by Anna Shinoda
After two days of my successfully avoiding everyone, Drea busts into my room, saying, “You can’t hide in here forever. And seriously, you need to tell me what happened. There’s a crazy rumor going around that you and Luke stole some shit together and you were arrested.”
I tell her I didn’t steal anything, that I have never done anything illegal besides drinking with her, speeding, and making a rolling stop instead of a complete one. She’s hurt and angry that I haven’t taken her calls or sent a text. She wants more information, more details on what happened. She wants to be able to defend me. She needs me to tell her something more.
It’s too tiring to deal with this conversation. I wish she’d just leave, but I know she won’t. So I tell her I was just driving Luke around as a favor. If he did anything illegal— Ha! I used the word “if.” I’m still trying to defend him. If he did anything illegal, I didn’t know anything about it.
I don’t tell her Luke used me. He used me for my car. And I don’t tell her how angry and sad and frustrated and confused I am.
Hiding behind the excuse that I can’t talk while police are still investigating, I let her change the topic of conversation to her trip, Lala’s latest, the scholarship Omar was just awarded. I let her talk to me like everything is normal. At least it makes her feel better. After about thirty minutes I make up some job that I need to do for my mom, so Drea will leave.
Back to my knitting. I finish the last row of another baby blanket. Usually as soon as I have one finished, I take it to Loving Hearts immediately. I have two ready. But I’m afraid. What if Peggy somehow knows? She couldn’t. The shelter is forty-five minutes out of town. Still. I can’t drop them off now. I can’t risk seeing her disappointed in me.
I fold up the blanket, gently giving it a little hug before sliding it under my bed. In the next moment I am casting on another 132 stitches. This blanket won’t go anywhere either. I’m just knitting now to hear the needles click.
School is back in session. My friends and I sit in the shade of the spruce trees in the quad, chowing on our lunches, listening to the sounds of Ryan tapping his bongo drum and his friend Gary playing an acoustic guitar, surrounded by Cranberry Hill’s finest. A flyer for their upcoming performance at Luv-a-Latte sits on the grass next to me.
I expected stares when the year started, and the first day was a little rough, but now no one seems to be saying anything about me. Not even my friends. Drea must have talked to them. They haven’t asked anything, and I’m not providing any extra information. Even Lala, who usually can’t get enough of gossip, hasn’t brought it up once.
“Can you believe the amount of homework we have? It’s only a week in. They’re killing me already!” Omar’s eyebrows rise, almost cartoonlike.
There’s a collective grumble from Drea, Chase, Skye, and Lala, and they continue to banter about school and deadlines. I chime in with an obligatory complaint.
I’m actually glad for the extra homework, for the excuse to avoid any situations where people might bring Luke up, to avoid seeing Ryan and Gary playing at the coffeehouse, where Mandy might feel the need to show off to her Cranberry girls by asking ridiculous questions. I’m glad to stay at home and escape into essays. But I’d never actually say that out loud.
Toward the end of September a tube of Mandy’s lipstick goes missing from her purse during AP French, the only class we have together. When she starts squealing, every eye in the room—even Skye’s—even Skye’s!—goes to me. Never mind that I rarely wear lipstick, especially not the deep lavender shade that has disappeared. When the teacher insists that Mandy dump the whole contents of her purse out before we send out the bloodhounds, she pulls the lining out as extra proof. Skeleton points out a small hole, just big enough for a lipstick tube to escape through. The lavender shade is found between the lining and the shell. Mandy begins to rant about how cheaply made the purse is, interrupted by our teacher saying, “En français, s’il vous plaît!”
Skye won’t look at me, her porcelain skin turning a deep shade of red. She thought I was guilty. Maybe not on the surface, but somewhere inside she did. She’s my friend. She knows me. She still thought it was possible that I’d stolen the lipstick.
Instead of going to Chase’s for a movie that night, I go home to my room.
It was hard enough to feel normal before, hoping at least my friends thought I was innocent. Now, knowing Skye isn’t sure . . . Will my friends slowly desert me too, one by one?
