by Dalya Moon
We're taking a break, warming up in the hot tub, and Briana mentions that Genna might join us next week. She's worried about her eczema flaring up, but she doesn't want to be left out.
“That's nice,” Dad says. “Your cousin and aunt will be gone by then, probably.”
“Are you going to miss your sister?” I ask.
“I suppose. But your cousin has to go to school, and there are no other options here.”
The guilt curdles in my mouth. I tell myself it's just the chlorine.
* * *
Sunday night, I'm packing my Bento lunch, alternating two styles of crackers for a striped effect, when I hear a thought in my head, as clear as someone talking.
You don't deserve this.
I mash my hand down on the crackers, crumbling them.
* * *
On Monday morning, I meet my friends in the library. Briana has her head down and is writing in a spiral notebook. She flips over to a new page and uses a ruler and a purple pen to draw a crisp double line down the margin.
“Cool trick,” I say.
“Learned from some cool friends.”
Genna says, “She's writing a book. She's read every book in existence, so of course, it's come down to this.”
“Ha ha,” Briana says. “For that, I'm going to kill off the character based on you.”
I sit next to Briana and try to read some words, but she shields them with her arm.
“Am I in there?” I ask.
Briana makes an inscrutable expression. One of her eyes does point in a little, or out. I try to look at her normally, without staring, but it's hard to look someone in the eyes and not be staring at their eyes.
“There's a girl that looks like you,” Briana says. “She's based on you and your cousin, but probably moreso your cousin, because she's a bit more, you know.”
“A bit more what? Weird? Fun? Insane?”
“Bigger. Your cousin's bigger than life.”
I push away from Briana, sliding my chair on the quiet library carpet. “Whatever.”
She returns to writing in her notebook. There's something different about Briana today, besides the writing. She's wearing a blue t-shirt with a goofy smiley face on it. The face looks spray-painted, and familiar. It's a photographic decal, of a blue face on a white square. The face has a big smile and two vampire teeth.
Briana notices me staring. “You should get one,” she says. “Josh's older brother does silk screening and he did these up. The profits will go to your cousin, to help her get set up in Seattle. Her and her mother are totally broke, but I guess you knew that.”
“Being broke is the worst,” Genna says. She's also wearing one of the t-shirts. “I know my family is not super-super poor like some people, but things around my house have not been pretty. I can only imagine how it must be for some people. I'm telling you, I think I have more of that ...” She snaps her fingers a few times. “Empathy. anyway, my dad picked up some work and I got my allowance reinstated. I'm giving some money to Tick.”
They both look at me expectantly. “She seems happy,” I say, my voice cracking. “About going home. I think this will be good for her.”
I almost believe what I'm saying.
* * *
In English class, Cameron, who's in my Drama class, asks if I'm excited about opening night for the play.
I tell her yes, but instead of butterflies of excitement, I feel something like a shadow fall across me. Dread.
Cameron is wearing one of the smiley-face t-shirts.
My crime is literally in my face.
Mrs. Rose comes into the classroom, clutching a stack of papers to her chest. After we settle down, she says, “Wonderful work from everyone. Each paper was so heartfelt, and for the most part the grammar was ... more than acceptable, given your grade level.”
Some guys at the back high-five each other, saying, “More than acceptable. Oh yeah.”
Mrs. Rose continues, “One student's work in particular was rather ... well, I must read it aloud. I hope you'll all forgive me for not reading all of your wonderful papers, but this one is—” She clears her throat.
I turn and look at Genna, who's probably the best writer in this class. I whisper, “What did you write?”
She curls her lip. “Nothing that special.”
“Here we go,” Mrs. Rose says, and she puts on her thick reading glasses and begins:
“I never had a lot of friends. I would come home from school crying and tell my mom, and she said that kids are cruel, and when she was my age, it was the same for her. For a long time growing up, her only friend was her twin brother. But I don't have a brother, I told her. She said to be myself and if people didn't like me, they weren't very good anyway.
“If you'd asked me then what was more important, friends or family, I would have said friends, because without them I felt so lonely and empty inside.
“Then one day my mom broke her leg and couldn't work at her job. We didn't know where we were going to live, but then my uncle and his family invited us to come stay with them.
“I hadn't seen my cousin in a few years, but from the moment she hugged me, it felt like we were sisters.
“She was so nice that she let me share her bedroom and borrow some of her nice clothes. I've never had anyone, besides my mom, be so nice to me.
“But then, she started getting mad at me all the time, and she was embarrassed to be seen with me.
“My mom was wrong about being yourself so people will like you. What people really want is for you to look and act exactly like them.
“I wish I could talk to my cousin about how I feel, but it's like we are on different planets.
“I hope one day we can be friends, and then we won't just be cousins forever, but also best friends forever.”
Mrs. Rose's voice cracks as she reads, “In conclusion, I've decided that family is the most important.”
The classroom is completely silent.
