Perfect Glass (A Young Adult Novel (sequel to Glass Girl))

by Laura Anderson Kurk

  I looked at Raf.

  “He said we’ll both die for that,” Raf translated.

  I felt as responsible as if I’d driven the knife in myself. I should’ve seen Raf’s fear in the lumber store and taken him out of there. I should’ve never brought him here.

  An officer jerked me up by my wrists. My arms cranked out behind me, making my shoulders scream. Raf was in the same boat.

  They put us in separate squad cars.

  As we drove away, I saw John park the old car he’d bought for Kate. He jumped out, spotted me in the squad car, and shook his head. A pained tremor crossed his face.

  The next few hours ran together. They processed me, taking fingerprints and searching me for drugs. For the most part, they treated me fine, but their disdain for Americans was clear. They moved me from room to room to talk to different people and, during one move, I saw the American witness in another interview room.

  John drifted between where I sat cuffed to a chair in the waiting room and Raf in the holding cells. He filled out form after form detailing his relationship to both of us. He talked on his cell with an attorney in Denver. He called the duty officer at the American Embassy. He sat, staring blindly out the window, rubbing his temples and the back of his neck, waiting for news.

  Sometime in the late afternoon, a woman from the embassy came in, all business and pressed for time. She spoke to John, but she stared into my eyes, trying to figure me out, not even attempting to hide her suspicion.

  She told John the timing couldn’t be worse. Things were happening to institutions affiliated with American groups faster than they’d anticipated. John sighed and nodded.

  The woman, Ms. Cataño, went into a closed-door meeting with the police inspector in charge of our case. Twenty minutes later, they unlocked my cuffs. Raf, who wouldn’t look at me, was escorted to John.

  My American witness appeared, having given his statement in an interrogation room. He reached out to shake my hand and introduced himself as Patrick Lane from Oklahoma.

  “Thanks for everything,” I said, introducing myself, John, and Raf.

  “I hope they do the right thing.” He took out a business card and handed it to me. “I knew it wouldn’t go well for you, man, if I didn’t tell the authorities what I’d seen you do. You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that much. Not sure about brains, but guts…uh, yeah.”

  When he left, John sighed like a man who’d just tied a knot so he could hold on a little longer. “Thank God for Patrick Lane from Oklahoma.”

  Ms. Cataño and the inspector emerged from his office and she gave us a secret thumbs up behind the inspector’s back. He read a form in Spanish, which she translated as he spoke.

  “Based on the statements given by several witnesses, we believe Mr. Whitmire acted on behalf of Mr. Garcia, who was under his guardianship at the time. The resulting injury of a minor was accidental and due to a fall. Rafael Garcia is a known gang informer who was under court order to avoid Managua. A review of Rafael’s file will be conducted to determine if Quiet Waters is still the best guardian for him. No charges will be filed in this case.”

  I signed on the dotted line at the bottom of the statement and John signed for Raf.

  “You need to remain accessible to us, John,” Ms. Cataño said as we left the police station.

  “Yeah, I figured,” he said. “How bad is it?”

  “I’ll be honest, this little incident might have shortened the life of your work here. You’re already hanging on by a thread, and now you’ve got a volunteer who broke a court order. I told you weeks ago the key to lasting in Nicaragua was invisibility.”

  John glanced pointedly at me. “We’ll get things under control.”

  “The inspector suggested you fire your brother-in-law to send a message to the Ministry of Family that your first priority is protecting the kids.” She shrugged one shoulder as if to say this was something to consider. “Of course, he has no say in Ministry of Family business. There’s a chance, though, that Henry’s courtesy visa will be suspended if they feel you haven’t addressed the problem adequately.”

  “What would that mean?” I said.

  “You’d have to leave the country indefinitely,” she said. “You could try to come back in with a tourist card later.”

  I stepped closer to her, wanting to make sure I understood. “How should John address the problem adequately, Ms. Cataño?”

  Her brow furrowed as she looked between John and me. “I’m fairly certain it would require your departure,” she said, coolly.

