“You guys, don’t!” I said, laughing. But it was too late.
“Uh well-a, well-a, well-a huh,” Liz sang at full volume. “Tell me more, tell me more…”
“Was it love at first sight?” Krista joined in.
“Tell me more, tell me more…”
“Did he put up a fight?”
They skipped all the rest of the lyrics and just kept singing the “tell me more” part.
“Tell me more, tell me more,” Liz sang. “How much dough did he spend?”
“Tell me more, tell me more. Could he get me a friend?” Krista asked.
I ran down the aisle between the musty clothes, giggling and trying to get away from them, but it encouraged Liz, and she danced after me, just like the Pink Ladies in the movie.
“Tell me more, tell me more,” she belted out.
I was laughing so hard, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I careened around the end of a tall shelf in the household section and almost ran smack into a wiry lady with gray hair and a name badge that said FRIEDA. She glared at the three of us as Liz and Krista crashed into me.
“This isn’t a playground, girls,” she said.
“Sorry,” we mumbled.
We followed Krista up to the counter, where she paid for her coat, our heads down so Frieda wouldn’t see us laughing. Then we burst out onto the sidewalk, cracking up so hard, purple mascara tears ran down Krista’s face.
“You guys are so bad,” I said, shoving them.
“Us?” Krista demanded. “Your face was bright red!” She put her arm around my shoulder. “I bet you and lover boy never even made it past the cave.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I’ll never tell.”
“Does he still respect you?” Liz joked. “Do you think he’ll call? Did he kiss you good night on your front porch until your dad blinked the lights?”
My face fell. I tried to shake it off, but they noticed immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said, forcing a smile. “Come on. We still have lots of stores to check out.”
Krista grabbed my shoulder and turned me to face the two of them. “What happened when he took you home?”
“Nothing.”
They stood there, waiting.
“Fine,” I said. “He didn’t take me home, okay? We were in my car anyway.”
“And?” Liz asked.
“And…and we lost track of time, so we were really late, and Derrick texted him to say his dad knew he hadn’t gone to the basketball game, and…well…Josh made me drop him off a few blocks from his house, and he just ran off. That’s it. No big deal. We were late.…”
All morning I’d told myself that if I wanted to stay Josh’s girlfriend, then that was how it was going to have to be. Sometimes I might have to hide behind a pile of smelly mats. And from time to time, maybe he’d have to run off without saying good-bye or pretend he didn’t see me in the hallway. We had to protect his scholarship at all costs, didn’t we?
“So why are you so upset, if it didn’t matter?” Krista asked.
“I’m not,” I said.
“This secret thing is bullshit,” Krista snapped and walked off.
Liz and I hurried after her. “I know,” I said, “but—”
“But nothing, Jamie,” Liz told me. “You’re worth more than that.”
The rest of our shopping trip was a bust, and after an hour, we’d given up and I’d taken Krista to her dad’s and dropped Liz off at home, saying I’d see them on Monday. I’d slacked off in school for the last two weeks, and the homework had really piled up, so back in the motel, I got out my English notebook to review the essay assignment and get started. Half an hour later, I hadn’t done anything because my mind kept wandering to money. I tore out a clean piece of paper from my binder, drew a chart, and filled in how much I might earn at my job, versus my expenses. I could tell right away that without picking up extra shifts at the Coffee Klatch, I’d be broke within four weeks. Crap.
One minute, I was calmly strategizing, thinking about what a great story my teen hardships would be on late-night television someday, and the next, like a pot of water coming to a slow boil, starting right down in my gut, this huge surge of fear and pain pushed its way up through my chest, slamming against my heart and into my throat. In a split second, I went from a girl with a plan to a gasping and sobbing mess. Tears streamed down my face, and my chest heaved as I struggled for breath. My body shook, and I pulled the comforter up to my face, burying myself in it, trying to muffle the sobs. I banged my fists against the pillow. I couldn’t do this on my own.
