by Eliza Nolan
Graham,
I can meet you tomorrow evening at the Grind Coffee Shop, around 5 p.m.
Julia
I added a link to the coffee shop's website so he'd be able to find it, and my phone number. I read it over again to make sure it didn't sound desperate and hit send. I forced myself to plug in my phone on the dresser across the room, and sat back down on my bed.
And then on my hands.
No way would I be one of those desperate girls refreshing their email button every few seconds.
Adrenalin, of the happy kind, coursed through me. I literally danced over the piles of clothes on my floor as I got ready for bed.
I was just turning my lights off, when my phone pinged. I had a new text.
See you at the Grind. –Graham
I crawled into bed and pulled my blankets up around me, with a cheesy grin on my face.
* * *
Another teenage boy kneels on the ground in front of the others at the altar.
Though they don't hold him, his eyes are filled with terror.
Even after he's given the drink from the chalice - the one which made all the others drunk - he still looks like he might die of fear. As they cut into him, he screams out louder than any of the ones before him. Then the others do grab hold of him. The scream is so terrifying that I want to run away. And I do. I run fast. Faster than I've ever run before.
I find Aydan in a clearing near the ruins of the small church. Seeing her fills me with relief. I can finally ask her about what's happening.
"The Beshi have all been initiated," Aydan says.
"The what?" I ask.
She looks at me like I must be joking, and of course know what she's talking about. "Five young men willing to pledge their lives to the cause. Each one has a different strength. One that can be harnessed and will be helpful," she says."The Beshi!" She holds her hands out for emphasis. Her look says "What, are you, stupid? You don't know this?"
I shake my head. "I have no clue what you're talking about."
* * *
My eyes opened and I stared at the ceiling. What the crap? I had so many questions I needed to ask her. Why couldn't I manage to stay with her for more than a second? And how come every time I saw her in a dream, I came out even more confused than when I'd gone to sleep?
Some guide she was turning out to be.
Chapter Eight
I sat on the edge on my bed and slid into my jeans. I loved weekends - being able to sleep in until mid-afternoon.
My phone rang on the crumpled sheet beside me, and I glanced at the unfamiliar number. I flicked my freshly washed, wet hair from my back and answered.
"Hello, Julia."
"Yes." I couldn't place the quiet female voice.
"It's Samantha. Can you come and get me?"
"Oh my God, Samantha? Where are you? Are you okay?" I asked.
"I'm near the train yard in Northeast by the Lowry Bridge. Will you come get me?"
Samantha knew Dad never let me borrow his car, so why was she asking me to come get her? "Why are you calling me? You know I don't have a car."
"I don't have anyone else to call, Julia," she begged.
"Can't your parents come and get you?"
"No. I can't see them yet. I just need you to come and get me. I need someone who won't judge me." Her self-assurance and steady head were missing from her voice.
No matter what sort of stupid things she'd done in the past few weeks, we'd been friends for a long time and I still cared about her. "Okay, I'll come get you, but I'm not sure what I can do. I can only take you where the bus lines go."
"There's a convenience store on the corner of Lowry and Washington. I'll be in the parking lot," Samantha said and hung up.
I looked up the bus schedule. Crap. The trip required transferring twice, and was going to take over an hour. I blew out a frustrated breath. I'd ask Dad to drive me, but she'd called specifically for me. Maybe there was something going on that would make Dad freak. Getting Dad mad at me for something she'd done? No thanks.
I sighed, and shoved Lord of the Flies into my bag. At least I would get in some good reading time.
* * *
I made my way up to the front of the bus as it pulled off Lowry Bridge. Stepping out in front of the store, I immediately saw her, sitting on the curb, huddled in her army surplus jacket. Everything about her was faded and dirty - her blue hair, her complexion.
"Samantha," I said as I approached.
She looked up at me through wet, bloodshot eyes. "Julia," she sobbed, standing up and hugging me.
I held her. Somehow the strong five-foot-eleven, takes-no-crap girl curled herself up enough to hide in my small frame.
