“Maybe on your way back,” Rawe said, still not turning around. She was kind of spooking me out. I could take seeing her as a soulless, angry bitch or the prescriptive voice pushing us to write in our Assessment Diaries, but I didn’t know what this was.
“Um, maybe,” I said, even though I was positive if I kneeled down to pray, the sky would open up and lightning would fly out like octopus arms and burn me to a crisp. I didn’t deserve to pray. Not that anyone but my brother knew it, but I didn’t deserve anything except to go take a crap in a pit toilet.
“It’s about changing patterns,” Rawe said, like she could read my mind.
“I don’t have a pattern,” I said. I did before I came here. I did before Aaron, but now I was surviving. Waking up every day and struggling like a sapling against the wind.
“Sure you do,” Rawe said, finally turning around. She squinted. “You weren’t sent here because you’re special. You were sent here to change.”
“Into what?” I asked. I was fine with changing. If changing meant I didn’t have to feel the way I felt anymore, then I was more than fine with it. But it certainly didn’t seem like that was what this place was about. How are you supposed to change when your body is so tired you can barely see? How are you supposed to change when you’re forced to rehash your life nightly by flashlight?
“That’s what you need to decide,” Rawe said. “The goal here is to prepare you for your future.”
“Some future,” I said. I thought of everything I’d done since I arrived. The only life this was going to prepare me for was one as a lumberjack.
A very poorly paid lumberjack.
“Come pray with me,” Rawe said.
“I can’t,” I said, instead of just saying no.
“You don’t have to be religious to pray,” she said.
“But you have to be good.” I paused, looking at the orange pinecones that covered the ground. “Deserving,” I continued, “and I’m not.” I was surprised I’d admitted it out loud. It was one thing to punch myself until I couldn’t breathe and keep everyone away like I had porcupine needles coming from my skin.
It was another thing to say it, especially when I couldn’t even write what that really meant yet.
“You’ll feel better,” she said.
It was tempting, but pretending to pray was probably not the best idea. I was already on a slippery slope with whatever was looking down on us.
Rawe was naïve enough to think I was someone who deserved a second chance.
But as I walked toward the pit toilet, I couldn’t help thinking that it didn’t matter where I was. I would still feel this.
I would still be me.
I will still have done what I had done.
22 Fucking Days to Go
After a day spent repainting the lines on the tennis courts without the boys, we are back in our cabin being forced to write about what we want to do when we leave here. Considering the day we had, which involved enough masking tape and white paint to turn the three of us to mummies, “painter” is definitely not on the list.
But honestly, until Rawe gave us the directive, adding that we needed to start planning our lives beyond this place, I really hadn’t considered it.
As much as I wanted to leave, I certainly didn’t want to think about what my life would be like when all the choices were mine. It was obvious I was pretty shitty when it came to making choices: look at everything that happened to me before I got here. Or, more specifically, everything I let happen to me.
Cue stomach punch.
Once I was done here, I would have to make real choices—life choices. Even though I hadn’t had a chance to experience much of it, I had graduated from high school. I was “out on my own,” or would be once I was allowed to leave here. Would I move back in with my parents like my brother had? Would I even be allowed to? It’s not like college was ever a choice for me. Community college maybe, but not anywhere with kids like the ones who used to go to this camp.
I stared at the flypaper on the ceiling and the names carved under the shelf above my bed, people who’d written they “wuz here” and the year. My guess was none of them ever had to wonder whether it would only be them and their duffel bag when they left this place, waiting at the bus station or airport for someone to pick them up and having no idea if anyone would.
That sucked to think about, so instead I started counting the flies stuck like dead raisins to the flypaper, which looked like sickly stained glass when I aimed my flashlight at it. Maybe I couldn’t think about what I wanted to do when I left here until I thought about where I was supposed to be instead of here—where I was supposed to be with Lila and Amy instead of here.
Fuck Rawe for opening that can of worm crap.
It had all been set until three weeks before prom. As usual we had spent the night at Lila’s and as usual when I woke up bleary eyed on Lila’s floor, Amy’s sleeping bag was empty. It didn’t matter how early in the morning it was or what time of year it was, she was always out on Lila’s fire escape.
Sometimes I would go out there with her and have a cigarette and we would sit together without talking, just sharing inhales and exhales, breathing in a rhythm until Lila woke up. I would watch the sun rise around Amy’s head while I wondered what she was thinking about. While I wondered if she was wondering what I thought about. While I wondered why sitting with her like this and not saying anything made me feel so calm. I figured it was partly because for once I didn’t have to talk.
The morning everything went to shit, I woke up to find Amy’s sleeping bag empty as usual. She was out on the fire escape, thinking about the things she thought about.
I was ready to go out there and join her when I saw she wasn’t alone. She was talking, whispering with Lila. They were both still in their pajamas, and Lila had a comforter wrapped around her. The sun was coming up, big and bright, turning them into silhouettes. The window was open. I lifted my head slightly and tried to hear them.
“We’ll be okay,” Lila said. “It will be okay.”
It was the first time I think I’d ever heard Lila try to comfort anyone.