  John seemed to struggle for a response. “I’ll handle it. I’m to blame, not him.”

  She shook John’s hand. “Let me know if you have questions.” She climbed into the back of a black government-issued car and disappeared.

  “I’ll meet you both back home,” John said, throwing me the truck keys for the second time that day. He paused, staring into the distance, but decided against pursuing the train of thought that had pulled into his mind. “They parked the truck in the lot behind the building.”

  A tidal wave of bitterness rolled off Raf; he hurled spit at my boots. “I won’t ride with him.”

  “Look, Raf,” I said. “You and I can’t be at odds here. I made a mistake, but I made it right when I saved your life on the street.”

  “Saved my life? You almost ended my life. I didn’t need your kind of help, vaquero.” He crowded me, pushing on my chest. “I told you I couldn’t come to Managua, but you ignored me. I told you we needed to leave Quintero’s, but you ignored me again. Now you’ve dragged Quiet Waters into it. You never listen.”

  John tugged on Raf’s shoulders, keeping him from slugging me. He put his arm around him and led him to Kate’s car. I followed in the truck and we made the long journey home at a fast clip. Things sure looked different now than they had this morning.

  By the time we got home, dinner had been served and cleaned up, and the kids were settling into bed. Raf slammed his car door and stalked to his room. John called out that he needed to check on Kate and Whit.

  “Can we talk in the morning?” he said.

  “What’s there to talk about?” The joke was lame, making me cringe. I tried out the words that had taken shape in my head during the drive. “I think you should fire me, John. I think you should take the guy’s advice.”

  But he didn’t hear me. The door to the girls’ dorm clicked shut behind him.

  SIX

  meg

  I should leave Jo alone because then she wouldn’t assault me, her neighbors wouldn’t stare, and no one would consider calling the police. I should cut my losses. Bury my head in the sand.

  But I couldn’t sleep last night. Should I have parked down the street and watched to make sure she didn’t wander away from home? Through the night, the house was cold and damp and the tapping rain sounded icy on my window. What if she had forgotten to turn on her heater?

  When I closed my eyes to try to find sleep, I saw a clear image of Jo reaching out with a bony hand. Her lips, coated in a fine brown powder, moved toward my cheek to kiss me. Sleep was not worth that.

  Hours later, floating through my classes, exhausted, nursing sore palms, I just wanted school to be over so I could drive by Jo’s house to make sure she was okay.

  When the final bell rang, Tennyson caught up to me in the hall. “Hey, stranger.”

  “Hey, Tenn.” I slowed my pace to hers.

  “Where have you been lately?” She wrapped her arm around my waist and bumped my hip with hers. “I miss you.”

  I shifted my backpack so I could return her one-armed hug. “Where have I been? You’re the one who spends every minute with a boy. How’s Dylan?”

  She grinned. “Hot. And mine. But he’s with Henry’s dad at some horse thing in Casper for a few days so I’m bored. Want to go out tonight?”

  I didn’t know if I had it in me to keep up with her rapid-fire conversation, where every comment is a snarky observation about which I’m supposed to have an op
inion.

  “Come on, Meg, you’re a hermit,” she said. “We never see you. Sometimes I wonder if you’ve flown off to Nicaragua.”

  “I wish.”

  “It’s like you dropped out of real life. Are you in a cult?”

  “Why would I want to hang out with you when you say things like that?”

  She was right, though. The hermit thing was starting to get old. “What do you want to do?” I tried to sound excited but Tennyson’s eyes rolled. Her pursuit of total cynicism would be admirable if it were a more noble quality.

  “I’m not telling. Be at my house at seven.” Her phone rang and she answered with, “Hey, baby.”

  I gave her a small wave and backed out of the scene so she could chat with Dylan. I really liked him. He’d been one of the only people I’d spent time with since Henry left because he was teaching me how to take care of Trouble, my horse crush that lived at Henry’s stable.

