“Do you always walk home from work or was it just that first day?”
I pick at the sleeve of my hoodie. “Walk. Mary goes with me at four, and my dad picks her up on his way home from work. It’s not that far.”
“It’s supposed to be real cold again tonight.”
Silence.
“I don’t mind taking you home.”
I rub one hand over my face. It would be nice to have a ride. It’d suck if a panic attack hit while I’m walking home at night by myself, but I answer, “No, it’s only three blocks.”
“What’s Mary gonna do there all afternoon?”
“Homework.”
More silence.
The air in the truck is warm and heavy with the scent of outdoors. I take a deep breath and let it fill my lungs. I like this guy and this is so not fair to him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s too much.” My hands gesture to the truck. “All of this. Taking me home. Offering to pick me up.”
His brow comes together, trying to understand. “I just want to be your friend. What’s so damn wrong about that?”
Therein lies the problem. He has no clue what he’s asking for. In one of our placements I had a boyfriend and it ended horribly. He was a nice guy, like Ethan. He was fun and cool to hang out with, and I thought it was no big deal to be in a relationship—until the suits came and grabbed us while I was waiting for him to pick me up. I still wonder how long Tyler hung around that night.
I can’t do that to Ethan.
“Why me? Why are you trying so hard to be friends with me?”
Ethan cocks his head slightly to the side. “I don’t know. There’s something about you. You’re different. And fun to be around when you’re not so damn uptight.” He stops talking and looks out his side window. A few seconds later he turns back to me. “I can see the second you put the wall up. You damn near cringe right before you do it.”
“I’ve got a lot going on right now.” I fiddle with the straps on my bag.
“So, you’re blowing me off?”
Yes. Yes, I’m blowing you off. Don’t talk to me again, and look in the opposite direction when you see me coming. “No, I’m not blowing you off. I just don’t know right now, okay?”
God, I’m screwing this up. I should have never gotten into this stupid truck.
Neither of us speak until we arrive at my house. Mumbling a quiet thank-you, I give him a small smile and hop out of the truck.
I fold a cardboard sheet into a pizza box. It’s dead at Pearl’s right now, so she’s got me doing busy work, which makes it a perfect time to work on The Plan. I need to come up with something concrete. Dad may be stuck in the program for the rest of his life, but that doesn’t mean we have to be, too. I scroll through all the different scenarios that could make my life normal again.
We could leave Dad. Make him go through this all alone. We barely saw him before all this started, so it wouldn’t be that different.
Where would we go? Some small town like this? Mom won’t be able to work in the condition she’s in now. I’d have to drop out and work full-time. Whoever’s after Dad will still see us as something to use against him. That’s not going to work.
When I turn eighteen, I’ll leave and take Teeny with me. Go into hiding—just the two of us.
No good either. I have no money. No references. No work history. Bad guys will still try to get us.
My head falls onto the pizza box. No matter what it looks like in the movies, there is absolutely nothing glamorous about Witness Protection.
They took over our home, people everywhere, standing around talking like it was just some regular day at the office. Dad was in the corner, in quiet conversation with the head suit and two other men while Teeny cried in Mom’s lap on the other side of the room. And I just sat there watching. Trying to understand how you could come home one day and find your entire life has changed.
“Meg, got customers!” Pearl yells from the kitchen.
Business picks up, and I push away all the half-baked plans that will never work out. About thirty minutes into the dinner rush, I notice Ethan strolling into the restaurant. He smiles and nods but doesn’t come close. Instead, he walks to Teeny’s booth and slides in on the other side. The customer in front of me has to repeat his order three times before I finally hear him.
Why is he sitting with Teeny? My mind jumps to the worst conclusion: he’ll drill her with questions about me. Teeny’s so fragile right now; what if she slips? Will I be able to hide it from the suits if Ethan finds out something he shouldn’t?
