The Rules for Disappearing

by Ashley Elston

  He lets out a loud, sharp laugh. “I guess you could say that. Had to help my dad this morning.”

  “So your dad fell in the mud and you had to get him out?” Quit asking him questions!

  He smiles. There’s a dimple on the bruised side that is probably adorable when not discolored. “Something like that. Tractor got stuck and I had to go pull him out.”

  I lean over and wrap my arms around my knees. “So you live on a farm?” I ask.

  “No, but we have a farm right outside of town.”

  His hands are rough and calloused, like they belong to a man more than a boy. I wonder if they feel as rough as they look.

  My eyes move quickly back to his face, hoping my brief trip to the gutter doesn’t show.

  “Ya know, you’re a pretty good singer,” he says.

  What.

  A grin breaks out across his face. “I guess you didn’t know you were singing out loud?”

  Oh. My. God.

  “Uh, no…um, I…” There are no words. I’m humiliated because I know, really know, what a bad singer I am.

  My face is on fire and probably looks like a tomato.

  Ethan chuckles, then nudges my foot with his. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, although it’s pretty cute the way your cheeks get all pink like that. So what classes do you have this afternoon?” he asks.

  He called me cute. Or at least my red-stained cheeks cute. The excitement this brings is replaced immediately with dread. I’m not doing this. Making friends. No matter how nice (or hot) they are.

  “Look, I gotta go.” I stand up, and he grabs my ankle.

  “Don’t be mad. Bell won’t ring for another ten minutes.”

  God, he’s adorable even with the ugly bruise marking his cheek. And that accent. I want nothing more than to sit back down and spend the next ten minutes flirting with him.

  Instead, I shake my leg free.

  “You must be pretty desperate to hunt down the new girl, farm boy. If I wanted to hang out with some hick, I’d have stayed in the cafeteria, where it’s warm.” Brutally harsh, but I’ve seen that look before. Interest. Interest in me and who I am, and I can’t handle that. Not again.

  He drops his hand, surprised, and squints at me. I swallow down the guilt. I’m really doing him a favor. I put the earbuds back in and walk inside.

  I glance over my shoulder to where Ethan is still sitting, and I already regret walking away from him.

  There’s no way I’ll make it a month.

  RULES FOR DISAPPEARING

  BY WITNESS PROTECTION PRISONER #18A7R04M:

  Be forgettable. No name-brand clothes or anything remotely cute—and that goes for shoes, too. It’s not like anyone in these small towns will appreciate a good pair of Jimmy Choos anyway.

  DAD’S waiting where he said he would, with Teeny in the car. Her head pops up just a bit when she sees me, and I try not to run the last block.

  Every change between classes, I saw Ethan. Once I literally ran into him trying to go through the same classroom door, and we both dropped all our books. It didn’t help that the jock with the cut lip was in that class, too. Ethan didn’t try to talk to me again, but he kept eyeing me. It makes me nervous, the way he watches, and a bit tingly, too, which is bad, bad, bad. I’m also pretty sure I blushed like a fool every time he got near me.

  Teeny is quiet. I ask about her teacher, her school, and the kids in her class, everything down to what she ate for lunch. Every answer is one word.

  Dad takes a different route back home than the one we took this morning.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  He takes a moment to answer. “Thought we would do some sightseeing this afternoon. Get our bearings around town.”

  This is code for: Mom’s hammered and Dad’s giving her time to pass out before we get home.

  I go along with it because it won’t hurt to see what this town has to offer. Plus, I’m in no rush to have a drunken conversation with my mother.

  Those never end well.

  The streets near the river are narrow and very crowded. We end up driving in circles since most streets are one-way, until we manage to get away from the historic district. The farther we get, the more it changes. Quaint mom-and-pop shops are replaced with Taco Bells and Olive Gardens.

  I watch Dad as he drives. He’s staring more at the rearview mirror than through the windshield. I glance behind us a few times but don’t see anything that looks weird. After he takes several quick turns without putting on the blinker first, I ask, “What are you looking for?”

