulation desk have a coffee-hasn’t-kicked-in glaze in their eyes. I doubt anyone is missing me.
Ruby comes out of the office to boot the checkout computers. “Two volunteers for the price of one? Good to see you, Allison.”
“You too! Though I’m hardly a volunteer. It was only a few weekends.”
“We’ll take any time people are willing to give. I thought you were off at school.”
“Amherst,” she says, beaming. “I was studying abroad so I’m on a break.”
Ruby brightens. “Wow, Amherst! That’s great. What’s your major?”
“Economics, but I think I’ll go for my master’s in statistical science after that.”
“Well,” I say, clapping my hands together. “As much as I love a little econ talk in the morning, I should get to work.”
Gretchen slips out of the back office, as if on cue. “Hi, Sunshine! Can you turn on the browsing room computers and then grab the key to the back door and check for donations?” Then she turns to my sister with a smile. “Hi, Allison! I thought you were away at school.”
I practically burn tracks getting out of there before the Amherst talk can start up again. The lights are out in the browsing room, but the rows of skylights keep it bright. My shoes pad lightly on the dark carpet around the perimeter of the room.
I stop to get the keys, but my eyes are drawn to the patron desk with the compartment. Mallory’s desk. My note is gone, which makes me wonder. Did she get the pens? Did it make her laugh?
I stroll over and pop open the compartment. The pens are gone, but there’s something in their place. A single well-used glue stick wrapped in a sticky note sits in the middle of the cubby. I pull it out carefully. It’s my note, but looping blue handwriting leaves a message beneath mine.
You said you needed glue.
I grin. I said that when I dropped the books. She was paying attention. I drop the glue stick in the staff desk drawer, but I pocket the note before I leave.
The library lights are still out in the stacks, but I can hear Gretchen and Ruby telling Allison goodbye and I don’t want anything to do with that lovefest. I’m sure they’ll get the lights in a second, so I follow the red glow of the exit sign toward the loading dock.
I don’t actually need the light, but the darkness is eerie. Probably because I’m thinking of the footprints and that gasp I heard the other day. Just keep moving. I make my way along the back wall until I find the electronic lock. Beyond the door, there’s a small storage room for deliveries. I cross to the exterior door in two strides, eager for the sunlight outside.
It’s a bright, cold day. I pick up some trash that blew against the door overnight—and head for the stack of donated books left by the corner of the dock. Way better than the folks who leave heaps of shitty old encyclopedias down in the driveway to get rained on. Still, a box would be
nice.
I check the covers and spines of every donated book before it goes in the crook of my arm. We have to do this, to make sure they aren’t water damaged or, worse, carrying bed bug hitchhikers. I open the bigger books and check the pages for telltale “ink” spots or other damage. Like I’d know a telltale bug sign if I saw it. Most of these books are merely grungy.
“I didn’t really take you for a knitter.”
I jump at the voice, but this time, I don’t drop the books. I consider dropping them for show when I see Mallory at the end of the driveway. In the daylight, she looks small and pale—still sporting those glaring highlighted chunks in her hair and the same awful shoes.
I smile. “Actually, I was going to put this on reserve for you.”
She glances back at the alley where she’s standing, wavering like she’s not sure she’s allowed to be back here. Her hair is hanging in her eyes, and the knees on her jeans are dirty. She seems out of place, against the white fences and perfectly trimmed hanging baskets. Then she smiles, and I forget about the flowers.
And the fact that I’m technically at work.
Which is technically not work, but criminally earned community service.
“You’re not reserving that for me,” she says.
“No? But I’m sure you asked me for…” I turn the book over, reading the title. “Knitting Your Way through the Holidays.”
“And in a fit of service commitment, you decided to deliver it to me outside?”
I feel myself grinning. “Of course. What kind of library associate do you take me for?”
“One who drops books.”
“Guilty. But I didn’t drop this beauty.”
“Maybe not, but you still can’t check it out to me.”
“Clearly you don’t know the magnitude of my library powers.”
“Clearly you’re forgetting that you don’t know my name.”
“Your name is Mallory.”
“Yes, but Mallory what?”
She waits expectantly. I open my mouth and close it again. Then we both laugh.
What You Hide Page 4