Only one move that I know of was my fault. It was in our second placement. I tried hard there, fitting in and all that. I spent the night with Charlotte, a girl I’d become friends with, and it was the first time since all of this started that I’d stayed away from my parents. We’d gone to a party and drunk a few too many beers. Once we got back to her house, Charlotte passed out. I lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, and could swear her laptop was calling my name.
I snuck out of the bed and pulled the computer down onto the floor with me. Within seconds, I was logged into my old Facebook page. Before I could even think about what I was doing, I posted a message on my wall, tagging Elle and Laura. A single line—Secrets always come out. It was so stupid, and pretty cheesy, and I was drunk. Part of me wanted them to know that I knew what was going on behind my back, especially Laura, since she was the one who hurt me the most. But there was the other part of me that was just humiliated because some of what they said was true. That was the last time I’ve had any alcohol. Between that night and the last night at home, I obviously act completely stupid while hammered.
I shake my head and take a deep breath. I can’t think about that right now—there’s nothing I can do to change what happened. And I’m not sure I would even want to anymore.
I’d ended up passed out on the floor next to the computer and was woken up by Charlotte’s mother. She was shaking me, telling me my dad was outside and there’d been some sort of family emergency.
It wasn’t Dad but one of the suits. He all but threw me into the car, and the next time I saw my family was in a safe house. I had nothing but the clothes on my back. That’s why I have the bag. That’s why I never use the Internet.
The line at the counter is so deep, there’s no way to check out what Ethan and Teeny are doing. I keep glancing to the back booth, but they don’t look at me at all. After a few minutes they get up and walk toward the kitchen. Teeny’s not exactly smiling, but her eyes look brighter and she’s standing up straight, no hunched shoulders. She looks excited.
I track their progress across the dining room until they step through the kitchen door. Looking down the line of customers, I figure it’ll be at least twenty minutes before I can see what’s happening back there.
When I finally get back to the kitchen, I stand there stunned. Teeny and Ethan are making pizzas. They’re both covered in flour and sauce, and Ethan is teaching her how to throw the dough in the air and catch it. Pearl is on them to get back to work, but she’s all bark.
For the first time in months, Teeny is laughing.
Ethan finally notices me standing there. “Hey. You ready for some of these to go out?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” It’s like my mouth won’t work.
Ethan hands me two large pizzas and then follows me out of the kitchen carrying two himself. Teeny is right behind him, carrying an order of breadsticks.
With the food delivered, Ethan turns to go back to the kitchen. I tug on his shirt and he twists around so quickly, our heads bump.
“Oh!” I grab his arm to steady myself, and he does the same. His face is close, and I can’t quit staring at one of those fat curls hanging over his eyes.
He leans in. “Yeah?”
“Uh, thanks for hanging out with Mary.” I drop my hand quickly, but he doesn’t move his. Or back up. We’re very close.
Ethan breaks out in a huge smile and says, “She’s cool. I hung out here all the
time when I was a kid. Loved making pizzas.”
I bite my lip. I should tell him to go away. To leave Teeny alone.
Ethan rolls his eyes. “There you go again. All good, then something changes in your eyes. They close off.” He inches a bit closer and whispers, “It’s driving me crazy trying to figure out what’s going on with you. You told me she was coming to work with you, and it’s more fun in the kitchen than out in the dining room.” He leans in and I feel off balance again. “You look like you’re about to freak out.”
I can’t speak. He’s so close, and I’m trying super hard not to stare at his mouth. It wouldn’t take much to close the distance between us.
I’m saved by the front door chimes, and within minutes the restaurant is full.
It’s interesting to watch the crowd that comes here. No one is in a big hurry. Ever. This town is probably the most laid-back place I’ve been to. Most people ask me about my day or tell me about theirs while they wait on their pizza, and if it’s ready before they’re done talking, they hang around until they finish their story.