"What happened?" I asked.
She pulled away. "Jeremy left me in Chicago all alone with no money and no way to get home. I had to get a train back. The jerk!"
"Why were you in Chicago? How did you get a train back if you didn't have any money?"
"I rode a freight train," she said. "Jeremy and I were on our way to Florida to live. We were going to panhandle for spare change to feed ourselves and sleep on the beach. It was going to be so amazing, you know?" She sniffled.
"We were hopping freight trains to get down there and had to change trains in Chicago. We hung out there for a few days, staying with some of his friends who were squatting in an abandoned warehouse. It was fine at first, except that one of his 'friends' was a girl he was flirting with. You know how he does, he teased her and play fought with her. Real mature."
I groaned internally. Hardly surprising. Not that I could say so right now.
Samantha continued. "I called him on it and we got into a big shouting match. He said I was juvenile and annoying and that I was dragging him down. Then he called me a rich-kid wannabe punk. He said I should go back to my rich parents and stop pretending to be something I'm not." She chewed her bottom lip.
"That night they went out without me and I went to bed early. When I woke up the next day, Jeremy and his friends had moved out of the warehouse. They'd taken all my money, my phone and my debit card with them. I'd taken out my savings in case we needed it on the road. He took every last cent. I was alone in Chicago with no money. I didn't know what else to do, so I went back to the train yard hoping I could figure out which train to take back to Minneapolis."
Samantha began pacing a small section of the parking lot. "It was such a big place, though, and there were so many trains. I couldn't remember which track we'd come in on or anything.
"That was when I spotted Thomas, this older guy we'd shared a car with on our way to Chicago. He was nice enough and not too creepy. I asked if he would help me find a train to Minneapolis. He said he wouldn't because it wasn't safe for a girl to ride the rails solo. I begged and pleaded, but he said he didn't want to be responsible for what could happen to me." She clucked her tongue. Samantha didn't like to be considered any kind of damsel in distress.
"So then I offered him money to take me back. It took a lot of haggling. I also had to convince him that I'd get him the money when we got here, since I didn't have any money to pay him up front. I finally convinced him and we caught a train back today." She turned and looked across the street, then back at me.
"So, Julia." She said my name hesitantly. "This is the part that you're not going to like - he's just over there waiting to be paid." She motioned to a burly guy across the street huddled on a bus bench. He looked older, maybe forty, had scruffy brown hair, a bushy beard, and a dirt tan. A huge backpack sat on the bench next to him.
He saw us and waved.
"So, can you loan me two hundred dollars, Julia?" she asked.
I nearly choked on my tongue. And there it was; the reason she'd asked me to come pick her up. Disgust rose in my throat. None of her other friends would've had that much money, or if they did, they knew better than to give it to her. She was trying to use the last remaining thread of our friendship to get money out of me.
"Why don't you just get your
parents to pay him?" I asked.
"If they knew I'd ridden in boxcars with strangers, they'd kill me and then ground me for life."
"Maybe they should kill you and ground you for life, Samantha. This is one of the stupidest things you've ever done." My hands clenched in tight fists. "I told you Jeremy was a turd but you didn't listen. Instead, you go run away with him. And now that he left you, you come running back to me? Only it turns out you aren't really coming back to me. You just need my money."
"I didn't just call you for money, Julia. I needed a friend, and I needed help. I knew I could count on you. You're right; it was the stupidest thing I've ever done, running away with him. Maybe he was right, too. Maybe I am just stupid, juvenile, and annoying." Her eyes filled with tears and she sobbed.
I wasn't falling for it. Those weren't real tears, just a ploy to get my sympathy. Samantha and I had been friends for a long time, and I'd witnessed her manipulation expertise firsthand. I'd never approved, in fact, I usually just ignored it. But I'd certainly become attuned to her technique. Now, though, I'd finally had enough.