••• Autumn winds chill the apple tree outside my room window. Its heavy fruit bends the branches, making it easy for me to pick the apples.
We prepare them for apple pie, applesauce, apple jelly. Peter, Dad, and I help Mom cut and core them. Almost as a family. Almost. Mom cans and stores them like the world is going to end and we will survive because of our basement filled with apple products.
The police still haven’t found Luke. They haven’t questioned me again. Luke hasn’t called; he hasn’t written. In a way it’s strangely relieving. I’m starting to feel like maybe my life could go back to the way it was before. I even applied for four jobs in town, hoping that someone is ready to give me another chance.
But I’m also starting to wonder if Luke will stay missing forever. Would that be better than knowing he’s in prison? He’s probably out there somewhere. With a safe place to sleep at night. Maybe he even has a job. Friends. A girlfriend. But he could be dead. He could be dead, and I wouldn’t even know it. I imagine Luke facedown in an alley somewhere. Overdose? Gunshot wound? Stabbing? It seems dramatic and unreal, but even so, possible.
I want Luke to be found, even if it means his going back to prison, so at least I know where he is and that he’s alive.
For the first time since I got home from Granny’s, I take Luke’s locket out and look at the picture, wanting life to be like before he got into trouble for the very first time. I fasten it around my neck, but snatch it off in seconds. It’s too heavy, and the chain irritates my skin.
I put the locket into Luke’s wooden box. Lock it up and put it on a high shelf in the closet.
October 25th. Beanie Day. I pull out all of the hats I’ve been making for the past year, fold them up, and put them into my backpack. All except one: Ryan’s. I haven’t talked to him since before I left for Granny’s. Whatever friendship we had this summer is gone. I toss his back into the box.
As I get to school, everyone is wearing their favorite hats, except for my friends. They are waiting for me.
“Do you smell what’s in the air, Clare?” Omar says, taking in a big whiff as we meet up in the quad. “Wood burning in a fireplace, that weird smell of wet, dead leaves, and your mom’s applesauce. Yes, smell it. Take it in. It’s the smell of fall. It’s the smell of the no-hat rule dying until spring.”
Chase rubs his hands together. “Bare head no longer. Tomorrow, Yankees cap. Today beanie.”
“So . . .” Omar turns to me. “What do you have for us this year?”
“Nothing,” I joke. But my friends don’t laugh. Skye and Drea exchange a knowing glance. The air around us grows even chillier. Do they think that I’ve been so out of it I would forget? “I’m joking, guys,” I say as I open my backpack and start pulling them out, presenting them one by one.
“Yankees blue and white! Nice, Clare,” Chase says, pulling his on.
Skye’s green eyes pop even more as she pulls the white cable-knit onto her head, her braids cascading down her shoulders on either side.
“You have outdone yourself this year,” Drea says, fingers running over the beads.
And I’m relieved that the slouchy style I chose for Omar fits perfectly over his big mess of curls, unlike the too-small one that I knitted last year. Finally I pull on my own ocean-green one with three stripes knitted from the same tan yarn I used to make Drea’s.
My friends are all chatting and complimenting me. Everyone is so happy. And I’m feeling pretty good too.
Until Skye says something to Drea about Gary’s s
exy grooves and they both crack up. When I ask them what happened, Drea tries to explain, but she’s laughing too hard, so Skye steps in, then admits, “I’m not doing the story justice. I mean, it was funny then. But now . . . Maybe he’ll do it again at Luv-a-Latte tonight. You should come.”
For a second I consider it. Then I think about Ryan, playing on his bongos, and Mandy, floating around the room like she’s the hostess. And it doesn’t help that I applied for a job there and, like the other three places, they didn’t even call me back. I get too nervous that Mandy will ask me about Luke or that no one will say anything to me but everyone will talk about me.
“I have this big calculus test on Friday,” I mutter my excuse.
Drea sighs. As she pushes her books into her bag, I can see a corner of the beanie I knitted her last year. My best friend knows me best, and she brought a backup in case I flaked.