For the rest of the evening, we all work in an easy rhythm until Dad shows up at seven to take Teeny home. She cries when she leaves, begging me to let her stay. I try to assure her I’ll only be an hour behind her, but she’s inconsolable. I watch Dad drive off, thinking I’ve made a mistake by not giving in, when Pearl comes up next to me.
“She’ll be fine. Let’s get things picked up, and I’ll let you cut outta here early.” She turns to leave, but stops short. “You looking for another job?”
I check behind me to see who she’s talking to. When I realize there’s no one back there, I point to myself. “Me? No, why would I be looking for another job?”
“Some man called earlier, asking if you worked here and how long and all that bull. Figured he was checking your references.” She shuffles back to the kitchen and misses the utter terror on my face.
I run to catch up to her. “Did he ask for me by name? Did he ask about Meg Jones?”
Pearl looks at me like I’m stupid. “Girl, you got more than one name? Yeah, he asked about you.” She chuckles, which turns to coughing as she leaves the room.
I drop into the closest chair. Did the suits call? Would they ask questions like that? All the saliva disappears from my mouth. Surely it wasn’t the bad guys. Wouldn’t they just come get me?
Ethan walks out of the kitchen, shoving a huge piece of pizza into his mouth. He says something, but it’s all muffled. Once he gets the food down, he repeats himself. “I think Mary had fun.”
I force a smile. “She did. Thanks again for…” God, what do I want to say? Thanks for playing with her and making her laugh and smile and not worry about her drunk mother at home.
“No problem. It was fun.” Thankfully, he didn’t wait for me to finish, which is good because I can’t think right now.
Pearl bustles in from the dining room. “Meg, go on and go. Make sure Mary’s calmed down. I can finish the rest for tonight.” She follows this up with a gruff, “But be back here on time tomorrow.”
I grab my go-bag from behind the counter and follow Ethan to the door. Turning back to Pearl, I ask, “Did the man who called say what his name was or where he was calling from?”
She stops inside the kitchen door. “No, and I told him I didn’t have time for questions since we were in the middle of our rush hour.”
Ethan holds the door open and gestures to the truck. I hesitate for a second or so, then hop inside. The phone call has me freaked out, and there’s no way in hell I’m walking home in the dark by myself now.
RULES FOR DISAPPEARING
BY WITNESS PROTECTION PRISONER #18A7R04M:
If you have to get a job, do not make friends there. Don’t ask your coworkers about their boyfriend, girlfriend, dog, cat, latest fad diet, thoughts on global warming, or anything else remotely personal. Because then you have to lie about your boyfriend, girlfriend, dog, cat, latest fad diet, and thoughts on global warming, and that really sucks.
ETHAN finds me in the courtyard at lunch, a weird expression on his face. He drops down beside me and fidgets with his Coke bottle.
“What’s up?” I ask. Something is wrong.
He spins the cap on the moss-covered ground. “I don’t know how to say this without pissing you off.”
I want to yell, “Well, don’t say it then!” I don’t, but I’m nervous about what’s about to happen.
“I don’t think you’re from Arkansas. Hell, I don’t think you’ve ever been to Arkansas.”
Uh-oh.
“I’m so sure. What makes you think that?” The sarcastic tone I go for falls flat.
“Gut, mostly. Things you say. Things Mary says.” He shrugs. “Arkansas isn’t much different from here, but you both look at us like we’re from a different planet.” He doesn’t say this meanly, just matter-of-factly.
I run my hands over my face. I have to get out of here. I stand up quickly, jerking my bag up with me.
Ethan jumps up and grabs my arm. “Wait.”
I yank my arm out of his grasp and whirl around on him.
“Meg, don’t go.” His hands are out in front like he’s guarding himself from a wild animal.
I shove him. “What gives you the right to say this shit to me? Why do you care where I’m from? Why is anything I do or say any of your business?” With each question, I pound him on the chest.
I’m fuming by the time I finish. I knew he’d try to get info out of Teeny. She must have said something last night.
