A Not-So-Simple Life

by Melody Carlson

  Thankfully they didn’t come up to the attic. But it was really unnerving. And I was tempted to call my dad and beg him to send someone out to get me. However, he’s just started his European tour, and he’s going to be hard to reach for a while. Besides, I kept telling myself that I could deal with this.

  Finally it’s around three in the morning, and most of the partiers have either left the house or been taken away in cop cars. Now there are only three cars left, and I think the “party” is almost over. But then Shannon is escorted out the front door by a woman cop. Shannon still has on her short denim skirt and a pink tank top, only now her outfit is accented with a pair of handcuffs. The cop helps my mom into the back of a patrol car, then slams the door.

  I know it makes no sense, but I feel really sad, and my hands begin to shake. I pick up my cell phone, thinking I will call someone, but who? Earlier tonight when I was feeling frustrated and lonely, I actually e-mailed my cousin Kim and confessed all, although I’m sort of regretting that. But there is no way I’m calling her now. Not at this time of night. Also, I notice that my cell phone battery is almost dead, and I didn’t bring the charger. So I just wait. I wait and feel freaked. I try not to think about what I’m going to do. Where I’ll go if Shannon is in any kind of serious trouble. And for all I know, she could be. I do know this: I don’t have any bail money.

  Not too long after Shannon’s escorted out of the house, the other cops get into their cars, taking various other guests from the party along with them—not anyone I recognize, not that I expected to. I haven’t seen Lynnette exiting yet, and I wonder if she made a fast break earlier.

  At last the house becomes very quiet. Still, I’m not sure I want to go down there, not until daylight anyway. I try to sleep, but it’s like the adrenaline keeps rushing through me. My hands are shaking so badly that I almost wonder if Shannon hid some of her stupid amphetamines or something in my water bottle.

  Okay, I know that’s ridiculous, but it’s like I can’t stop shaking. I feel like I’m having a meltdown. And it’s impossible to sleep. Finally the sun comes up, and I think it should be safe to leave. So I pack up my stuff and am about to go down when I hear someone in the house!

  I look out to see if there’s a car but don’t see one. Still, someone is definitely in the house. And they are definitely searching for something. It can’t be anything good. And I don’t think it’s the police. So who does that leave? Some whacked-out crackhead with a gun? Okay, now I am totally freaked, and my brain is fried from all this stress. So I just stay in the attic, getting a serious case of claustrophobia—it feels like I can’t breathe. I’m afraid to move, and I can’t open the window. I think I’m going to die.

  Seventeen

  April 7

  The past two days have been a blur…surreal. My cousin Kim not only e-mailed me back on that horrid night, telling me to get out of that house, which I eventually did, but my uncle decided I should come out and spend some time with them. I didn’t argue.

  And yesterday I got on a flight (which Uncle Allen paid for), and he and Kim picked me up at the airport. I’m sure they expected more gratitude from me, but the truth is, I feel dead inside. It’s like something in me is broken, and I don’t think it’s ever going to be fixed.

  Kim showed me to the guest room. I only brought one bag, the same backpack that I threw things into on Friday night. I was too rattled and scared when I finally made my break out of the house midday Saturday. I wasn’t even sure if I was going to make it. It seemed that people had been coming and going all morning. Strangers, I think. Then the police. And finally Lynnette was down there yelling for me. I never answered. I don’t even know why. Except that I wanted out of there. For good. Naturally, I missed my photo shoot. My modeling career is over now. I do not care.

  After settling into “my” room, I slept the rest of the day. And when I spoke with Kim that evening, I didn’t say much. I know she thinks I’m a snob or a brat or just a pathetic loser whose parents should never have been allowed to have kids.

  “I spoke to your dad’s manager,” my uncle informed me last night. “Your dad should be calling you tomorrow around ten. I told him it was fine to call on the house phone.”

  And my dad does call this morning. I am the only one home at the time. Kim had school. My uncle had work. It is a relief to be able to speak candidly, which I do. I pour out the whole ugly story.

  “But you’re okay?” my dad finally asks.

  “Yeah. I’m great.”

  “You don’t sound great.”

  I know I’ve been speaking in a monotone. But what do people expect? I wonder if this is sort of how a soldier feels after coming home from war. Shell shock? Is that what they call it?

  “What do you want me to do, Maya?”

  I consider this. But I can’t tell him my true answer. I can’t say, “I want you to come home and act like you’re my dad. I want you to take care of me. I want you to love me and get us a home where we can live like normal people. Like Kim and her dad.” Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen. “I don’t know,” I finally mutter.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about your emancipation idea,” he says. “And I’m willing to sign off for you.”

  Now I know this should make me glad. It’s what I wanted. But instead, I feel a hard lump in my throat.

  “And Shannon will have no choice but to sign off for you, Maya.”

  “Right…”

  “And I want to replace what she stole from you, and more. If you’ll give me your account number, I’ll have Thomas set that up. And I’ll have him do a direct deposit into your account each month so you’ll have your own money to live on. I should’ve done that a long time ago. Sorry.”