  “What?” He taps the brake and we lunge forward. “What are you talking about?”

  “You keep looking in the rearview mirror. Like a lot. Is somebody back there?” I glance behind us again, but see nothing odd.

  Dad shakes his head and mumbles under his breath. He’s gotten really good at the mumbling.

  After about thirty minutes, he pulls up into the parking lot of an ice-cream shop next to an Old Navy.

  “How about we stop in here?” Dad throws the wagon in park.

  I hop out of the car, go-bag clutched to my chest, and nearly bump into a girl I recognize from school. It’s actually a group of girls piling out of an SUV, and most of them were in several of my classes.

  As I scoot past them to the sidewalk, they giggle and whisper to each other, and once I catch my reflection in the plate glass window, I know why they’re laughing. The cute towel-dried style from this morning didn’t last. My hair is glued to my head and has no shape or body at all. In the plain jeans and gray hoodie I could pass for a boy. And not a very cute one.

  Dad and Teeny follow me inside the ice-cream store and we pick a booth in the back.

  Dad ambles off to the counter to order for us.

  Teeny gives me a small smile. “Do those girls go to your school?”

  “Yeah. They’re in some of my classes,” I say, my voice too high and my enthusiasm forced.

  “Are they mean to you?” I don’t give Teeny nearly enough credit—she picks up on everything.

  “It’s just the first day. I don’t even know them, really.” I fidget with the napkin dispenser and ask, “Were the kids in your class nice to you today?”

  Teeny leans back against the booth and focuses on the ceiling without answering me.

  Dad, balancing three ice-cream cones, slides in next to Teeny a few minutes later. She’s more interested in peeling the paper off the cone than licking the ice cream. Dad uses a spoon even though his is in a cone, too. What a nerd.

  I take long slow licks and try to think about what to say to Dad. Number four on my list is to figure out what he did to get us into Witness Protection, and I won’t get a better opportunity than this.

  “Dad, what are we waiting for?”

  Dad peeks over his shoulder and examines the room. “What do you mean?”

  I lean in close. “Are we waiting for a trial or something? Why are we here?”

  He presses his lips together and they turn white. He whispers, “This is not the place to discuss this.”

  Before The Plan, I would have backed off, but not now. “There’s never a good time. Every time I bring this up you blow me off. Just tell me. The suits won’t move us around forever, will they?”

  Dad digs in his cone, his head shaking. “There may be a trial at some point,” he answers through clenched teeth.

  “What’s the holdup? Don’t we get out of the program after that?”

  Dad’s head comes up and his expression is odd. Like I’m crazy. “It’s not as simple as that.” He stands and throws his cone into the trash. He won’t look at me. “We’re not going back home. We’re in this program for the foreseeable future, so please don’t make things any more difficult than they already are.”

  “Dad, something’s different this time. I don’t know what it is—things just feel wrong.”

  “Stop talking about it!” Teeny screams, then throws her cone on the floor and runs from the store. I chase her ou
t, dumping my cone on the way. I catch her at the wagon and try to pull her in close, but she’s shaking and hitting me with her fists. I don’t stop her.

  I glance through the window, and Dad’s cleaning up the spilled ice cream. God forbid he leaves the mess there to check on his daughter, who is completely. Freaking. Out.

  When Dad finally comes out, he picks up Teeny, who’s kicking and screaming now, and carries her to the car. She’s really loud and draws a crowd pretty quickly, including the cheerleaders, who walked out of Old Navy straight into my family breakdown.

  Everyone watches as Dad tries to stuff Teeny into the car. Her legs are so long they’re making a helicopter motion in the air. One foot clips Dad on the side of his head, and he lets out a loud yelp. He finally gets her bottom half inside the wagon, but she grabs on to the door. He pries her fingers loose and slams the door shut, leaning against it as Teeny beats on the window. Most people have walked away by now, except the group of cheerleaders, who cluster together and start whispering like crazy.