I all but run to the field behind school, looking for a place to sit and think. The marching band is walking through some sort of routine but without any instruments.
Scanning the field, I notice a pocket of people along the back fence. Smokers’ section. There’s so much smoke it looks like something’s on fire. On the other side, I see several small groups of people walking toward school from the back parking lot. Obviously it’s easy to cut out for lunch.
I plop down on the ground near the corner of the small building. What I am supposed to do now? Ethan’s not going to let this drop.
I realize the waft of smoke coming from the smokers’ section isn’t from a pack of Marlboros. It would be so easy to join their little group. They wouldn’t ask me questions about some stupid local legend or look for holes in my carefully fabricated background. They probably wouldn’t even notice when I left. Maybe Mom has the right idea. I could finish out this placement in a haze, then move right into the same group at the next school. None of this would even matter.
And then Mom’s frail body flashes through my head. Her greasy hair and bad breath. Her slurred words. I could never be like that.
I hear the bell ring and watch the fence line. None of them even flinch.
The thought of going to health class is more than I can handle. I can’t be near Ethan right now, and there’s no way I’m sitting through an hour with Emma either.
I don’t really know where I’m going, but my school day is over.
This is the first time I’ve ever cut class. Even in my old life I never left campus without permission. As I cross the large open space between school and the road, I wait for someone to scream for me to stop, but no one does. It’s easy; you just keep walking and don’t look back.
I head toward cobblestoned Front Street. At least it’s pretty warm this afternoon with the sun out.
The go-bag gets heavy as I walk, but I find the weight comforting. I’ve got about two and a half hours before Teeny will get off the bus, and I’m not going back to the house before I have to. It takes about thirty minutes to make it to Front Street, where I window-shop for a few blocks. Almost everything for sale has the fleur-de-lis symbol or a crawfish on it.
Mom would love this place. She’s a sucker for all this touristy crap.
When she’s not a sucker for vodka.
I keep thinking about Ethan and the bomb he dropped in the courtyard. Who does he think he is? If I look at people around her
e like they’re from another planet, it’s because they are! Weird food and weirder animals. The gas station near our house has a jar of pickled pig’s feet sitting on the counter. And people buy them. To eat. And part of the info they gave me at the safe house was how to identify poisonous snakes. I mean, we live near downtown, for God’s sake. Why would I need to identify a snake?
On the next block I find a coffeehouse. It’s fairly empty, so I choose a table in the back.
“What can I get you?” A young waitress walks up to the table—late teens or early twenties—and she has piercings in her lip, nose, and eyebrow. We have almost the same haircut, but I must admit, hers is cuter.
“Small chai latte.”
“You want anything else? Scone, beignet, muffin?”
“No, thanks.”
This place is like old meets new. The building itself is ancient brick walls and scuffed wood floors, but everything in here is state-of-the-art. On the back wall, flat-screen monitors and wireless keyboards line a long table, huge TVs fill every corner, and there’s a sign offering free Wi-Fi. I’ve been terrified of the Internet, but I’m tempted now to take a peek. The problem is I don’t know enough about it to know who can see what. If I search back issues of my hometown newspaper, will that throw up a flag to someone watching?
I’m torn. My need for information is equal to my fear of being picked up by the suits.
The waitress brings my latte.
“You okay?”
Not trusting my voice to speak, I nod.
She shrugs and walks off. Once she’s behind the counter, she glances over several times. Maybe she’s afraid I’m going lose it and go nuts in here. Maybe I should wear a sign: CAUTION: CONTENTS MAY EXPLODE UNDER PRESSURE.
Taking small sips of my latte and staring at the computers, I try to decide which Web site will be the safest to log on to.
“Don’t even think about it.”
I jump out of my seat, spilling the latte all over the table and nearly turning my chair over. It’s one of the suits. The waitress runs over with a rag. She glances between the two of us, and I resist the urge to hide behind her. My body vibrates with tension.
The Rules for Disappearing Page 7
