The Rules for Disappearing

by Ashley Elston

  The Plan is going to hell—I’m failing miserably at going unnoticed. I have to get back on track. Dad’s a dead end. He wasn’t much on talking in our old life, so I don’t know why I thought he’d open up now. Maybe I can Google something, but what? How to get out of Witness Protection? I’ve been terrified of the Internet ever since what happened the last time I surfed around. Trying that could be like a one-way ticket to the next placement. As much as this one sucks, the next one could be just as bad. Or worse.

  I drop my head on my arms. There’s always Mom. Maybe I can get her talking while she’s drunk. My stomach turns as soon as I think this. It seems wrong, but I’m desperate.

  A shrill ring vibrates through the bathroom, and I join the swarm of people in the hall.

  Word must have gotten out about what just happened. Before, no one paid me much attention, but now I’m getting all kinds of looks. Most of them not good, but there are a couple of kids who looked pleased. I can’t be the only person who’s ever wanted to knock that girl on her ass.

  It’s incredibly hard to act like none of this bothers me. There’s no protection when you’re a loner. I’m like that one little baby duck you see on those wildlife shows that gets separated from the group as the nasty alligator hovers just below the water’s surface. Chomp, chomp.

  As soon as my next class is over, I make a break for it. After grabbing lunch from the cafeteria, I peek out the window into the courtyard, where I ate yesterday—hoping I can hide there again—but Ethan is there, lying on the stone picnic table. He’s got his backpack under his head and his earbuds in. It’s almost the same exact pose I was in yesterday, except I was on the ground.

  I’m not going out there. I’ll have to find some other little hole to crawl in and wait out the lunch hour. It’s way too easy hanging out with Ethan, and it’s stupid to get too close. And yet I find myself walking outside.

  The door makes a loud creaky noise, and Ethan’s head pops up. No sane argument in my head could have stopped my legs from walking out here. He smiles when he sees me but doesn’t get up.

  He plucks his earbuds out and says, “So, I heard you’re fitting in nicely, making friends, warming up to the locals.”

  “Ha-ha.” I drop my go-bag on the ground and use it as a cushion, then balance my lunch in my lap. “You’re funny. Those girls seriously hate me now—and they started it! I’ll need eyes in the back of my head.”

  Ethan sits up and takes a deep swig of Coke. “That’s because you’re new. We’ve all been in school together since kindergarten, so there’s nothing left to get worked up about.”

  “You and Ben don’t seem to have that problem.”

  “That’s because Ben is a pain in my ass that won’t go away.”

  “So, why are you out here and not hanging out with your friends? Or do you not have any of those?” I ask between bites of turkey sandwich. I know that’s not the case, since he’s surrounded by people every time I turn a corner, but it is strange that he hangs out here at lunch by himself.

  “I thought you might be back. Wanted to see how you were handling what happened this morning.”

  I stop chewing and look at him. That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time, but I can’t ruin The Plan over some sweet words. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “Good. So, have you had a chance to check things out around town? You got here at the right time—Mardi Gras kicks off soon, and you can usually find a good party on parade nights.”

  “I thought that was only in New Orleans.” My remark may make me seem stupid. I’m supposed to be from Arkansas, which is next to Louisiana, so I should probably know all this.

  He shakes his head and doesn’t seem thrown off by my question. “No, there are lots of smaller parades all through the state. The best ones are down there, though.”

  Ethan digs in his bag and pulls out a sheet of paper.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  He shakes it a few times. “Read it.”

  I take it but know instantly that this is not going to turn out well. It’s a Wikipedia article about the Fouke Monster, which is basically a Big Foot–type creature that is believed to be in, well, Fouke. The article says there was even a movie about it, and a little map shows that Fouke is near Lewisville. The town is crazy about the myth, and people come from all over to try to get a sight of the monster. My mouth gets dry. I’m so screwed.

  Ethan takes a swig of Coke. “I don’t think you’re from Lewisville.”