“I’ll pick you up at six thirty,” Drea says to Skye. I can actually feel the distance between me and my friends getting wider. And yet I can’t convince myself that it will feel okay to go out, even if it means losing my friends.
Until Halloween.
“We can’t let this opportunity pass,” Chase announces to us. “We may never trick-or-treat again. Until we’re old and have kids.”
“Weren’t we too old last year?” Skye asks, her head on his shoulder. “And the year before? And the year before that?”
“But they still gave us candy,” Omar reminds her. “Lots and lots of delicious, beautiful candy.”
“I’m in,” says Drea. “I frickin’ love Almond Joy. Especially free Almond Joy.”
“Makes no difference to me. I have a date. I’ll meet you at the party,” Lala says with a shrug.
“Clare?” Omar asks. Everyone looks at me. If I don’t go, it will be more time spent apart from them, more inside jokes that I won’t understand. I may not be able to have the safety of my room, my bed, my knitting needles, and my fish tank, but I will have a costume to hide under.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m in.”
I watch as my face disappears in the mirror under strips of rags. I am a mummy, no longer Clare Tovin. Skeleton stays at home, sitting in his chair, reading a book. Except for my friends no one will know who I am.
Mom and Dad take a few pictures and then follow me to my car. As I toss my overnight bag into the backseat, they tell me again to keep my cell phone with me at all times and to make sure that we are back at Drea’s no later than midnight.
At Drea’s we all pile into the back of Chase’s truck. One mummy, one vampire, one makeshift superhero, a baby, Stanley the Squirrel.
There are no whispers tonight, no Skeleton, just adults grumbling, “Aren’t you a bit old to be trick-or-treating?”
Just after ten I leave a message for my parents. We’re done and I’m dead tired, so I’ll see them in the morning. Our pillowcases filled with candy, we head up to the next half of Halloween.
Everyone is huddled in close to the bonfire, grateful for the warmth. My wrappings keep me anonymous; the white thermals under them keep me warm. It feels good. Almost normal.
“Little Ho Peep.” Omar’s furry Stanley the Squirrel elbow jabs me as Mandy runs from her car, pulling Ryan with her.
“It’s freezing out here. Get me another drink, quick! Pretty please with cherries on top?” She pushes her way to the front of the circle with her shepherd’s hook, while Ryan walks over to the keg, which happens to be next to me.
“Nice sheep costume,” I say, hoping it sounds as ironic as I mean it to be.
“Oh. Mandy’s idea.” He puts a hoof in the air, gesturing to Mandy’s bloomered butt, swaying dangerously close to the fire. “Who’s in there? Wait. . . . I know those eyes, that voice. . . . Clare.”
“Yep.” Here I go again with the “yep”s.
“Hey! How did the rest of your summer go? I mean, I left for Mexico, and you just disappeared. Didn’t see you again at the lake, even once.”
“I went to my grandma’s in Tennessee and painted a barn,” I say, trying to make the end of my summer sound as normal as possible. Not that it matters. I’m sure he’s heard the rumors. “And spent the last few weeks finishing up my summer AP assignments. Not much time for swimming.” The last words almost hurt coming out of my mouth.
He sneaks a look out of the corner of his eye: Little Ho Peep is turning around. Of course, she sees only a mummy talking to her sheepish boyfriend.
“I gotta go get this drink to Mandy,” Ryan says, almost an apology in his tone. “Um, but, real quick, Clare. I don’t think you had anything to do with the whole stealing junk. So just don’t lump me with those people, okay? You don’t have to avoid me.” He pauses. “I mean, I’m pretty sure that I’ve actually watched you turn and walk the other way when I’ve seen you in the hall. That’s not cool.”
I’m so shocked, if this were a cartoon, my mummy rags would fling to the sides, unraveling and wrapping back up. I’m silent. Ryan starts walking away.
“Ryan!”
He turns back.
“Thanks.” I’m thinking of saying, “You have no idea what that means to me.” But I don’t. Because I realize that maybe he does. It’s possible.
