Verita
by
Tracy Rozzlynn
Copyright © 2011 by Tracy Rozzlynn
http://TracyRozzlynn.com
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
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Verita
Chapter 1
I cringe as the girl behind me incessantly cracks her knuckles in nervous anticipation. It’s a noise I can’t stand, and it’s taking all my restraint not to scream at her. Instead, I look around for a distraction. The girl to my left relentlessly nibbles her nails. The girl on my right just looks down at her feet while twirling and un-twirling her hair around her finger. I’m surrounded by other teenage girls. Usually this would mean an uproar of endless chatter and babble, but today the raw fear and dread of the unknown keeps us all silent. We’re all deeply wrapped in our thoughts. I imagine that each girl is thinking the same thing: How the hell did my life get so screwed up that I decided to come here?
I had never been ultra rich or anything like that, but I certainly never had to go without. I was loved, and I had friends. Overall, my life was good. My family and I lived in a modest colonial. Well, it was modest compared to the rest of the houses on our street, at least. We lived in one of those planned neighborhoods that had a minimum square footage requirement and our house just met it. Unfortunately, the neighborhood included Mrs. Platt, the head of the neighborhood committee, also known as the ‘Tree Tyrant.’ She actually went around with a ruler in her purse. Anyone whose grass was too tall, she’d threaten with a fine. She was the reason all the parents, including mine, had to tear down the tree houses when I was ten. Hence, the nickname. It was also why no one would ever identify who toilet-papered her house every Halloween.
I did well in school, and this year I was the girl to beat in the butterfly stroke. My best friend Jenna and I dated two of the cutest guys in the school, Brad and Jeff, who also happened to be best friends. We couldn’t have planned it better, especially considering how different our tastes in guys ran. Jeff was a total jock. When he didn’t play sports, he talked about sports. Jenna didn’t mind because, as she put it, “They don’t need words to express their love.” Ugh. Please. Brad ran cross-country and track, but I knew that there was more to him than just sports. He was sweet and caring, funny and smart – everything I could have wanted in a guy.
Things had started to get serious between us, as well as between Jeff and Jenna. It was partially because of the extra freedom best friends dating best friends gave us. Our parents never questioned Jenna and me about going over each other’s houses, to the mall, or even to a midnight movie together on a Friday night. We just conveniently left out the ‘with our boyfriends’ part, and questions were never asked.
It was that way the night my life changed. My parents finally took the second honeymoon they had always dreamed of. They went on a cruise to the Caribbean. Initially, they considered getting someone to stay and housesit with me but after some persistence on my part, they relented. After all, I was almost seventeen. They knew I was responsible, and they didn’t want to mortify me with a babysitter. So I was left alone in the house for the week. As expected, Jenna’s parents never questioned it when we arranged a sleepover the weekend after my parents left.
Jenna commandeered the upstairs. Jeff didn’t know it yet, but she had decided it would be ‘the night’, and she wanted complete privacy. I had promised her that Brad and I would stay downstairs on the side of the house farthest from the guest bedroom. I didn’t mind. Things were getting serious for me, but I wasn’t ready to go that far. Not yet.
So instead, Brad and I cuddled up in front of the TV, ignoring some romantic comedy we rented on pay-per-view. Then, the doorbell rang. Figuring it was the ever nosey Mrs. Platt checking up on me, I had Brad hide while I answered the door.
Oh, I wish it had been Mrs. Platt.
“Are you Ms. Brett Bradbury?” one of two uniformed police officers asked.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I blurted. It was a knee-jerk reaction, but their being at the door made me feel guilty. I racked my brain, but couldn't figure out what I could have possibly done to bring them there. Had I run a stop sign without realizing it? Or maybe I had an unpaid parking ticket I was unaware of. No, that didn’t make sense. They wouldn’t be there just for that.
Then, a crazy thought hit me. Could they be strippers? It could be Jenna’s weird idea of a ‘thank you’ for loaning her my upstairs. I felt burning heat rush to my cheeks; leave it Jenna to think that something so mortifying would be considered an expression of gratitude. The thought was ludicrous. Jenna wouldn’t risk having her night interrupted, no matter how much enjoyment my humiliation might bring her.
“No, ma’am, you’re not in trouble. Are you Ms. Brett Bradbury?” the officer repeated. I nodded. “Is there anyone here with you, or anyone you can call to come over?”
Then I noticed that it wasn’t anger or a tough-guy look that I saw on their faces, but somber expressions. Simultaneously, I realized the tone of his voice was apologetic.
Suddenly, I was panicked. “Yes, why? What’s happened? What’s going on?” I demanded. I must have been shouting because I heard the footsteps of Brad, Jenna and Jeff all running toward me. “Tell me! Tell me now!” Now I knew that I was shouting.
“Brett, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” Brad asked, looking from me to the officers as he reached the front door. I felt his arms wrap protectively around me, as he shifted himself between me and the officers.