  And there it is. The suits explained what to do if someone questions your story, but he’s called me out.

  “What? Of course I’m from Lewisville.” I try hard to look offended. Jumping up, I heave the go-bag to my chest. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

  I cringe at my choice of words, but beat it to the door anyway.

  At this point, I’m sure he thinks I’m nuts. Multiple personalities or something. He doesn’t say anything, just watches me run back into school.

  RULES FOR DISAPPEARING

  BY WITNESS PROTECTION PRISONER #18A7R04M:

  Do not join clubs, dance line, or any other really fun organized group at school. This leads to making friends and really awkward questions like, “What’s wrong with your mom?”

  TO say it was a bad day would be like saying the Titanic had a little accident. My new archenemy wasted no opportunity to make snide comments about my hair, clothes, and overall existence throughout the day. And then I had to come back with something equally ugly. War has officially commenced.

  I expected Ethan to show up at Pearl’s tonight. Every time that door dinged, my neck hairs stood up. But he never showed, and that was almost worse. The walk home from Pearl’s is brutal—three blocks in the freezing cold. I need to buy a pair of gloves or my fingers may very well fall off.

  I start to climb the front steps of our cottage, lugging the few groceries I was able to carry from the store near Pearl’s.

  “Where have you been?”

  I almost fall backward. Dad is sitting on the top step in the dark.

  I hold up the bags like duh.

  “I thought you were coming straight here. That was the deal if you’re going to walk home.” He gets up and grabs a few of the bags from me. “Teeny fell asleep crying in her room. She thought you weren’t coming back.”

  I follow him in the house, dropping my remaining bags on the table, and check the clock. “I’m not that late. Did you try to convince her everything was okay?”

  He had brought Chinese home for dinner, and the empty containers are scattered all over the counters. I throw out the trash while Dad puts away the groceries.

  “Of course. But she wouldn’t talk to me. Sissy, we’re not on vacation. You have to be careful. Don’t go anywhere unnecessarily.”

  I twist my face into the worst surprised expression I can manage and say, “What? You mean this crap shack isn’t part of the Four Seasons? Shocking.”

  He doesn’t answer, just goes to his room once we’re finished putting everything away. God, what an asshole.

  I jump in the shower and it isn’t until the hot water pours over me that I start to warm up. Dad is freaking me out. In our old life I had plenty of freedom, coming and going pretty much as I wanted. Mom was always off doing whatever moms who don’t work do when they get together, and Dad was at work. All the time. When we got into the program, both of my parents took more interest in my whereabouts, but we still tried to act normal about it. That’s the suits’ motto, in fact—Act Normal. But Dad is not acting normal.

  After I shower I head to bed. I barely get the covers over me when Teeny whispers.

  “Sissy, is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?”

  She gets up from her bed and jumps into mine. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” She doesn’t wait for my answer, just snuggles in under the covers.

  I can’t say no, even though this is a twin bed and neither one of us will get a decent night�
��s sleep if we’re both in it.

  She curls up next to me. “I thought something happened to you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll call if I’m running late next time. I didn’t know you would worry like that.”

  She’s shaking under the covers, and I have the feeling there’s something more to it. “What happened around here after Dad brought you home?”

  It takes a while before she answers. “Mom and Dad had a bad fight. They went in their room, but I could still hear their voices.”

  I run my hands through her short hair. “What was the fight about?”

  Teeny squirms around. “I don’t know. I could only hear the parts they said really loud. Mom said the F-word a lot.”

  Holy shit. This is kind of a big deal for them. Back home, my parents were the ridiculous type of couple who still seemed to actually like each other. If Dad wasn’t at work, he was with Mom. They used to watch movies together on the couch late at night, and Mom rubbed his feet. Totally gross, but she seemed to like it. They fought, but it was always short, and they hardly ever raised their voices. And as crazy as Mom could be, she never said the F-word.

  I can tell the fight really bothers Teeny, and I don’t want to force it out of her, but I need to know if they said anything about what got us here. “What else?”