  I let out a long sigh. “Yeah.”

  “Are you going to be okay, baby?”

  “I’m fine.” I feel tears slipping out now.

  “I talked to Allen. He seems like a really nice guy. And his daughter sounds like she has a good head on her shoulders too. I think you’re in good hands.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And I’ll be back in the States the end of May. Maybe we can figure something out then, something more permanent.”

  “Right…”

  “In the meantime you can e-mail me. It’s hard catching calls over here with the time difference and all.”

  I don’t point out that he hardly ever checks his e-mail. Why bother?

  “You’re a survivor, Maya,” he says in his you-can-do-anything voice. “You’re going to come out on top, baby. I just know it.”

  We say a few more things. Or he says a few more things, finally promising to find out what’s going on with Shannon, when he has time, that is. And then we hang up, and I go back to the guest room and have a good, long cry.

  April 11

  “Why don’t you just stay here?” Kim said after she got home from school yesterday. I’d been telling her and my uncle that I needed to make a plan and that I needed to get out of here and get on with my life. But at that moment, I wasn’t sure if I could even get off their sofa without help. I felt paralyzed.

  “And do what?” I frowned up at her. As usual, she looked like a fashion-conscious preppy—nice and neat with her sleek black hair cut into layers that frame her serious dark eyes and petite facial features. I think Kim is really pretty, and if she were about a foot taller, she could probably even model. Not that she would. She’s too smart to get caught up in something like that.

  “Go to school. Make friends. Live your life.” She smiled with satisfaction, as if—just like that—she’d put my messed-up world into perfect order.

  I just stared at her in disbelief. It was like someone from a different planet had said, “Hey, let’s fly on over to Jupiter and eat a live octopus for lunch.” I mean, I couldn’t even wrap my mind around it.

  Kim sat down next to me and actually put a hand on my shoulder. And just that small act of kindness was enough to break me down. So I pulled away. But that didn’t stop her. �
��Look, Maya, I know you’ve been through a lot. Probably more than anyone realizes. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a normal life now…if you want one.”

  “I don’t even know what normal is.” Of course, I didn’t admit to her that normal is what I’ve been wanting for ages now. Or that I’d given up on ever finding it for myself.

  “Well, there probably is no real normal,” she said. “It’s more like an illusion. Or maybe it’s whatever you decide to make it. But I do believe you can have a life that’s different… healthier…than the one you’ve been living.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Are you open to advice?”

  I considered this, then shrugged.

  “Why don’t you enroll at my high school? Just give it a try. There are only two months left in the school year, but it might be enough time for you to figure things out.”

  “You want me to stick around for two months?” I studied her reaction closely. I mean, I know she’s a Christian…and I wondered if this was just some goody-goody-girl act. But I have to admit she seemed sincere.

  “Two months will probably go by pretty quickly,” she said. “But you might discover that you like it here.”

  I think I frowned then.

  “Or you might not like it.” She grinned. “But at least you’d know.”

  “That’s not it,” I admitted. “I don’t want to feel like you have to drag me around, like it’s your job to help me figure things out. And just for the record, I need you to understand that I’m a very independent person.”

  She actually laughed then. “I already knew that.”

  “Oh…”

  “And just for the record, I’m a very busy person. So unless you specifically want me to help you with something, I’ll assume you can handle stuff yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But if you’d like, I could give you a ride to school tomorrow. And I could point you in the direction of the office. But that would be it.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Cool. Maybe you could let me know what you decide.” And so I decided. Or sort of. Anyway, I did go to school with Kim today. And I met with a guidance counselor. I started by telling her that I’d been doing homeschool and that my school records might be a little messed up.

  Mrs. King gave me a curious look. “So what grade would you say you’re in now?”

  “I already have my GED.”

  “You have your GED?” She blinked.

  Finally I decided to just spill the beans. Seriously, what could it hurt? Besides, if she’s a good counselor, she should be understanding, right? As expected, she was surprised and impressed to learn that I’m Nick Stark’s daughter.

  “Not that I want everyone to know,” I said quickly.

  “Yes, I can understand that.”

  So then I told her about my mom. And even the news I’d just heard, via my dad, that she will probably be doing time in the LA. jail for drug possession and sales, among other things.

  “Wow,” Mrs. King said after I finished, “you’ve certainly been through a lot, Maya.”

  I nodded. “And I plan to go ahead with the emancipation. My dad has agreed, and, well, my mom doesn’t really have a say now. But…I don’t know…I thought it might be interesting to see how I like high school. My cousin Kim Peterson thinks I should give it a try.”

  “Kim Peterson is your cousin?”

  So I explained how our moms were estranged sisters and how, thanks to my mom’s messed-up life, I’m living with Kim and her dad for the time being.

  “Kim is a wonderful girl,” said Mrs. King. Then she handed me some paperwork. “Do the best you can to fill these out, and if you don’t mind, I’ll set up some placement testing for you on Monday.”

  “Placement testing?”