Even though I was straining to listen, I stayed low to the ground and pretended to be asleep. What were they talking about? Were they talking about me? I’m not sure why I thought that—it’s not like when Amy and I were out there we talked about Lila nonstop—but I guess I always thought they were talking about me, that lingering feeling when I entered Lila’s room after they had both been together for hours, when I would find them having just said something and stopping.
“But what will you do without me next year?” Amy asked.
“What will you do without me?” Lila mimicked. I couldn’t help thinking about Amy’s stupid pet parrot. Lila was repeating her words the same way, empty of meaning.
What the hell? Last I’d heard we were going away together, the three of us. Traveling the country, driving in my car to wherever we felt like.
“But I don’t want to go,” Amy said. “Not without you guys.”
I got up and crawled out onto the balcony.
“What are you bitches talking about?” I asked, like I couldn’t care either way.
“Good morning to you, too,” Lila said.
I looked at Amy. She looked down.
“What the fuck?” I asked, unable to hide that I did care.
“Amy’s leaving us,” Lila said, letting the words settle.
“I didn’t say that,” Amy said.
“Don’t be stupid,” Lila said. “You’re going.”
“Where?” I asked, looking at Amy. “Where are you going?”
“College,” Amy said, in the voice she had that always sounded like someone had turned the volume down on just her. It was the voice she used with us a lot. “My mom sent in my acceptance for me, but I didn’t say I was going to go.”
“So you’re not coming with us?” I asked, still trying to act like I didn’t care, like I wasn’t pissed, but really I felt like when s
omething gets taken that you don’t know you’ll miss until it’s gone.
“I’m not going to decide anything today,” Amy said, her voice trembling, tears filling her eyes. “I still have time.”
“Don’t worry,” Lila said. “Cassie and me still have each other.”
“Lucky us,” I said, even though my head felt like a cavern being whipped through with wind. Aside from my brother, Amy and Lila were all I had.
“At least you won’t have to sit in the backseat of Cassie’s turdmobile for three thousand miles,” Lila said.
“Yeah, there’s that, I guess,” Amy said, turning to me and wiping her face. “Cassie, you okay?”
It was only then I realized I was shaking. “Yeah, I’m fucking fine.” I pulled out a cigarette. “Just having a nic fit,” I said, barely able to light it.
“I’m okay, too,” Lila said. “Thanks for asking.”
“Sorry, Cassie just seemed upset,” Amy said, but I could see she immediately regretted it. I didn’t get upset.
I didn’t do getting upset.
“One of us is crying like a little bitch and two of us are not. Who’s upset?”
“Sorry,” Amy said again.
“You will be if you keep whining like your diaper is too tight,” I said, finally getting my cigarette lit. I looked at Lila, wondering how many miles we would be able to drive without killing each other. Without Amy to balance us out, I doubted we’d make it past the state line.
I don’t know if Amy ended up deciding to go to college, but Lila left town before we were even sentenced—took off on both of us before Amy even could. I wonder now, if I had been honest that day, not covered up my feelings with angry words, whether Lila wouldn’t have left me, too.
Whether Amy wouldn’t have ratted me out to the cops.
But I know eventually everything goes to shit.
Eventually everything falls apart.
What happened on prom night and after is more than evidence of that.
21 Fucking Days to Go
Today was hiking again. Hiking was important because apparently we were going to do a lot of it when we stopped training.
If we ever stop training.
I’m still not sure what we were training for. Not like we could ask, but Rawe never told us. Maybe she knew we wouldn’t train very hard if she did.
Our hike started early—butt crack of dawn early. I never truly understood what that meant until I got here. The never-ending horizon of the wilderness was the butt crack of a giant, the sun peeking through like a wink from one of his big white cheeks. We had a long, tiring day ahead of us. That would have been bad enough, more than bad enough, but of course, the boys were waiting at attention for us at the trailhead. They stood in a line: Nerone, the guys next to him in order of height. Ben was in the middle, grinning at me like someone behind him was pulling back his skin.
“Claire, what’s with the smile?” Rawe asked.
“Just ready to hike with my fellow hikers,” Ben said.
“You look deranged,” I said.
“You look like you’d be into deranged.” He smirked, daring me.
“No more talking,” Nerone yelled.
I smirked back, thinking Ben was lucky that Nerone had told us to be quiet. Not that I had any idea how to respond. I was into deranged.
Nez was clearly drooling. She was like a vampire, but instead of blood she craved boys, needed them in the same sick, singular way. If she wasn’t starting to piss me off so much, I might have actually felt bad for her.
“I hope Ben can still walk after the other night,” Nez said.
Well, actually, probably not.
“Move out,” Nerone said, leading the way.
We walked boy, girl, boy, girl, Nerone’s square head the front of the gangly brown animal we made and Rawe’s tight braid like our tail all the way in the back. Nez made a big deal about wanting to walk behind Andre so she could stare at his ass.
Whatever. It was fine if she wanted to drool all over Andre, because I didn’t have to fight with her about walking behind Ben. I would have to try to ignore his ass, because I wanted some cigarettes.