  “She did yell out once that it was time for Dad to tell the truth. Then Dad started yelling about how much she drinks, and then she started crying.”

  Oh. My. God. What’s he been lying about? My mind races with accusations. Teeny gets quiet, and I continue to stroke her hair. Finally, her breathing changes. She’s asleep. I lie in there thinking.

  There are so few bits and pieces to work through that nothing makes sense. My parents have been totally silent about our situation, and it makes me crazy. If Teeny and I have to live through all these moves, it’s only fair we know why.

  Two days into The Plan and I have more questions than answers.

  I allow my mind to drift, and replay scenes from the day. Those cheerleaders are vicious, but I let them get the better of me. And Ethan. Out of everything that happened, he’s the one thing I’m the most worried about. I think he’s on to me.

  Stupid-ass Fouke Monster.

  The bus ride home on Friday afternoon is like heaven. Well, as close to heaven as you can get riding a school bus when you’re months away from being a legal adult.

  It was a tough first week. The entire cheerleading squad is out to get me, and I finally learned the name of my new archenemy. It’s Emma. And she and Ben like to hook up. A lot. Against my locker. I’m sure she picked that particular piece of real estate on purpose.

  Archenemy and her minions were total bitches all week. Ethan stepped in once or twice and stood up for me, but it seemed to make things worse. There’s some crazy thing between Ethan and Emma, and I pray to God he didn’t used to date her. I couldn’t look at him the same.

  I avoided the courtyard (and Ethan) at lunch. He’s getting too close for comfort. He hasn’t mentioned Lewisville again, or the Fouke Monster, but he’s asking about other stuff and trying to trip me up.

  The bus rambles on and finally pulls over on the street in front of the row of cottages. There are very few people left once we get to my stop.

  I can tell the second the door opens that Mom’s bad off. The smell of alcohol assaults me as soon as I step inside. I don’t see her until I walk around the side of the couch. She’s on the floor, curled into the fetal position, snoring loudly. I check the clock on the oven in the kitchen. Teeny will be here in about ten minutes.

  “Mom, get up.” I shake her shoulder and she moans. I roll her onto her back, and her breath almost knocks me over.

  “Mom, let’s get you up.”

  She makes a halfhearted attempt to move. I pull her into a sitting position.

  “Mom, Teeny’s gonna be here any minute. Let’s get you to your room.”

  This seems to have some effect. Once she’s on her feet, I walk her down the short hallway to the bathroom.

  A shower won’t hurt. Actually, I’m not sure she’s bathed since we’ve been here. Her hair is greasy and limp. I lean her against the wall and turn on the water.

  I start undressing her, trying not to think about how pathetic this is. Mom’s super skinny and it’s shocking. Once she’s naked, I lead her to the tub. I’ll be scarred for life after this.

  When the water hits her, she opens her eyes and starts sputtering and coughing. She sways into the wall and then back into the curtain. I end up sitting her down to let the water run all over her.

  She finally becomes somewhat coherent and helps me wash her hair and body. My mind is reeling. I’ve never seen her this bad.

  Once I get her into her room and she’s dressed, I lay her down on the bed and cover her up.

  I pick up the clothes on the floor, and something falls out. It’s a small piece of paper. Looking back at Mom to make sure she’s completely out, I grab it, unfolding it slowly. It’s a phone number.

  I sprint to the phone in the kitchen, not thinking about what I’m doing, and dial the number.

  A man answers on the second ring. “Mrs. Jones?”

  Uh-oh. Do I hang up? “No, this is Meg.”

  It takes a few seconds for him to speak, but he finally says, “Meg, this is Agent Thomas. Is everything all right?”

  Great, it’s one of the suits.

  I don’t answer. He asks again, “Do you need something? Is something wrong?”

  The last thing I need is for a suit to show up. I’m not sure who I thought was going to be on the other line, or what I was going to get out of this conversation, but I say, “I found your number in my mom’s pocket.” I let that hang there.