  On my way to Jo’s house, I tried to prepare for multiple scenarios. Would she be someone else today? A sweet grandmother type? Would there be an ambulance in the drive? Or a police car? Turning down her street, I saw her on the porch and my heart went arrhythmic.

  Conflict and I are not close friends, obviously, and despite my best intentions, my foot hammered the Jeep’s gas pedal, hurtling me past her house at an insane speed. I lowered myself in the driver’s seat so she wouldn’t see me. Jo dropped the blanket she’d had around her shoulders and watched me pass, mouth open.

  At that point, all I could do was smile and wave. I think that might have been strike three for me.

  In the rearview, I saw Jo walking down her drive. She stared after me. I couldn’t tell if I saw hope on her face or anger. Whatever it was, it looked delicate, firming my resolve to not screw this up again tomorrow.

  ***

  At seven, when I parked next to Tennyson’s house, she was standing inside the front window talking to her mom, Martha. My hands felt clammy and for a few minutes, I stayed in the Jeep, the heater blasting. I watched the house, dreading the jarring social interaction I’d find inside.

  Out of nowhere, a shiny, old black car with a big engine sped down the street, passed me, squealed to a stop and turned around. I recognized Quinn just as he stopped behind my car and shut down the rumbling engine. He smiled crookedly when he saw me watching him in the mirror, then unfolded himself from the muscle car and walked to my window.

  “Kavanagh.”

  “O’Neill.” I stepped out of the Jeep, careful not to bang him with the door. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same thing as you, I guess. Car tag with Tennyson.”

  I blinked and stared at him. “Car what?”

  He made a sound that fell somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “She told me to be here at seven for car tag. You, too?”

  “Not so much. Explain.”

  “She emailed me a weird video about it.” He shrugged. “Apparently someone drives a car that’s ‘it’ and tries to visually tag the other car that’s playing. There’s a home base and if you make it there without being seen, you win.” He grabbed his head with both hands, frustrated. “She told me this was what you guys did here. But, judging by the look on your face, I’m a fool.”

  “Yeah. I mean, no. You’re not a fool. But I’ve never heard of it. Sounds dangerous.”

  “She promised no laws are broken. Whoever’s ‘it’ doesn’t actually touch your car—just texts the address to verify the visual.” He tugged the collar of his jacket up higher on his neck.

  “Why would we spend time doing this?” My toes twisted in my Eskimo boots as I hopped from foot to foot trying to stay warm.

  Quinn cocked an eyebrow. “Let’s see. Why would we do this? Because we’re here and there’s nothing else to do. Because my mom will make me fold laundry if I go home. Because I’m sick of my family right now. You’d have to come up with your own reasons.”

  He watched Tennyson’s house over my shoulder. “You’ve got two seconds to back out,” he murmured without moving his lips. “We could drive away and pretend we were never here…two…one…buzz. Too late. Smile, Meg.” He took me by the shoulders and turned me toward Tennyson, who had emerged from her house and headed toward her Sentra.

  “Hey, guys. Quinn’s your co-pilot, Meg.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” My laugh sounded nervous, even to me. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Home’s the Sears parking lot. Stay inside the city limits. You get caught speeding, you lose, no matter what. No bridges where there may be ice. Stay on main roads.”

  “Sounds most excellent, Tennyson,” Quinn said, smiling.

  “I’m ‘it’ first,” Tennyson said. “I’ll go to Sears and give you thirty minutes.” She tossed her hair and climbed behind the wheel, driving off with a weak tire squeal.

  We were so going to get in trouble tonight.

  Quinn smiled, looking so much like Wyatt that any thought of leaving floated away in the wind. It was not selfish to grab hold of anything that reminded me of my brother. And he was quiet. There was a lot to like about him.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “We could take yours. You could drive if you don’t trust me. Or we’ll take mine. Up to you.”

  “You’re kidding, right? The whole town will know where we are just by the idle on that thing.”

  He feigned a look of shock. “That thing is a 1966 GTO. It has a name, okay? It’s Mack—as in ‘to mack on women.’ I rebuilt it last year and I was told the engine makes girls hot.”