I wanted to eat dinner with my dad every night, not live on pizza pockets from 7-Eleven. Everything was such a mess. I ached for my old, easy life. No one else had to deal with this crap their senior year. Krista hadn’t eaten a Happy Meal in years. I’d had three this week. If it was only food I had to pay for, I might survive, but there were all the things you don’t think of, like toothpaste, shampoo, and washing my clothes downstairs in the laundry room, which cost about a million quarters.
I rocked on the wobbly cot, the tears giving way to anger, and I wiped my face on the comforter, leaving big streaks of black mascara. Why had Dad fought so hard for me back in third grade, only to abandon me now? Deep inside, I knew it wasn’t me, and he’d been brainwashed, but that didn’t change the fact he’d dumped me for Mira and the church.
“Dammit!”
It was that stupid church. If you could call it that. It was a cult. I bashed my fist against the wall and tossed aside my stupid financial plan. I kicked at the thin mattress, ripping it off the little cot and flinging it across the room. It smashed into the lamp, knocking it off the dresser, and the bulb shattered. LaVon’s door opened. I heard his footsteps in the hallway and then a light tapping knock.
I stopped, frozen.
“Hey, Jamie,” he said, “you okay?”
I didn’t answer.
“I know you’re in there.”
I still didn’t say anything.
“Want me to break down the door?” he asked. “I can, you know.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just leave me alone.”
I could tell he was still standing outside, listening. After a minute he walked away and his door shut. I grabbed my purse and shoved at the boxes, tumbling them to one side. Once I could get out, I squeezed through and ran down to the parking lot.
I should have gone somewhere to cool off, maybe walk around the mall or something, but the anger boiled up inside me, and I couldn’t be rational. I drove too fast through the narrow side streets of my old neighborhood and screeched to a halt in front of our house. He could not do this to me. I wanted an explanation. A compromise. Something. The Teacher wouldn’t let me sign the Pledge now, but I refused to accept this as our new life.
I ran up to the front door and just barely managed to keep myself from barging right in. Instead, I rang the bell. When no one answered, I began to knock. Movement in the front window made me look up, and I saw Mira step back behind the drapes.
I banged on it harder. The rage I’d been suppressing climbed to the surface, and I was almost surprised I wasn’t strong enough to knock the door in. I had to see my dad face-to-face. If I could look him in the eye, I knew he couldn’t turn me away. Since he wouldn’t answer, I tried using my key, but they’d obviously changed the locks.
Frustrated, with fresh tears sliding down my face, I ran around to the back of the house, but that door was locked too. I kicked hard at the old plastic pet door the previous owners had installed, and I heard it crack. I kicked it again, and again, not satisfied until it splintered and fell off.
And then I heard a voice coming through the hole. “If you don’t leave,” my father said, “we’ll be forced to call the police.”
“Oh, really?” I dropped to my knees and yelled into the pet door. “What will you tell them? Will you say you kicked out your seventeen-year-old daughter because you joined a goddamned cult and they to
ld you she’s a sinner? Maybe you’d like me to tell them how I slept in my car because I didn’t have anywhere to go?” I thumped on the door for emphasis. “Are you listening, Dad? I never thought of you as a coward, but if you won’t come out and talk to me, then I guess I never knew you.”
A murmur of voices floated out to me, and I stopped to listen, but then it was silent.
“Who do you think would be in trouble with the police?” I shouted. “Me? Or you?”
He still didn’t answer.
“Somehow,” I said in my most patronizing voice, “I don’t think you can legally kick me out, but it’s not like I’m a lawyer or anything, so I can’t exactly take that chance and turn you in, can I? I mean, the last thing I want is to be sent to live with dear old Mom. Sounds fun, but I think I’ll pass.”
Silence.
