A Dark Road

by Amanda Lance

  “Hooray!”

  I jumped back into him while he laughed. As happy as I was, I calculated the months between now and his 18 birthday. For me it was much too far away, for him to continue putting himself in danger. One internet search had told me how dangerous those chemicals could be that he worked with. In any case, I didn’t know how much longer I could keep sneaking him into my basement without my parents noticing.

  “You don’t have to wait until spring, though.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll talk to my parents—”

  “Hadley, no.”

  “Shush and listen. We don’t have to give them massive details, just explain that you need a place to crash before college…My parents are pretty liberal, and as long as you pull your weight around the house, I don’t think they’ll mind. I have the feeling that when my mom meets Frank, she’ll file papers to adopt you right then and there.”

  “I don’t know, Hadley…”

  “Just tell me you’ll think about it, okay, James?”

  For the first time ever I saw him lean back in his chair. He smiled at me and I was completely enamored by him.

  “Hey. Would you do that again?”

  “Do what?”

  “Say my name?”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I decided I like it after all. O-only when you use it, though.” He hesitated, running his thumb down the center of my part, a quirk he had developed lately that I had grown to enjoy. “Is that okay?”

  I pointed out the spot in his cheek where the dimple came in. “It’s more than okay, James.”

  Chapter 40

  James

  There are exactly 98 burgundy tiles from the front entrance to the lobby but only 97 of the white tiles checkered in between. It’s a stupid thing to focus on, to think about at all, but I’m thinking that if I don’t focus on this, then I’ll think about all the reasons why I shouldn’t be here.

  I stand in the elevator for 5, 10, 15 minutes…I watch nurses with bad manicures push people in wheelchairs and lab technicians with their white coats and samples. There are other visitors with flowers and balloons. And I’m thinking it wouldn’t have killed me to stop by the gift shop. There’s an orderly and an empty gurney, some patient with an IV in her arm, and someone whose nametag has Physical Therapy over a name impossible to pronounce.

  I am wondering if this hospital has any actual doctors.

  By the time I get to the floor where Jenna’s room is supposed to be, I’m a walking disaster area. I’m thinking about how I look, if her parents will be there, if they will instantly know what a joke of a human being I am.

  I make my feet move, though, past the nurse’s station and the emergency fire exit. No turning back now.

  If I think of Hadley, then it makes everything easier. She’s become a lucky rabbit’s foot for my head. I swear all the bad things cease to happen and everyone stops looking at me when I picture her.

  I’m thinking I’ll be okay…maybe.

  The door to Jenna’s room is open but I still have no idea what I’m supposed to do about it. What is the proper etiquette here for open hospital doors? I wait, hoping someone will come by and sort of give me permission to go in or tell me to go away. Either way, I’d be okay with it. I could say I tried and nobody can accuse me of not making the effort.

  No one comes around, though, and I hone in on the sound of the TV from inside. I think it’s some kind of soap opera but I don’t know for certain.

  It isn’t exactly what I expect. There’s a bed, but it’s empty. And there are machines and wires, but no one is hooked up to them. I’m almost thinking that I got the wrong room until I see the C shaped figure of Jenna sitting on a chair in the corner. She isn’t what I expected, either. When you walk into a hospital’s behavioral health unit, you prepare yourself for strait jackets and drooling idiots recovering from lobotomies. I haven’t seen anything like that here so far.

  There is only Jenna sitting on a chair, in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms watching TV.

  When she finally notices that I’m there, she doesn’t even start, just kind of glances over at me and looks back at the TV. I can’t see any clear-cut signs of her parents anywhere. There are some magazines on the nightstand, a half-dead potted plant, and school books.

  No parents.

  “I got sick of the bed,” she says finally.

  “Huh?”

  She sighs like I’m the most annoying person in the world. She can’t even be bothered to waste her time with me, but we both know she has nothing better to do, so she explains.

  “For the first week you’re here, they pretty much makes you stay in that freaking bed.”

  I’m almost startled. I can’t remember a time Jenna has even come close to swearing.

  “Then you go to group.” She eyes me like I’m the one who has had a lobotomy. “Group therapy. Then lunch, then crafts.” She says the word like it physically pains her. “Individual therapy, then rec time.”

  I have no idea what I am supposed to say. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

  “It’s poisonous,” she tells me. “If they don’t make you sit for something, then you’re sleeping.” She glares at the hospital bed and I wonder if it’s got evil powers or something.

  She’s quiet again, and I don’t know if I’m allowed to step further into the room or if I should just stay in the doorway like a clod. After a minute of self-debate, I take a step inside, one, then two, then three…

  “Uh, so how’s it going?”

  “Better than you by the looks of it.” I can tell she’s referring to the one bruise on my face, which has refused to go away and I think of The Scarlet Letter.

  She laughs. It’s sort of a twisted sound, but then again, I think I’ve never heard her laugh before. “You sell something to the wrong person?”

  When I tell her how I got the bruises, she freezes. Becomes concrete in the chair. I look out the window at the smokestacks coming up from a building next to the hospital. Doesn’t seem very health-oriented to me. But then, what in the hell do I know?