“My cousin was my best friend,” Mrs. Rose says, removing her reading glasses. “She passed away last summer, yet I still see her everywhere I go. She was my longest and most treasured friend.”
A few people murmur that they're sorry to hear about Mrs. Rose's cousin.
Mrs. Rose holds her pale knuckles to her nose for a moment, then straightens up. “Very well then. Let's get out our composition books, everyone.” People around me make noises, getting out their books, and Mrs. Rose starts telling us about our next writing assignment.
I pull out my book, careful not to make eye contact with Genna, who I can feel staring at me.
I get it, I want to yell at Genna. It's pretty obvious the paper was written by my cousin. I'm sure everyone but the dumb guys at the back figured that out.
But the real reason I don't turn to talk to Genna is I don't know if I can bear to look her in the eyes. I don't know if I can look anyone in the eyes.
I stare down at my composition book.
God is watching.
And I'm watching myself. This is who I am?
Chapter 11
After a few minutes of trying to write in my composition book and getting nowhere, I put my hand in the air. Mrs. Rose doesn't notice at first, so I wave it around the way Tick would.
Mrs. Rose says, “Yes, Ms. Murphy?”
“May I be excused? It's an emergency.”
“By all means, go,” she says.
I leave my books on my desk and bolt out of the room.
* * *
Principal Woo taps his fingers on his desk and alternates between silently frowning at me and frowning at the big picture window overlooking the courtyard. It's a cloudless day, and with the sun reflecting off the brilliant blanket of snow, and it's as bright as summer out there.
Finally, he says, “Trouble is not transferable.”
“But—”
“You cannot take the punishment for your cousin's crime. It doesn't work that way.”
“I swear, it really was me who painted the fac
e. We had on similar jackets that night, because she'd just gotten a new one to replace her weird old army jacket, and since she got her hair done, it looks almost the same as mine.”
“Go back to your class and we won't speak of this again.”
“No.”
He drums on the desk with his fingers and frowns at the window again. “I suppose it was dark that night. What you're saying could be true.”
“I would say to you that I'm not a liar, but I can't. I lied by omission already, by letting her take the blame. All I can say is I'm not usually a liar. I'm not lying now. I swear to God, it was me who did the spray-painting. Dana told me to paint the Anarchy symbol, but I did the smiley face instead.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I don't know. I don't know why I did any of it.”
He tilts his head and says, “Come on. You know why you did it.”
The truth pours out of me. I tell him how I didn't appreciate my cousin at first, but I felt something like genuine love for her when we sang the song together, our voices blending. My cousin and I were finally getting along. Plus I liked hanging out with Ty, because he's different and funny, and I wanted to be his friend. I don't know Josh very well, but I think he's cute, and I want to be friends with him too. Dana is horrible, but I think if I try hard enough, I might find something good in her.
He says, “I thought you said you don't lie.”
“You're right. Dana is horrible, and I don't think I'll ever like her.”
“But you were the one who did the face?”
“Yes. I wanted to impress them. It was stupid.”
We're interrupted by the administrator, popping his head in the door to say there's a conference call waiting for Principal Woo.
“Almost done,” Principal Woo says to the man. He turns to me and says, “Ms. Murphy, you'll take one week's suspension from school and school-related activities. When you report back next week, you'll begin two months' service in the cafeteria at lunch time. You'll have a pass and be let out of your last morning class early.”
“Whaaaa ... cafeteria?”
He nods. “I think you'll look good in a hair net. Now, off you go, back to class. Wait, no. Go home and today will count as one day. I'll give you that much, for coming forward.”
“But the cafeteria service. I can't just ... paint over the graffiti? I'll repaint the entire wall, if you want.”
“My hands are tied,” he says. “There's a chart, remember?” He points to his screen, but I can't see it from where I'm sitting. “Vandalism, comma, occult,” he says.
“Occult?”
He grins, baring his teeth, and points to his two eyeteeth. “Vampire teeth. Occult.”
“So, the Anarchy symbol would have been better?”
“Ironically, yes.”
“I'm so stupid.” I lean forward and bonk my forehead on the edge of his desk.
“Not stupid so much as unlucky.”
* * *
I arrive home at noon, to an empty house. I guess my father has my aunt and my cousin both helping him at the office today.
I would call them there, to share the good news, but it can wait until they get home. Getting in trouble can wait.
Out of habit, I run up the stairs to the bedroom formerly known as mine. I remember at the top of the stairs, and I'm about to turn around when I notice something is different. I can see into the room from here, and the closet door is open. The closet is empty. No clothes, just empty hangers.
I walk into the room to make sure.
They're gone.
I'm too late.
I slump to the floor and put my face in my hands. They just left and they didn't even say goodbye. I suppose I deserve as much, for lying and letting my cousin take the blame.
After a few minutes, I pull myself together and grab the cordless phone from the computer desk.
A ringing comes from downstairs. My mother's phone is probably sitting in the charger, where it is about half the time you try to reach her. If Olivia were here, she'd look at me right now and say, “Typical Mom.”