"Wait here," I said. I marched into the corner store and found their ATM. It was one of those that charged a ton of fees, but I really didn't want to go hunting around for a bank. I took out two hundred dollars - almost all the savings I'd put away from summer jobs.
I went back outside. "Come on," I said. She got up and followed me over to the man sitting on the bus bench across the street.
"Are you Thomas?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said.
"Did you bring Samantha back from Chicago?"
"Yep."
"How much did she promise to pay you?"
He looked at her and then at me and said, "Hundred and fifty dollars."
I pulled the wad of twenties out of my pocket and counted out a hundred and sixty. "Keep the change. Thanks for bringing her back."
Samantha's hungry eyes watched my hands as I folded up the remaining forty dollars and jammed it back in my pocket. Great. So the lies continued. She was trying to pocket some of my cash for herself. I wanted to scream.
"Come on," I said, somehow managing to keep from yelling.
"Where are we going?" Her voice was insolent, as if it was my fault I'd caught her trying to make money off me, but she followed as I headed down the street.
"I'm taking you to your parents' house."
She stopped. "No way, I'm not going back there."
"Yes, you are." I turned to face her. "I just loaned you a hundred and sixty dollars and I want to make sure I get it back."
"I only owe you one-fifty," she argued. "I didn't tell you to tip him."
I squeezed my eyes shut. What had happened to her? Why was she being such a mega-bitch? "No, you told me you owed him two hundred, would you rather owe me that? Give it up, Sam. I don't trust you anymore. The only way I'm sure to get my money back is if I return you to your parents. That way if you skip town before you repay me, I can ask them to pay me back your debt. I'm sure they'd love to hear the story you just told me." I started walking towards the bus stop again.
She trotted after me. "No. You can't tell them, Julia."
"I won't as long as you come back with me now to your house and don't skip town until you've paid me back."
She caught up to me. "Fine, I'll go home later tonight. I just want to have one last hurrah before I'm grounded for good."
"That's not the deal. The deal is that I hand deliver you to your parents, right now."
I stared at her. As much as she screwed up, there were things she did - like train hopping - that she didn't want her parents to know. Her fear of my telling her parents finally won out and she nodded.
We rode the bus in silence. I was so pissed I couldn't even look at her. I kept her in my peripheral vision, though, to make sure she didn't run out on me.
My phone rang. I dug it out. "Are you coming home for dinner?" It was Dad, and this wasn't a question; it was more of a demand. My shoulders slumped. I'd forgotten to tell him about my plans for the day and ask permission to go out with Graham later. Oops.
"Dad. Sorry I forgot to call. I'm with Samantha." I winced, hoping he didn't know she'd run away. "She needed some help with her school work. We're just about ready to wrap things up, though, and then I thought I'd go meet my friend at a coffee shop. Is that okay?" I asked.
"No, it is not okay," Dad barked. "You've been out all day without telling me where you were. Come home, now."
I sank back in my seat. There goes tonight's plans. No way was Dad gonna let me meet up with Graham now.
"Fine," I said. "I have to take several busses so it could be an hour or so."
"Well, hurry then," he said.
"I will." I hung up.
We made it to downtown and transferred. I still wanted to make sure Samantha got home. The later I was, the more upset Dad would be, but I didn't trust Samantha to go home on her own.
My phone rang again. I sighed and pulled it out expecting Dad to bark my ear off again. "Hello."
"What's wrong?" The gravelly voice was full of concern. Not Dad.
I pulled the phone away from my ear to see who was calling. Graham.
"Hi, Graham. Sorry. I thought you were my dad calling again. What's up?"
"Weren't we going to meet at five?"
"Oh no," I said. "What time is it?"
"Five-thirty."
No wonder Dad was mad. I had no idea it was so late. "Sorry, Graham. Something came up and I had to go meet a friend. Now I don't even know if I can meet you at all tonight, because my dad's pissed at me." Story of my life.
"So this is payback, huh?" Graham said, and chuckled into the phone.
"No. I really thought it was closer to four." Crap. "This thing with my friend really threw me off. I screwed up the day for everyone. I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing, Julia. I still have to apologize to you."