  “A-are you serious?”

  I shrug but make myself stop. I think it probably looks like a robot dance move. “I guess I did sell to the wrong person.”

  She leans forward and points the remote at the TV, shuts it off. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Yeah.”

  Then suddenly she’s borderline again, standing up and pulling at the ends of my jacket like they are the only things keeping her from floating away. Her eyes are wide, but in a natural way. And I wonder if I’ve ever seen her sober before.

  “You won’t tell, right, McKay? Not about my using but about what Simon did, right? Please don’t—”

  “Tell? Tell who? Hell, you’re the only person who knows about King Asshat having a hissy fit anyway. Hadley knows everything else.”

  She relaxes, releases me. I am abundantly grateful as the claustrophobia was closing in.

  “Tell, like the people you work for…Simon won’t do anything like that again, okay? I promise. I’ll talk to him—”

  I hold up my hand to cut her off. I’m genuinely shocked. It’s never occurred to me that Jenna would be afraid of me. I guess it makes sense, we’ve never talked about what I do. For all she’s knows, I’m working for an international super-baddie. Isn’t that what I had kind of hoped for, though? That her and The Stooges’ fears would keep me safe?

  “D-don’t worry about that. Just don’t tell your parents anything and especially don’t tell Hadley.”

  “Simon’s sister? She knows about the dealing? About me?” I don’t have the heart to tell her that at this point, pretty much everyone in school has some idea about her use. The name Junkie Jenna has been uttered and laughed at more than once since she overdosed.

  “She’s the only one who knows anything for sure. You can’t tell her about Simon coming to my house and starting shit, though.”

  Now she’s curious and for a second, sick, potentially add
icted Jenna is gone and Princess Overachiever is back. “Why? What does she have on you?”

  Nothing. Everything. My whole heart.

  I shrug instead. “We’re friends. S-she doesn’t need to know what an Asshat her brother is.”

  Jenna almost looks impressed by my answer. She walks to the window and sighs. I’m waiting for her to tell me to go screw myself, or blackmail me or something. Hadley is on my sleeve and I have no idea how to keep her safe.

  “Okay,” she says eventually. “I’ll keep quiet.”

  “H-how are you otherwise?”

  She uncrosses her arms and taps on the glass. “I’m starting to think I’ll be okay.”

  I tell her I know exactly what she means.

  I’m half hoping that because the wrestling season is almost over it won’t matter so much. That must have just been my wishful thinking. Sam and Ryan are hard-core addicts with the meth. If they don’t get their fix from me, they’d just as soon get it from someone else.

  I wasn’t bullshitting Hadley when I told her I wanted out. I have money in piles buried in the back yard, enough, I’ve calculated, for two years at the community college and a little more than a year’s rent for a one-bedroom.

  But Hadley said I could do more than that and I believe her. I applied for every stupid scholarship I could and tried to bank on our imaginary poverty in essays that Hadley help me write. I’m running what Hadley was saying through my head about how the money should have been mine for the work. I’m beginning to wonder if she’s right. I don’t want the money though, just her. I figure I can handle debt or working any other crappy minimum wage job in the world as long as she sticks around.

  The day after Thanksgiving I call Luke up and have him meet me just by the Christmas tree lot between the antique shop and a nail salon. I think it might go over better with him than with the other Stooges, since he only seemed to use recreationally. I’ve also heard that he’s already been accepted to some school in the west, and I don’t see him wanting to mess that up.

  “Hey.”

  “McKay, Happy Thanksgiving, Dude.”

  Hadley and I had talked at length about this yesterday. Why people wish each other a ‘happy birthday’ a week afterward, or say, in this instance, ‘Happy Thanksgiving’ the day after. Hadley brilliantly observed that people regularly wish you a ‘merry’ (insert holiday here) days in advance anymore, making holidays and birthdays last for an entire week. Before you know it, people will be saying ‘Happy Whatever’ every day of the year just to stay ahead/behind of the holiday.

  Instead of saying any of that, I just nod. This is going to suck enough without being a smart-ass. That’s why I chose a public place. If Luke does get angry for some reason, he at least can’t take it out on me here and now.

  “Dude, I don’t know about you, but I’m still full from yesterday.” He patted his stomach like there was supposed to be something there; I’d think everyone by now knows there is nothing but concaved ribs.

  I rub the back of my neck. I’m uncomfortable from spending the night in awkward positions on Hadley’s basement. Leaning on my elbow, I rested my head in my hand and watched her sleep on and off the entire night. We’d celebrated my last cook with pumpkin roll and videos on YouTube of people catching themselves on fire while trying to cook turkey.

  The worst of it was already over. Louie had bought me out, so to speak, and I gave him the last of everything I had. As long as I don’t cook for anyone else…ever again, he doesn’t have any reason to bother me.

  “Listen, Luke, I gotta tell you something.” I look around but no one is watching. I feel no eyes. “Those study notes you’re so fond of…”

  His smile disappears, “Yeah?”

  “Well, I’m not taking them for you anymore.”

  “Wh—”

  “It’s not a personal or money thing, Dude. I’m not writing papers for anybody anymore. I’m going out of business.”