I try Dad next, and he answers with, “Make it snappy, I'm almost outta battery juice.”
“It's me,” I say, wasting valuable time with the obvious. “Where are you? Have they left yet? Dad I have to tell you something. I'm the one who did the graffiti on the school.”
“You made what team?” he says, the signal crackling and breaking up his transmission. “We're at the bus station. If you can still hear me. The bus is leaving in about twenty minutes, then we'll come home. Hey, what are you doing at the house?”
“You're at the bus station? Are they still here?”
“I'm ((crackle)) losing you.”
I yell into the phone, “Don't let them go! She's not actually expelled!”
Silence.
“Dad?”
The bus station.
What can I do?
I don't have Aunt Trudy's cell phone number. I could phone the bus station, and have them paged. Or I could go there. I could call a taxi cab, maybe. I think I've seen taxis in Snowy Cove.
Time's passing as I sit here doing nothing.
The bus station is not far from The International Cafe. If I leave right now, I could get there in twenty minutes.
I'm already running down the stairs, and I've decided.
I'll hurry, and I'll tell them everything, and then ... I don't know what. But I'll feel better telling everyone.
I cram my boots on and run out the front door. I slip on some ice going around the corner, but recover and keep going.
Within a block, I'm breathing heavily, and my chest feels constricted. I think it's panic, not the running, but it's not like I jog all the time. Can kids my age have a heart attack?
I have to pace myself. How many minutes has it been? Why don't I wear a watch?
I slow to a jog for three blocks.
Wheezing, the cold air making my sinuses ache, I slow down to a fast walk.
I should have paged them at the bus depot. I could go knock on a stranger's house to use the phone.
I see empty driveways all around, and houses that look empty, presumably with their residents at school or work.
I start to run again.
My breath is ragged, and I remember what I do when I'm swimming. I breath deeper, slow and steady, instead of gasping, supplying my body with steady oxygen.
I start running faster.
A car pulls up alongside me and slows down. The window rolls down with a motor whine. A woman says, “Aren't you supposed to be in school?”
I turn to see Officer Jones, Genna's mother.
I give her a meek wave. “Going. To. The. Bus depot.”
“Oh, it's you, Lainey! I thought it was some juvenile delinquent, but it's just you.”
I keep jogging. “Hi.”
“Want a lift?”
I think of Friday night, of her stopping in the alley, just feet away from where I hid behind recycling bins, like a coward.
Still driving alongside me, she says, “You're not running away from home, are you? Do you want to talk to someone?”
“Nope. Just have to get. To. The bus depot. Gotta. Stop my cousin.”
“Come on, get in the car.”
I stop and put my hands on my knees for a second. I turn and walk to the back door of the police cruiser, reaching for the handle.
“Not the back, you goof,” she says. “Come around and get in the front.”
I cross in front of the car and get in the passenger side. She moves some computer equipment over to make room for me.
“Thanks,” I say.
A few minutes later, much faster than I could have run on my own, we get to the bus depot. As we wait to pull into the parking lot, an SUV comes out with my parents in it. They don't see me, because they wouldn't exactly be expecting me in a police car.
Right behind them is a big bus. The sign on the front says “Westbound.” It pulls out of the parking lot and drives down the roa
d.
I say a swear word.
Officer Jones says, “Really, Lainey? Such language.”
“There goes my cousin. I'm too late.” I put my face in my hands.
“Probably for the best,” she says. “That girl was trouble. First it's property crimes and mischief, but she was only headed for worse things.”
“You don't understand.”
She pulls the car into the parking lot of the bus depot and parks near the exit. “Okay, tell me. Make me understand.”
Even though it won't make any difference, except get me into more trouble, I tell her everything—how my cousin's on that bus, leaving her friends and family, and it's all my fault because I'm a bad friend and I was being selfish about the green dress at first, and then even more selfish about my friends, and then about Josh, and I wanted my room back, and I'm a horrible person.
As I'm blubbering incoherently, she cuts me off and says, “Long story short. Do you want me to pull over the bus or not?”
“You can do that?”
“Do you promise you'll never break the law again?”
“Not even jaywalking.”
She gives me a wink and clicks something. Blue and red lights bounce off everything around us. She pulls out of the parking lot so fast, the tires would certainly have squealed if the roads weren't covered in snow.
* * *
We're just outside the perimeter of town when we catch up with the bus and pull it over.
Officer Jones leads the way, and we board the bus.
There are not a lot of people on the bus, maybe a dozen, mostly seniors, and they stare at Officer Jones with huge eyes.
She talks with the driver for a moment and then turns to tell everyone on the bus not to worry, and that they'll be on their way again in a few minutes. She gives me a push toward the back. “What are you waiting for?”
I walk back, toward where my cousin and aunt are sitting.
Aunt Trudy takes off her headphones. “Lainey?”
Seated next to her, Tick looks like a little girl, with a polar fleece travel blanket tucked around her.
“You guys can't leave,” I say. “You have to stay in Snowy Cove.”