  Teeny’s in the car crying, and Dad’s breathing hard. I stand in front of the cheerleaders, hoping to block some of their view.

  “Show’s over. Go find someone else to gawk at.” I hate that they saw Teeny like this.

  The whispering stops as every eye turns to me. A dark-haired cheerleader steps forward. “Excuse me?” She actually made excuse me six syllables.

  “You heard me. There’s nothing else to see here.” I may regret this later, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

  “You’re right,” the dark-haired girl says, then looks me up and down. Slowly. “Nothing worth seeing here.”

  A few ugly remarks float my way as they get into their car, but at least they’ve stopped talking about Teeny.

  Class tomorrow should be loads of fun.

  Mom is sprawled on the couch with an empty gin bottle and a box of tissues. There are, like, a million little pieces torn up on the floor.

  Dad barely glances at her. “Girls, why don’t you go to your room and get started on homework. I’ll help Mom clean up this mess.”

  As if she’s going to be any help at all. We head down the hall to our room, where Teeny throws herself across her bed, covering her face. She’s ignored me since her meltdown.

  Stretching back on my bed, I pull out my homework. I haven’t worried about my grades for the last three placements, since my transcript won’t follow me to the next school, but I make sure I know just enough to not look like a dumb-ass if I’m called on in class.

  I think back to my conversation with Dad. The Plan took a major hit today. I never thought this situation would be permanent. The way Dad talks—we’re in this for life. But I’m more determined than ever now. No way in hell I’m moving around and living like this forever.

  “I don’t have any homework, so can I have my book from the bag?” Teeny’s hand is out, but she’s still turned away from me. At least she’s talking.

  “Sure.” I hand her the book she was working on yesterday. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  She starts a new puzzle, and the concentration on her face is intense.

  “I get scared sometimes, too. We have each other, Teeny. If you need to complain, or yell, or get mad—it’s okay. I’m here for you.”

  She ignores me completely.

  Dad knocks on the door some time later and pokes his head in. “I meant to stop by the grocery store while we were out this afternoon. I’m going to that pizza shop on the corner. Is pepperoni good?”

  I swing my legs off the side of the bed. “I’ll go. It’s just a couple of blocks. You stay with Mom.” I’m so not up for dealing with her when she’s hammered, and I would love nothing more than to get out of this house.

  Dad hesitates, runs a hand through his hair, and lets out a deep sigh but doesn’t say anything more.

  “What?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Nothing. I guess that’s fine.”

  “I asked you this earlier—what’s different? You’re acting all weird and I can tell something’s wrong. Is it a problem for me to go three blocks to the pizza place?”

  Dad says, “No. We just need to be really cautious.”

  I park my hands on my hips. “Did the suits tell you we’re supposed to be extra cautious this time? Because they don’t tell me crap.”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “Did they tell you we shouldn’t leave the house?”

  “No. I’m probably being paranoid. Just go straight there and back.” Dad hands me ten dollars. The suits give us very little extra money. Whatever I can get for ten bucks will barely feed Teeny and me, much less Mom and him.

  I’ll have to add a little of my own money to get us enough food. I have some extra cash from my last job, but it won’t last long at this rate. I’m going to have to find some work.

  It’s dark and really cold out when I leave. The wind stings my cheeks, and the contacts are hurting my eyes.

  The pizza place is about three corners up, one street away from the cobblestone street that runs next to Cane River. I walk fast and look behind me often: I guess Dad’s paranoia is rubbing off on me. By the time I get to the restaurant my hands are frozen and my nose is numb. The warmth and savory smell of pizza pour out of the restaurant when I open the door.

  I get to the counter and study the menu written on a huge chalkboard above the cashier’s head, wrinkling my nose at some of the choices. Swamp pizza? What is that? I read the ingredients: crab, crawfish, jalapeños, shrimp, and andouille sausage. You have got to be kidding me.

  “Can I help you?”