  Luke exhales and runs his hands through his hair. I’ve never been good with emotions, so it’s hard to tell if he’s relieved or pissed or…what.

  “Well, where are we—supposed to get our…study guides from?”

  He starts biting at his nails, but I give him Louie’s name and number under the agreement that he never mentions who he got it from. Best case scenario, Louie thinks I’m throwing him some business. Worst case: I’m a big fish in a very little pond. So no matter how pissed Louie gets when/if he finds out I was selling on the side, he won’t hurt me. Anyway, it seems like he might actually have a genuine pet-peeve against junkies. He might not believe The Stooges, anyway.

  “Dude, Sam and Ryan are going to freak-the-fuck out.”

  I shrug. “They aren’t my problem anymore.”

  “They will be if they start going through withdra—if their grades drop.”

  “Send them to my other tutor. He’ll help you out.”

  We part ways and I feel better for the first time in a long while that doesn’t include Hadley Grayson.

  At this point I didn’t know that was possible.

  Chapter 41

  Hadley

  He began to sleep in the basement on a semi-regular basis. Friday and Saturday nights were usually out because even Mom and Dad stayed up past 9:30 then, and there was always the slightly higher risk that Dad might get up the next day and decide to work on the house or something.

  I felt a lot better about this arrangement, because though it was only the beginning of December, it snowed at least twice a week and I never trusted that flimsy little tent. I’d wait until 10:30 or 11, when I was sure my parents were asleep, and sneak down to the basement. Sometimes I’d make a platter if there were a lot of leftovers and make James eat something. I also figured if anyone ever caught me, I could just say I was catching a midnight snack.

  Most nights we’d go straight to sleep. Other nights I’d have my laptop down there earlier and we’d watch stupid movies. I continued to keep the basement as clean as possible, adding a garbage can, a stash of snacks, and as many spare pillows and blankets as I can muster. Once the tree is up and decorated I even string up some lights so we won’t have to always rely on flashlights.

  It’s a Wednesday night when I catch him staring at me. We were working on college applications, and as I combed through the thesaurus I could feel his eyes on me, a lot less bashful than before. I wasn’t sure why I liked it so much, but I did.

  “What?” I asked finally.

  “Nothing.”

  “What? Do I have something on my face?” I rolled on my stomach and made a weird sort of monster face hoping to make him smile, but he didn’t, he just kept staring.

  “I-I was just admiring.”

  I was a little thrown. “Oh.”

  He blushed and tried to change the subject. “I-I, um—so, ah, how are your friends in C-Connecticut?” I watched him stumble to sit upright but when he turned so red he’s almost purple I realized he has a pretty good view down my pajama top. I’ve never been a tease or anything, but I liked this reaction. It wasn’t t that I wanted to make him uncomfortable; it’s that I hadn’t been able to think very concretely since that night he kissed me and called it a mistake.

  “I honestly don’t know.” I was holding back my giggling, but just barely. “I haven’t called anyone since Thanksgiving, and the e-mails have stopped since Aimee told me Jordan and Ian are dating.”

  I felt him clench the blanket in between us. The furnace kicked on and it’s the only sound other than Dog’s heavy breathing.

  “Oh,” I heard him gulp. “What do you think about that?”

  “It’s good,” I told him. “Ian wanted a lot more than I did.” He sighed and I threw a mini-candy cane at him. “What do you think about that?”

  “I t-think you could do a lot better than a sheep.”

  “Yeah,” I told him. “I think so, too.”

  This time I kissed him, and by the time we were through, we were both red.

  ***

  It didn’t
take long for my absence at lunch to go noticed by our small clique and, most of all, my brother. Within the span of a few days, James and I created a new world for ourselves, away from the obligations of our families and the fears of our futures. If I wasn’t at school or the animal shelter, I was with James. And during those few but long hours that we were apart, I missed him terribly..

  Most days we ate lunch in Grander’s classroom. He didn’t seem to mind and so we happily took advantage.

  Except I was the only one who ever seemed to eat anything. Before long it bothered me immensely.

  I handed James my pretzels and when he refused, I took his hand and put some in his palm. “All right, I’ll ask. What’s with the lack of eating lunch?”

  “It isn’t safe to keep exposed food in my house.”

  “And we don’t buy lunch because…”

  “It costs money and it’s gross looking.”

  I shook my head and gave him a half of my sandwich. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “If you’re not going to steal my blanket then I’m not going to steal your sandwich.”

  “Just eat.” I slid the half back over to him. “Tomorrow I’ll bring you one of your own.”

  He smiled but looked away as he bit into the crust.

  “Speaking of food,” I started, “what are you and Dog doing for Christmas?”

  “I was just going to cook—”

  “When you say ‘cook’—”

  “Not stuffing and yams.”

  “Then you have to come over my house.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. What with you being a growing boy and everything, I can’t have you starving on the streets.”

  “What about Simon?”

  “You let me deal with him,” I insisted. “You just bring your appetite.”

  Chapter 42

  James

  This is infinitely bad.

  If I thought I couldn’t concentrate in English before, I clearly had no idea what the hell I was talking about.