The officer glanced from me to Brad and back again. He let out a long, drawn-out breath and began to speak. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, ma’am, but there’s been an accident. Your parents were involved a plane crash—”
I cut the officer off with a half-choked cry of relief. Shaking my head, I quickly pointed out, “No, that can’t be; they left on Wednesday. They already called me from the boat. Unless you’re telling me a plane crashed into their cruise ship, you’re wrong. Right now, they’re both enjoying themselves, tipsy and soaking in the sun,” I explained. Anger began to rise in me. I was furious that they could make such a mistake.
“Yes, ma’am, you’re right. Your parents did make it to the ship. But they chartered a small engine plane—” The officer continued to explain what happened, but his voice was drowned out by a combination of sobs and hysterical laughter. I eventually realized the sounds were coming from me. Jenna reached me and joined Brad in wrapping her arms around me, but I just crumpled to the floor as my world went black.
“Brett Bradbury.” I swallow hard at the sound of my name and make myself step forward to the folding table being used as a make-shift desk. I’m greeted by a plump woman with a nasal voice. She gives me a bored look and simply says, “Personal items.” She’s gesturing to a shoebox-sized white box next to her. I already know the routine – I’ve been watching the previous girls called up – and quickly dump the contents of my plastic bag into the box. After a moment, the bored woman glances up and asks, “Anything else?” I wordlessly shake my head. She seals the box, scribbles my name and a number on the side of it, and places it in the stack beside her. Then she hands me my paper-thin gown and booties and gestures to a privacy curtain at the back of the room.
My parents were dead. While on their wonderful cruise, they decided to take a plane tour of the islands. It was one of those small two-engine planes, the kind that periodically made its way onto the news b
ecause of landing or crashing in some strange area due to some kind of trouble. Well, that’s what happened to my parents. One minute they were having the time of their lives, taking pictures out the plane’s windows. The next minute they were screaming in horror as they watched the ground get closer and closer until they crashed. I’d played the scene over and over in my head, imagining the fears and thoughts that would have flashed through their minds during their final moments.
I stayed with Jenna’s family for the first week, through all the funeral stuff. They had been kind enough to take care of all that for me. I was in no state to do anything that required clear thinking, or any thinking at all, actually. The grief and pain was too much for me to bear: instead it numbed me. All of my emotions simply shut down The only thing I felt was dread – dread of the pain returning and overwhelming me.
My stay at Jenna’s house was only temporary. Her family couldn’t (or maybe wouldn’t) keep me. I had no brothers or sisters and both my parents were only children, so there were no aunts or uncles to turn to. My parents were older when they had me, so only one grandparent remained – in a nursing home, too senile to even recognize me anymore. The warm, squishy hugs I got from her were meant for Anna, her childhood best friend.
Being a minor, my only choice was to enter foster care. At first I thought it wouldn’t be so bad. I’d continue to go to my old school, get myself emancipated as soon as possible, and then live on the money from my parents’ life insurance and from selling the house to get myself through college.
Then Mr. Thompson, Jenna’s dad, explained my parents’ dire financial state to me. My parents, like so many, had been living beyond their means. They had let their life insurance lapse and had taken a second mortgage out on the house. In the current housing market, it meant they owed more than the house was worth. Bottom line: I was now broke and alone, with no hope of escaping foster care.
Once I’m dressed, a white haired nurse commands me to follow her. Begrudgingly, I force myself forward, and follow her down an empty metal corridor. It’s a long, lonely walk toward uncertainty. Behind me, trying to break the oppressive tension, I hear someone exclaim, “Dead man walking.” But their humor is lost; it’s just too close to what we fear. I futilely look around for something to distract me: a poster, some peeling paint, anything. But all I see are blank gray-metal doors lining the left side of the hallway. I try counting the doors, like a sleepless person does sheep, but I can’t focus and I keep losing count. My mind wanders. I can’t help thinking that I should be shopping at the mall right now, gossiping with my friends about boys, or even struggling to stay awake during a long and boring class lecture. Anywhere but here.
But as grim and gloomy as my surroundings are, they offer hope. That hope gives me the courage I need to continue down the corridor, instead of fleeing the other way – not that fleeing is really an option. There’s no going back, because I know there is nothing left for me to flee to. The wonderful life I once had, that I long for, that calls me back, is just a memory.
I had been in foster care for just under two weeks, at St. Augustine’s home for girls. I was just waiting and hoping for the impossible to happen. I was waiting for a foster parent to become available, be willing, and be able to take on a sixteen-year-old girl. Like that was ever going to happen. No one in their right mind would take on less than two years of income, plus a teenager likely to have more than their share of issues. Most foster parents wanted a cute little baby or toddler, and I, clearly, was neither.
Of course, St. Augustine’s wasn’t in a town that had bus transportation to my school. So even though I was paid through the semester, I had to switch schools. And I couldn’t even get the money refunded, because it was past the withdrawal period. To make matters even worse, I was only given ten minutes of phone time a night, and I wasn’t allowed to have a cell phone. So keeping in touch with Jenna and Brad had been difficult.
Fortunately my new school had a half day – one of those teacher professional days. After I got out of school, I took the public bus – actually several buses – to get to my old school. Thanks to all the bus transfers, by the time I arrived their full day of school was just letting out. I couldn’t wait to see their faces, but my welcome didn’t go quite as I expected it to.