By now the tears had dried up, replaced again with the white-hot anger. I pounded on the door with both fists to make sure I had his attention. “But, hey, Dad? Don’t worry about me because I’m not on the street anymore. Nope, I’m living it up in a luxury motel now. You know, the kind that rents by the week? Hell, they probably rent by the hour. Hey, maybe I can turn a few tricks to earn money to pay for food. That’s a great idea.”
I remembered my drama school letter. “And I want my mail!” I screamed, the frame of the pet door pressing into my face.
Still nothing from inside.
Then I heard the whir of the electric garage door opening, and I jumped up and ran around to the front of the house in time to see my father’s car back out into the street and drive away, my dad looking straight ahead and Mira beside him in the passenger seat where I used to sit.
I had parked right in front of the house, and when I got back into the Beast, that plain, gray mailbox sat there taunting me. Daring me.
“I HATE YOU, YOU GODDAMNED FUCKING MAILBOX!” I screamed.
I gunned the motor, swerved up onto the sidewalk, and bashed into it with my front bumper. The wooden post snapped in half. I jerked the gearshift into reverse, backed off the curb, slammed into drive, and tires squealing, tore off down the road. In my rearview mirror, I saw the mailbox lying in the street. I did a U-turn without checking for cars and raced back toward it. There was a loud thump as I flattened it with the Beast’s enormous tires. I sped away from the scene of the crime, still angry, but also feeling a tiny bit of satisfaction.
chapter 14
I USED A KLEENEX TO WIPE OFF THE HANDLE OF the pay phone in the motel lobby. I’m normally not afraid of germs, but who knew what the sleazy people in this place had. I put my quarter in and dialed the after-hours number on the business card.
“Kennedy, Hyatt, and Jovanovich,” said a chirpy voice.
“Ummm…may I speak to Dr. Kennedy?”
“I’m sorry, this is his answering service. If you give me your number, I can have him call you back.”
“But I’m at a pay phone,” I said. “And this is really important.”
“If this is a medical emergency,” she said, “you need to hang up and dial nine-one-one.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s more mental health related.”
“I understand,” she said. “Give me your number, and if he can’t call you back within five minutes, one of his associates will phone you.”
I gave it to her and hung up. About two minutes later, the phone made a sort of weird half ring, sounding like a dying cat. I grabbed the receiver.
“Hello?”
“This is Dr. Kennedy. With whom am I speaking?”
“Oh, thank you so much for calling back. My name is Jamie Lexington-Cross, and Richard Cross is my dad. He’s one of your patients, and he needs your help.”
“Hello, Jamie,” he said in a calm, almost monotone voice. “Jamie, is this a medical emergency?”
Why did everyone keep asking me that?
“No,” I said. “It’s just…well, he’s gotten mixed up in a cult, and I was thinking maybe if he talked to you—”
“I’d like to help you, Jamie,” he said. I wished he’d quit using my name in every sentence. It made me feel like a dog. “But I’m afraid your dad isn’t one of my patients anymore.”
“Well, I know. But the estate will pay you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Jamie, it’s not the money. It’s the fact that your father told me, in person, he was through with therapy and he no longer needed my services.”
“But he does,” I said, desperation rising in my voice. “He really, really needs you. Didn’t you hear what I said? He’s gotten sucked into a cult.”
“I understand, Jamie,” he said in that stupid soothing voice. “Perhaps you should call the police if you think he’s in real danger.”
“The police? I can’t call the police. What would I tell them?”
“I don’t really know, Jamie,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. But—”
“Oh, forget it,” I said, slamming down the phone.
I immediately felt bad for being so rude, but he’d made me so mad. That fake caring voice when he wouldn’t do anything to help. And I couldn’t call the police, or they’d ask me a bunch of questions and then I’d end up at a strange new high school in Los Angeles. Plus, I wasn’t totally certain the church had actually broken the law.
I slumped against the wall, too tired to think anymore. After a while, I went upstairs and collapsed on my bed. For the rest of the evening, I sat in my room in a daze, memorizing the ingredients for each drink at the Coffee Klatch.