I needed some cigarettes.
I didn’t say anything at first. I guess I was still trying to figure out if Ben had really been with Nez. Watching him march in front of me and play air drums against the sunrise, it didn’t seem possible. Watching his arms, as thick and strong as the branches on the trees around us, it was hard to believe. Sure, Nez said they did, but it’s not like I trusted her.
I watched her walking behind Andre. She moved like a boa constrictor, surveying Andre’s ass like it was prey. She would probably swallow it whole if she could. She would probably grab him from behind and throw him into the ferns that grew waist-high on the sides of the trail.
I listened to the crunch of sticks and shuffle of leaves below me. The birds in the trees above me were singing bird songs to each other and talking their bird way of talking. I couldn’t help thinking about Amy and that stupid parrot she had.
I was in her pink bedroom only once. Apparently her mother hated me, hated me so much that I wasn’t allowed back after I was invited to Amy’s house once for a dinner that her mother hadn’t even bothered to cook. I can remember that bird squawking and talking the whole time we were in Amy’s room. It repeated the things Amy said, the things I said—as annoyingly as a little brother mimicking you—and the cage made her whole room smell like bird ass.
I remember saying, “How can you fucking think with that thing in here?”
And she said, “I can’t; that’s the point,” her face sad.
I didn’t understand it then. Thought it was another of her weird Amy-isms. But I totally got it now. I would keep anything near me if it were loud enough to make me not think, even if it shit on my shoulder sometimes.
Even if it made me smell like bird ass.
I looked up. A flock of them flew from one tree to another. They moved again to the next tree and the next, like they were following us as we hiked.
I looked at Ben still walking in front of me. It was now or never. Well, it was now or two miles from now.
“What’s with those birds?” I asked—not that I really cared, but I needed to say something to him.
“We’re scaring them, so they keep moving,” he said.
“Why should they be scared when we’re way down here?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Cassie,” he said. “Why are you scared?”
I felt my legs stop. My chest go cold. What the hell was this? “I’m not,” I said, forcing myself to walk again. “I’m not scared of anything,” I lied.
“Okay, whatever.” Ben didn’t turn to look at me, but I could hear a smile in his voice.
Was this what Aaron had done to me? Could boys now sense that I would cringe at their touch? At even the thought of their touch?
Fuck.
“Did you and Nez have a good time?” I asked, trying to show how not scared I was. I figured I should get that out of the way before I asked about the cigarettes. I guess I also thought he would be more likely to give me one if I brought up his beautiful Nez first.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“N-nothing,” I sputtered. “Nez said—”
As if she knew we were talking about her, she started skipping down the trail, like there were fucking gumdrops and lollipops on either side of her.
“Nez is fun,” Ben said. I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Spare me,” I said.
“What?” He shrugged. “She doesn’t let things get to her.”
“That’s because there’s always a boy on top of her. ‘Things’ can’t get through,” I said.
“I thought you didn’t want to talk.” He spoke with his back to me. His hair moved up and down like a mustache when he talked. “Or maybe you really do,” he cooed.
I considered launching him into a blackberry briar but looked behind me instead. Leisner was there, his feet pounding
the trail like two sledgehammers, his curly blond hair as puberific as ever. He wagged his tongue out like he was trying to make his beard grow by adding saliva.
“You wish,” I said.
“I think Ben wishes,” Leisner guffawed.
“Tell it to Nez,” I said.
“Oh, I will,” he said, his tongue still hanging out of his mouth. I looked up, wishing that one of those birds following us would take a crap right then.
I guess Nez’s reputation was getting around. “Have fun getting herpes,” I said.
Behind Leisner, Troyer was making a gun out of her hand and shooting him repeatedly in the head with it. I smiled at her. She smiled back and pretended to blow on the hot gun barrel before sticking it in her pocket. She didn’t even talk and she was probably the most entertaining person here. Well, besides me, of course.
Eagan hiked behind her, his braces shining in the sun and probably catching gnats like the grill of a car on a road trip. I could hear him talking about how many poisonous species of plants existed on this hiking trail, then pointing out each one by its scientific name. I was surprised Troyer wasn’t pretending to shoot herself. I was surprised Rawe wasn’t telling him to zip it and making him do pushups with his mouth open on top of those poisonous plants, but maybe she was glad someone was doing something other than talking about boys and bitching.
I turned back to Ben. I was so tired and I so wanted a cigarette. Maybe that was the thing I could use to not make me think, like Amy and her stupid, smelly bird. Maybe I could smoke a ton of cigarettes and suffocate myself into oblivion, feel the feeling of holding my breath for so long that the area in between my ears whirs like a blender, spins up my brain like one. It was either that or suffocate myself in the pit toilet.
“Hey,” I whispered. “I hear you got smokes.”
“Who told you that, Cassie?” Ben asked, adding my name to piss me off.
I ignored it. He was going to make me ask, make me beg. Maybe I deserved that, but it wasn’t like he knew it. For all he knew I was just some girl who didn’t like being called Cassie.
Dear Cassie Page 7