I waited by the east exit knowing that both Jenna and Brad would come out that way. Jenna had chemistry last period and Brad had math. I knew that both rooms were closest to this exit. Jenna came out first, laughing with our friends Bridget and Sarah.
As soon as Jenna saw me, she stopped short and did a double take. “Oh my gosh, Brett! What are you doing here?” she blurted out in surprise.
“I had a half day and figured I’d come and visit, seeing as you haven’t been able to visit me yet,” I chirped brightly and smiled ear-to-ear. Seeing her was so worth the endless rides on smelly public buses.
“You should have said something,” she stammered. “I already have plans that I can’t change.” I couldn’t help but notice the unsettled look on her face.
“Oh. I didn’t think it would be a problem, and I wanted it to be a surprise.” I shrugged apologetically, and waited for Jenna to say something. She certainly looked surprised, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t exactly happy to see me. In fact, she looked downright uncomfortable; her eyes looked everywhere but at me. And what was up with the looks Bridget and Sarah were exchanging? “Okay, Jenna, what gives? What’s up?”
“N-nothing. Nothing’s up,” she insisted as she turned and started to head toward the parking lot, wrapping her arm around my shoulder to herd me in the same direction.
I shrugged her arm off of me and stopped, rooted to my spot. She continued to walk. “Then why can’t you even look me in the eye? You only do that when you’re lying or hiding something,” I called after her. She stopped, turned, and glared daggers.
“I’m sorry you didn’t call ahead of time, but that’s no excuse to start insulting me. Just because you moved away doesn’t mean I’ve stopped having a life.” Her voice was cold and condescending. Now I was even more confused. It was the voice she usually used to mock the fashionably challenged we’d see at the mall. She would rave about their outfit, and insist they tell her where they bought it, using the exact tone she’d just used on me.
Usually I would have backed down. I would have understood that something was bothering her, but not today. I’d had too much pain and loss over the last few weeks to be sympathetic. “Moved away?” I huffed. “Is that what you’re pretending happened to me? Are you friggin’ serious? After all that’s happened, I spend half of my day on busses, transferring around to get here, just to have you treat me like this? Just what the heck crawled up your butt and died?” I spat my frustration out at her. I noticed her roll her eyes, and I crossed my arms waiting to see what snappy retort she’d throw at me now.
But before she could respond, I got my answer. Walking out of the east exit, practically glued together, were Brad and Ava. As if to clarify any confusion I might still have had, Brad leaned down and kissed Ava as she ran her free hand over his chest.
“Oh!” I squeaked. I felt the blood drain out of my face.
Jenna followed my stare and blew out a loud sigh. “You really should have called,” she said flatly.
“I… I… gotta get out of here. I gotta go. I can’t deal with this right now.” I panted; I was starting to hyperventilate. My eyes darted, looking for somewhere, anywhere, to flee.
“Come on. I’ll give you a ride.” Jenna smiled a thin, sympathetic smile and motioned for me to follow her. I should have known what she was up to long before seeing Brad. Jenna can’t lie, and when she gets caught lying she becomes super defensive to the point of outright aggression; hence her behavior. In her unique, twisted Jenna way, she was trying to protect me.
“Can you punch your address into my GPS?” she asked as she unlocked her car.
Numbly, I got into the car and entered the address.
Once we were finally
out of the parking lot and away from prying eyes, I let the waterworks flow.
Jenna pointed to a little travel pack of tissues, and waited patiently while I cried. As I started to calm down, between sobs, I complained, “It hasn’t even been two weeks, and I just talked to him last night. He didn’t say anything to me.” Then it dawned on me. “They looked awfully cozy with each other. Just how long has this been going on, anyway?” I asked hesitantly, not quite sure if I wanted the answer or not.
“A little bit,” Jenna answered without looking at me.
“How long?” I demanded, giving her a look that said I wouldn’t let her squirm out of this.
She let out a long, defeated sigh. “A little over a week.” Then she looked back at my face again. “Okay, fine; they first hooked up after the game against Windsor Academy,” she glumly admitted, and braced herself for my inevitable reaction.
“Two days! He waited just two days after I had to leave to be all over that slut! And all this time we’ve been talking, he’s been lying to me, leading me on. He hasn’t said a word about it. What did he think, that he’d make out with me whenever he finally decided to visit, and then go back to her?” My voice cracked as I redirected my fury. Jenna cringed away from my angry glare. “And you! Why didn’t you say something to me instead of letting me look like a fool?”
Regaining her composure, Jenna explained, “I didn’t say anything for the same reason he didn’t say anything. You’ve been through a lot, and we were waiting for you to figure it out.” Her tone sounded like a teacher, patiently trying to explain the obvious to a student.
“So you expected me to figure out that Brad is a cheating slime ball from the brief conversations I’m allowed each night? What, is there a specific tone of voice for that?” I shook my head in pain and confusion.
Jenna shook her head back at me. “No, that’s not what I mean. No one wanted to hurt your feelings. No one wanted to tell you that Brad was moving on, because we figured it was just a matter of time until you realized that you had to move on too.”
Verita Page 1