  “Yes. How is your mother?”

  I think about her thin body and empty eyes. “She’s fine.”

  “Has something happened?” he asks.

  “No, I just didn’t recognize this number. We don’t need anything.” I hang up before he can ask me anything else. Why would Mom keep one of the suits’ numbers on her? Maybe both my parents keep them—I don’t know.

  I hear Teeny come in the house.

  She spots me and then looks around the room. “Where’s Mom?”

  “She’s taking a nap.”

  Teeny’s not stupid. She watches me for a few seconds and walks into the kitchen. I get her a granola bar and fix a peanut butter sandwich to take with us to Pearl’s. Even though I don’t have to be there for another twenty minutes, we take off.

  “How was school today?” I ask.

  Teeny shuffles her feet while we walk, kicking little rocks in every direction. “Fine.”

  “Did you hang out with anyone today? Have you made any friends?” I haven’t been this blunt in my questioning before, but I’m really getting worried about her.

  Teeny just shakes her head.

  “Are the girls nice to you?” I turn to Teeny, and something catches my attention in the corner of my eye. I whip my head around, but nothing’s there. Teeny hasn’t looked up from the ground once and seems oblivious to my spastic movements.

  We take another few steps before she answers, “One girl is nice.”

  Okay, something to work with. “What’s her name?” I’m trying to concentrate on what she’s saying, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s going on behind us. My head is swiveling back and forth every few steps. Dad’s warnings about walking around alone float through my head.

  Teeny answers, “Grace,” and I almost forget what we were talking about.

  “So, do you eat lunch with Grace or talk to her in the halls? If she’s nice, you should be nice back. She could be a new friend for you.” I decide to cross over to the opposite side of the street. I still can’t tell if anyone is back there, but something just feels wrong. I grab Teeny’s hand and pull her along.

  She doesn’t even look up to see if a car is coming. “I’m tired of making new friends.”

  Amen, sister.

&nb
sp; We walk the next block in silence. I’m Miss Spastic now, checking in front of us, behind us, and the other side of the street.

  “Do you think Mom’s going to die?” It’s the first time she’s looked at me since we left the house. We stop walking.

  “No.” I try to sound reassuring, but I can’t. Because I’m not sure I didn’t just lie to Teeny.

  I grab her hand and we start moving again. For the first time, Teeny realizes we’ve changed sides. She looks around. “Why are we over here?”

  I shrug. “No reason.”

  We walk the last block to Pearl’s. Teeny heads in, but I wait on the sidewalk another minute, scanning the street. Not many people are out right now, and just a few cars go by. It looks normal. No one even glances my way. So why does it feel like someone is watching us?

  The nervous feeling I had walking to work stayed with me all night and lingers this morning. I had the nightmare again, too. I crack my eyes as the early morning rays filter into our room, and cringe when I glance at my watch—too early to get up on a Saturday morning. A really bad nightmare leaves me feeling a bit hungover, without all the fun of a night out. Teeny’s still sleeping, and I don’t hear many other sounds coming from the house. As much as I hate reliving the images, I’m able to hold on to a few details and race to jot them down before they float away.

  I’m stuck in the same room, but this time it’s a little different. Books are stacked up around me—huge mounds of them. The pages are full of all the names we’ve used, written over and over, but they’re all crossed out with deep red X’s. And every time I open a book it multiplies into three more books. The red X’s start running until red ink drips off the pages and covers my hands, arms, and legs. I push all the books away until I get to the bottom of the pile and find Mom’s dead body.

  I stare at what I’ve written. It’s horrible how real the nightmare felt. Were the books my journal? Am I screwing up by writing all this down?

  The first time I dreamed about that room, it scared the shit out of me. But in that first placement, everything scared the shit out of me. I missed my friends—Elle, with her crazy, outrageous plans. Never scared of anything. And Laura. The voice of reason. The calm that kept us all grounded.