  The woman behind the counter is older, maybe in her late fifties, and has a head of solid white hair. I check the prices on the normal stuff. “I’ll take a large pepperoni pizza to go.”

  “Be ready in about ten minutes.” She rings me up and then shuffles to the kitchen. There are several people eating, but she seems to be the only person working.

  I clear my throat loud enough for her to peek through the small window between the front of the restaurant and the kitchen. “Need something else?” she asks.

  “A job, if you have an opening.” This place would be perfect since it’s in walking distance from the house. Teeny might be able to hang here with me in the afternoons at one of the tables in the corner.

  “Ever work in a restaurant before?”

  This is the hard part. I have no résumé and certainly no references. I’ve had odd jobs since our third placement, but that’s the extent of my work history, including the time from my old life. I don’t think playing hostess at Mom’s parties counts for much.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Meg Jones.”

  The woman stops what she’s doing and asks, “You in school?”

  “Yes. At Natchitoches.”

  “Well, you caught me at the right time. The girl helping me quit this afternoon. Any chance you can start tonight?”

  I think about Teeny back at home. Mom’s a wreck but at least Dad’s there. “Yeah. I need to take that pizza home first, and then I can come right back.”

  “Perfect. And just for that—the pizza’s on me. I’ll throw in some breadsticks, too,” the woman says. “Come back here, and I’ll show you around while it’s cooking. You can have a T-shirt, too. I always give the first one away, but after that you’re gonna have to pay if you want another one.”

  I walk into the kitchen, and the woman introduces herself as Pearl. She hands me a red T-shirt with the logo of the restaurant on the front. “My son works here during the day, so it’ll be you and me in the afternoons and evenings. You work the front register and keep the dining area clean, and I make all the food. We’re closed on Sundays. Can you be here after school? We’re open till eight.”

  I think about Teeny again. Dad starts his job at the plant tomorrow, and he’ll be working twelve-hour shifts from seven in the morning to seven at night. I’ll be lucky if Mom can take care of
herself, much less Teeny. And the way Dad is acting, I’d rather she was here with me.

  “Pearl, I have a younger sister that kinda depends on me in the afternoons. Is there any way she can hang out here until my dad gets off work at seven?”

  Pearl puts her hands on her hips and taps her orthopedic shoe on the floor. “This ain’t no day care, girlie.”

  “She’s no trouble at all. Very quiet. She’ll sit in a booth in the corner and do her homework, promise.”

  “Only ’cause you caught me in a bind. First sign of that girl messing things up or getting in the way, and she’s out of here.”

  “Of course. She’ll be no problem.”

  Once my pizza and breadsticks are ready, I hurry back to the house and tell Dad and Teeny about my new job.

  Dad stops in mid-motion of putting a slice of pizza on a plate for Teeny. “What about your schoolwork? And how are you getting there? Are you walking back and forth?”

  I run to my room so I can make a quick change into the T-shirt Pearl gave me. I don’t answer Dad until I’m back in the kitchen. “Teeny can hang out with me after school. You can pick her up on your way home from work, and I’ll walk home when my shift ends.”

  Dad sits down next to Teeny. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “No, Dad, it’ll be fine.” I point to Mom, who is snoring loudly on the couch. “Teeny and I can’t stay here all afternoon with her like this.” It’s true and he knows it.

  “I’ll come back to pick you up. I don’t like you walking alone,” he says.

  “Is there something I should know?”

  His jaw twitches but he doesn’t answer.

  “Then I’ll walk home when my shift is over. No big deal,” I say.

  “Straight home,” he adds.

  “Sissy, can I go with you tonight?” Teeny’s sad eyes make me feel like I’m deserting her.

  “Tomorrow.” I squeeze her in a quick hug and grab a piece of pizza as I head out the door. “The name of the restaurant is Pearl’s. The number’s on the box if something comes up.”

  The pizza parlor is packed by the time I make it back. There’s a line at the counter and half the tables are full. Pearl waves me over the second I step through the door.