“No problem.” He raises his cup of beer to me, joins Mandy by the fireside.
I’m surrounded by friends, enjoying the bonfire, drinking a few beers. Despite the cold it’s a warm scene. The only thing that gives me the chills is the forest beyond the campsite, the path where I ran into Luke’s friend Dan, and the darkness that provides a place for things to hide.
Ryan walks past our spruce tree during lunch the next day at school. He stops to say hello, flashing his bright smile. It feels good, having another ally. I can do this. I don’t have to lock myself in my room, waiting for the rumors to dissipate. Maybe I can even find the courage to deliver the blankets to Loving Hearts.
“It’s Friday night. . . . Who’s in for the movies?” Chase asks after Ryan leaves.
If I try really hard, I can break my uncomfortable routine. And make it at least a little more comfortable again.
“Sure,” I say. “Comedy sound good?”
Chapter 42
Warmth
THEN: Age Sixteen
The January winds were blowing gusts so cold that they made my eyes water. Mom and I hurried from the entrance of MegaMarket to our car. A woman was making her way across the parking lot, head down into the wind. As we passed her, I heard the wails and turned. A tiny baby in her arms, tucked down as well as possible into the woman’s worn coat. The baby had no hat, no jacket, no blanket.
As I helped Mom load the trunk of the car, I watched them cross the street, then enter Loving Hearts Homeless Shelter.
Even though she disappeared, I carried her with me. I saw her when I closed my eyes. I heard her baby in every creak of our floors. And I felt the cold wind as I sat in my room, knitting a green blanket I had intended for myself.
When the blanket was done, I pulled up a website that had baby beanies and bootie patterns, and was able to make a matching set. I pulled out leftover yarns and knitted together a small panda bear.
I headed to Loving Hearts. Outside the door I waited. What if they didn’t want the blanket? What if they knew that Luke Tovin was my brother and he was a thief, and they’d rather have nothing to do with my family? I told myself to stop it. Being scared to make a donation was ridiculous. A cold wind whipped around me. It was time to go inside.
The bell chimed as I pushed the door open.
“Can I help you?” a woman Mom’s age said warmly as she looked up from her computer.
“Hi. Um. I made this,” I said, pulling the blanket, hat, booties, and bear out of a canvas bag. “There was a woman that I saw about two weeks ago, in the parking lot across the street. She had a baby but no blanket. And I saw her come in here.”
“This is lovely!” The woman exclaimed, running her fingers across the stitches. “My name is Peggy. What’s yours?”
“Clare,
” I said, glad that we were just doing first names. “Is the woman with the baby here?”
“Yes, she is. And many women like her,” Peggy said. “Would you like a tour?”
As we walked through the shelter, she explained that Loving Hearts was a temporary place for women and children to live and eat while the mothers looked for work, saved money, and eventually moved into a place of their own. The tour ended in the living room. Peggy nodded toward a woman holding a baby on the couch.
“This is for you.” I handed her my gift.
Her eyes watered as she wrapped her baby in the blanket. “Thank you so much,” she whispered. “Amelia looks beautiful in it.”
It felt better than swimming. Better than getting 100 percent on a test. Better than Luke coming home. Better than Mom saying she was proud of me. I wanted to keep that feeling all to myself. I didn’t want to have to share it with anyone. I didn’t want Skeleton to ever ruin it for me.
Chapter 43
Fork
NOW
It’s the day before Thanksgiving, and I’m standing in the kitchen with Mom, rolling dough out, lost in thought about my college applications, the last one finished and submitted online yesterday. UCLA and UC Berkeley went out first. Then just a week ago I decided to apply to Drea’s dream school, Pepperdine, and another on her list, Long Beach State. Maybe we’ll end up at the same school. Oh. And Mom and Dad made sure that I sent an application to the shithole local college that they want me to attend. As far as they are concerned, it’s the only application I sent out. Dad blindly signed each financial aid form that I handed to him. Now the waiting begins. Acceptance or rejections expected to land on my doorstep sometime in March or April.