All night people staggered up and down the hall. Pulsing music from a party beat against the paper-thin walls, and drunken voices echoed through the ductwork. About midnight, things suddenly got louder, and I could pick out two guys having an argument.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to scam on her?” a man yelled.
“Shit, she was talkin’ to me. I can’t help it she thinks I’m so damn good-lookin’,” the other guy said.
There was a loud thump, which sounded a lot like a body hitting the wall. “Ain’t so good-looking now, are you, asshole?”
Then a woman screamed, “Look what you did. I’m gonna kill you!” Another body hit the floor, followed by more loud voices. “I’m calling the cops.”
About time.
Someone crashed into my door, but I’d barricaded myself in with the boxes earlier, and I took deep breaths, trying to stay calm. The fight moved away from my room, down the hall. Over the grunts and groans from the two men, several people swore, and others cheered them on.
“Ooohh. Good one.”
“Sick. That’s a lotta blood, man.”
Even with all the shouting, I could hear LaVon pacing in his room. I wished he’d go out and stop them. One glare from him would’ve frozen any of the skinny guys I’d seen living in our building. The thumps worked their way back down the hallway toward me again. And then, in a low voice, right outside my door, I heard one of the men say, “I got worse than that wuss knife in my pocket, you son of a bitch. Don’t make me kill you.”
LaVon banged on my wall. “Jamie! Get your ass down on the floor.”
“What?”
“Get down,” he yelled.
He had to be kidding. The carpet was so sick and mangy. Plus there was glass in it from the broken lightbulb. And then I thought of all those TV shows I’d watched where gunfire broke out and the safest place was the ground. I threw myself facedown onto the disgusting brown shag rug.
I lay there, shivering. Outside my door, a woman spoke in a low, soothing voice. “Come on, Jake, baby.…He’s not worth going to prison for,” I heard her say. “Give me the gun, baby.…”
My heart pounded hard against the floor, and I prayed I wouldn’t die in this disgusting place. I wondered if my dad would be sorry then. Everyone heard the sirens pierce the night at the same time, and suddenly the shouts gave way to running footsteps. By the time the police got to our floor, it was as quiet as a morgue. I was just glad no one was g
oing to end up there.
I was still lying facedown on the stinky carpet, shaking, when someone started pounding on doors calling for people to come out. I don’t think anyone did, because the knocking and voices seemed to keep moving toward my end of the hallway.
Someone banged on my door. “Open up. Police.”
I didn’t know what to do. How could I be sure they were really cops?
“Open up,” shouted the voice again.
No one else had bothered to answer. Why should I? I heard LaVon’s door open.
“Hey, come on, man,” he said. “There’s just a girl in there, and you’re probably scarin’ the shit outta her. You can check with Stub—he’ll tell you.”
“Well, if it isn’t LaVon Mitchell,” said a deep voice. “Staying outta trouble, I hope.”
“Always.”
“Don’t know nothing about this fight, do you?”
“That’s right,” LaVon said.
“But it happened on your floor,” countered the voice. “Sure you weren’t involved?”
“Man, don’t bust my balls.” LaVon sounded relaxed and calm, but I wasn’t sure if he should be. The cop seemed serious. “I was in my room reading a book,” he said. “Besides, we both know if I was involved it woulda been over before you was called.”
“Real tough guy, aren’t you?” asked the cop. “Maybe we should talk about it at the station.”
“You’re in charge, man,” LaVon said.
“That’s right, and don’t you forget it.”
“Should I get my coat?” LaVon asked, “or are you just gonna harass my ass some more?”
By now I had pressed myself up against the pile of boxes, trying to hear better.
“I don’t like your attitude, Mr. Mitchell,” the officer said.
“Likewise, man,” LaVon sneered.
I couldn’t let LaVon get in trouble after he’d been so nice to me. Sure, he had terrified me too, but still, I owed him for offering his protection. I shoved the boxes out of the way and threw open the door.
The Right and the Real Page 10