  “Someone actually used those words? Is it true?”

  “TBD,” he said.

  “You’re goofy. Let’s ride in my Jeep. Its name is Jeep.”

  Quinn chuckled. “Kavanagh has a smart mouth.”

  I climbed in the driver’s seat and unlocked the passenger door, gathering together papers and bags to throw onto the backseat. When I started the car, an Irish band’s ballad picked up where I’d left it. I reached for the volume, mortified he’d caught me listening to a band he so obviously resembled.

  He stopped my hand. “No, I like them. Leave it on.”

  I felt the need to say we don’t have that much in common. I wanted to point out I’m in love with Henry. I don’t know why something twisted inside me when Quinn pulled his cap off and his funky hair stuck up in all the right places.

  “I have an idea about where to hide,” he said.

  I sighed, resigned. This was happening. “Okay…where am I going?”

  “Take Broadway to Mission. We’ll stay on Mission for a while.”

  “You’ve learned our fine city streets quickly.”

  “I see the whole town mapped out in my head,” he said. “Have you noticed how concentric it is? Like a bull’s-eye. That big hotel with the red roof is the center. It’s weird.”

  “True,” I said. The Jeep was dark. I could only see Quinn’s profile when we passed under a glowing streetlamp. His hands fidgeted in his lap, rolling his car keys around his knuckles.

  “Slow down a little. It’s up here on your right.” He grabbed the overhead handle, anticipating my turn.

  I eased into the parking lot of a shopping center under construction. A still empty big box store anchored the place in the middle. Quinn pointed at the service road behind the building, so I followed it until I came to an unfinished construction bay.

  “Okay, you trust me, Kavanagh?” I felt his gaze on me. The dim light from my dash touched us.

  “I barely know you.”

  A smile curved his lips. “But you trust me. I can tell. Pull into this loading bay and drive right into the middle of the store.”

  “Into the store.” I shifted so I could see his face better. Surely he was kidding.

  “Yep. I’ve done it. It’s okay.”

  “That can’t be legal,” I said. “Tennyson said nothing illegal, right?”

  “We’ll be in there twenty minutes, tops. Once Tennyson’s time is up, we win. There’s no way she’d th
ink of this place. She’s smart, but I’m smarter.”

  “But the law.” My voice got a little screechy.

  “Calm down,” he said. “Parking in a construction site isn’t against the law if there aren’t any No Trespassing signs. Anyway, this is kind of my dad’s store.”

  I raised one eyebrow. “‘Kind of’ probably doesn’t count in a deposition.”

  Against my better judgment, I did trust him. I powered over a concrete slab that was more than a curb, but less than a government building’s security barrier, and drove into the middle of the empty shell of a building. It was dark and weirdly peaceful.

  We stayed quiet, the way kids do when they’re hiding in a closet during a game of hide-and-seek. Every nerve buzzed, electrified. Our breathing shallowed out.

  Quinn’s phone vibrated against his leg, making us both jump. He glanced at it and whispered, “She’s calling our bluff.”

  “What do you mean?” I whispered.

  “She says she sees us. She says she’s looking for a sign so she’ll know the address. But she just wants us to try to make it to home base.”

  “What do I do?” My shoulders were stiff and my legs fidgeted.

  “Sit tight.” Quinn watched me for a long, quiet moment. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I bit down on my cheek to stop the nerves. I’d have an ulcer there by morning.

  But he was right. She was bluffing. Twenty minutes later, we still hadn’t heard anything from Tennyson. We’d won, officially, because she’d failed to find us in thirty minutes.

  Quinn stepped out of the Jeep. He walked through the empty building to look out the front door for Tennyson’s red beater car. He came back whistling.

  “Let’s go to Sears,” he said. “I’m sure she’s there planning her revenge.”

  I circled around the metal columns in the building and rolled out of the bay door. The light of the moon seemed bright now after being in the dark. I’d nearly made it to the exit when a spotlight hit the Jeep. In a police car sitting in the empty parking lot, an officer flashed her lights and rolled slowly toward us.