  “Well, although you have your GED, it doesn’t tell us much about what academics you may be lacking. And come to think of it, it might not be too late to get you signed up for pre-SATs.”

  “Pre-SATs?”

  “Our college-bound juniors take the test to see what they need to study further during their senior year.”

  I didn’t point out that if I’d been going to school like a normal teen, I wouldn’t even be a junior yet. Really, what difference would it make anyway? I simply filled out the paperwork and agreed to show up on Monday for my placement testing.

  “How hard is it to get a driver’s license in your state?” I asked as Kim drove us home. Her friend Natalie, also a senior, was in the front seat. I don’t like to make snap judgments about people, but I didn’t like Natalie much from the get-go. It wasn’t just her fashion obsessions and styled-within-an-inch-of-its-life blond hair as much as it was her voice and her opinions. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure why she and Kim were friends. But as usual, I kept these thoughts to myself.

  “Do you have your learner’s permit?” asked Natalie.

  “No, but I know how to drive.”

  Kim laughed. “That’s not going to impress the DMV.”

  “Probably not.”

  So they explained the steps, and Kim even swung by the DMV to get some booklets and things. Of course, this brought up the need for emancipation again. So I realized I had some work to do.

  “What do you think of Harrison High?” Natalie asked as we all got back into Kim’s Jeep Wrangler.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It seems kind of small.”

  “Compared to Beverly Hills?” Natalie said in a weird tone. Like she was making fun of where I lived. I decided to let it go.

  “Maya was homeschooled,” Kim said quietly.

  “Seriously?” Natalie turned and stared at me like I was an alien. “Wow, you just don’t seem like the homeschooled type to me.”

  “And that would be what?” Okay, I knew I sounded snooty, but I didn’t care. This girl gets on my nerves. It’s like she has a superiority complex. And then I was thinking, Isn’t this the girl who got pregnant last year? Not that I’m going there. I am not.

  “Oh, you know,” Natalie said lightly, “homeschooled kids are usually in really strict Christian homes and—”

  “That seems like a narrow perspective,” I pointed out.

  “That’s right,” agreed Kim. “People from all walks of life do homeschooling, Nat.”

  Well, that shut Natalie up. And after we got home, I wasted no time in getting away from them. Rather, from Natalie. Still, it made me wonder. What am I getting into here? This is a small town where normal actually exists, or so it seems. Girls like me don’t really fit in. And yet in some ways, this small-town life feels like a break. Like I can almost breathe again. Almost.

  April 18

  I’ve just finished my first week in a real high school. Pretty weird. But sort of cool too. After my testing, which seemed to impress Mrs. King, she asked if I wanted to be placed as a junior this year.

  “Meaning I would be a senior next year?”

  She smiled. “It seems that way.”

  This was actually a huge relief. I’d been worried that I was going to be like a freshman, with three more years until graduation. And if that was the case, I was considering just going with the GED and calling it a day.

  “That sounds good,” I told her. “Well, if I decide I like school.”

  She nodded. “Let’s hope you do. You’re a very smart girl, Maya. And I think you’d have a good chance for some scholarships.” Then she looked uneasy. “Not that you’d need them…I mean, with your father and all.”

  “Don’t forget about my emancipation,” I reminded her.

  “Yes…of course.”

  “Although my dad is helping me out financially.” Not that I can totally count on that. The bottom could fall out for him on any given day. His career bombed once. I’m sure it could happen again. Besides, if I’m going to make it in this world, I’ll probably need to make it on my own.

  “I heard you didn’t bring much with you from California, Maya,” Natalie said as Kim drove us home from scho
ol. “Maybe you’d like us to take you shopping.”

  “Shopping?”

  “You know, for some clothes and things.”

  “It may come as a surprise to you,” I said in a sharp tone, “but some of us are not that into shopping.”

  “Oh,” Natalie said. “Is it like that vegan thing? You don’t eat meat or wear leather, and you don’t like new clothes either?”

  I was starting to fume now, and I tried not to think of how I compromised myself by wearing leather to work…and for modeling. Not that it did me any good.

  “Unlike some people, Maya isn’t a slave to fashion,” Kim said.

  Yay, Kim!

  “Meaning you think I’m a slave to fashion?” Natalie asked in a shocked tone.

  “Not as much as you used to be,” Kim said. “But you have to admit, you’ve been known to shop—”

  “Just because I care about my appearance doesn’t mean I’m a slave to fashion!”

  Suddenly, and to my relief, they were the ones arguing. Okay, I felt a teeny twinge of guilt, but mostly I was glad the spotlight was off me.

  Maya’s Green Tip For the Day

  Sometimes you’ll see the words “organic cotton” on a T-shirt. Do you know what this means? It doesn’t have anything to do with the quality of cotton, since cotton is basically cotton. It has to do with how the cotton is raised. Instead of using chemicals that can harm the land and waterways, organic cotton growers use natural pesticides and fertilizers. So if you pay a little more to purchase organic cotton, you’re helping keep the planet safer.