"Can we try this tomorrow?" I asked.
"Sure."
"The Grind at five? I'll run it by my father to be sure. Can I call you tonight after I talk to him?"
"Yeah," Graham said. "Is everything okay? You sound upset."
"I'm okay. It's just been a stressful day. I'll tell you about it tomorrow."
We hung up. I couldn't believe I kept screwing up so badly. I was used to pissing off Dad, but to mess up with Graham? I must've eaten a bowl of Stupid Smacks for breakfast.
When we got to Samantha's, her mother came to the door and threw it open. "Samantha you're home." She already had tears in her eyes, as she reached out to hug her. "You are so grounded, you don't even know!" She pulled Samantha into the house, then poked her head out the door and mouthed "Thank you."
I nodded.
The door closed and I turned, heading back to the bus stop.
I didn't make it home until six, and when I opened the door, Dad sat on the bottom stair, his arms crossed.
"Hi," I mumbled, taking off my coat.
He stood, his lips drawn together in a tight line, and just looked at me. I waited for him to start barking at me again, but instead he turned and stormed into the kitchen.
This was bad. If Dad had anger in his voice, it meant he was still talking and reasoning with him might be an option. But when he went quiet, I was in big trouble. It wasn't that he was going to get violent or anything - he never raised a hand against me - but the amount of guilt he could heap on when he was this way, combined with the possibility that he would withhold my hanging out after-school privileges in perpetuity, really sucked.
In this case, though, I wasn't sure I'd earned the silent treatment being dished out. Okay, so maybe his anger level hadn't reached the heights of those when he caught me sneaking out of the house at night. No. But I was late for dinner, I didn't deserve this.
He came out of the kitchen and almost slammed a plate of food and silverware on the dining room table in front of my usual spot, then sat down roughly in his own. Evidently, he wanted me to sit and eat.
I slunk down i
n my chair and picked up the fork.
Dad watched as I poked at my cold lasagna for several painful minutes, then he finally broke the silence. "Where was she?"
I didn't have to ask who he was talking about. Apparently, he knew Samantha had run away after all.
"She ran away to Chicago with her boyfriend," I said. I left out the part about the trains. There were some things Dad didn't need to know. The minute I told him Samantha had hopped a boxcar, he would picture me doing it, too, and never let me leave the house again.
"He left her, so she came back. I guess you know I wasn't helping her with homework, then. She called me, and I went because I was worried about her. But all she wanted was reassurance that she'd done the right thing." And to drain my savings account.
"I don't want you seeing her anymore." Dad's voice strained with anger.
"I don't want to see her anymore, either," I said truthfully. "I think what she did was stupid. When I realized she still thought she was right in running away, I was so mad. She wasn't even going to go home. So I hand-delivered her to her parents' house. That's why it took me so long to get home."
Dad pushed himself up and went into the kitchen. He closed the door and I dropped my fork on my plate with a clang. His hushed voice came from the hallway.
When he returned, he was calmer. He rested his hands on the back of his chair. "I was so worried, Julia. When you said you were with Samantha and then you didn't come home right away, I was sure you'd run off with her." He sighed. "I'm glad I was wrong."
As the anger left Dad, I felt it seeping into me. "So you called her parents and they told you I dropped her off there? That's the only reason I'm off the hook?" I slapped my hands down on the table. "You still don't trust me. Dad, I'm almost an adult, you have to let me go. You're suffocating me." I got up, ready to dramatically storm off, when I remembered I still had to ask if it was okay to go out with Graham. Crap.
I took a deep breath and hoped he was feeling guilty enough about the way he'd treated me that he'd let me go.
"Can I go to the coffee shop tomorrow with Graham?" I blushed at the mention of his name. I wasn't used to talking about boys with Dad. As far as he knew, I didn't date; not that I had much anyway. I crossed my fingers he wouldn't ask me any questions. I was having a hard enough time getting my own answers about Graham.
