Cat Bennet, Queen of Nothing

by Mary Strand

  But I wouldn’t make it anywhere with a hot-pink Jeep.

  I groaned as I pried the lid off the can of black paint and a splotch of it landed on my boot. I had sneakers and even flip-flops in my duffle, but it was February, and I was pretty much stuck with these boots. At least they were black to start with. Maybe no one would notice.

  Shrugging, I poured some paint into the roller pan, then dipped the roller in the paint. I frowned when I realized I couldn’t get a decent grip on the roller handle with my gloves on. I set the roller back in the pan, then pulled off one glove. Brrr. I was already cold, and now I’d have popsicles for fingers. If I didn’t paint the damn Jeep in record time, I’d never use these fingers again.

  After running the roller up and down the slanted part of the pan, I opened the driver’s door and stood on the ledge, paint dripping onto my jeans and the snow below me. Crap. I should’ve checked to see if this stuff was washable, and I had a feeling it wasn’t. Chewing my lip, I held the roller as far away as I could, gripped the edge of the roof with my free hand, and started rolling black paint across the roof of the Jeep.

  Amazingly, it covered the hot pink in one coat. Unfortunately, it covered me almost as easily.

  I finished half the roof, then moved to the passenger door and covered the other half. The whole thing was taking longer than I’d hoped, but no cars had come down this road and no helicopters buzzed overhead.

  I used the little brush around the windows but otherwise cruised along as fast as I could with the roller. Finally, I finished. I nailed the top half of one of the headlights with black paint, and drips of black paint splattered the side mirrors and patches of windows, but the windshield was miraculously clear and I had a black Jeep.

  I was ready to roll. I just didn’t know where.

  Frowning, I poured the last of the paint from the roller pan back into the can, wedged the lid back on, and wrapped the roller and brush in the cloth. After shoving them all in the far back corner of the Jeep, I hopped behind the wheel and peered out through the windshield. I’d covered the hot pink, but the Jeep looked like hell. Sighing, I turned the key in the ignition.

  When I made my way back to Highway 94, I turned right, heading east. My stomach started growling as I passed Eau Claire an hour later, but a bad feeling still gnawed at the pit of my stomach, so I kept my foot on the accelerator as I reached for a bagel and a bottle of water. The bagel tasted like cardboard, but maybe anything would taste like cardboard until I had a plan and a destination.

  Highway 94 curled south after Eau Claire, but I’d have to drive south a long time before I got out of the ice and snow. I finally stopped in Black River Falls when the gas needle pointed at empty. I didn’t have a credit card, and I wouldn’t have used it if I did, since that was the first thing they always checked on crime shows. So I paid inside, my hand shaking as I handed over the cash, but the clerk barely looked at me, let alone at the hideous black paint on the Jeep.

  Back in the Jeep, with a full tank of gas and a bag of cherry licorice for lunch, I headed back to 94. I admit it: part of me wanted to go back home. I was already exhausted from my so-called adventure, covered in black paint, and didn’t have a clue what to do. I was escaping, but where?

  And maybe more to the point, why?

  Shaking my head, I headed south. I hoped I figured out what to do by the time I reached the Gulf of Mexico.

  Forty-five minutes later, I felt myself nodding off. As I debated whether I should pull off the road and take a nap, I noticed a sign for Wisconsin Dells. And blinked.

  Wisconsin Dells. The beginning of Lydia’s big adventure last summer, which had set off a chain of events that ended yesterday in the loss of all my friends and my utter humiliation.

  But I bet Lydia wouldn’t look at it quite that way.

  I’d wanted to go to Wisconsin Dells so badly last summer, I could still taste the bitterness in my mouth the day Lydia left. It should’ve been my adventure. And I wouldn’t have ended up pole dancing and doing God knows what in a strip bar, followed by a quick trip to the nearest jail. I tried not to think of all the YouTube videos starring Lydia.

  I zipped past a sign for a waterpark in the Dells. Lydia had worked with the circus—for two days, until she flashed her boobs at the owner of the circus just as his wife walked in—and the circus must be long gone by now, but maybe I could work at an indoor waterpark.

  As another waterpark sign appeared, I nodded. The first exit for the Dells was in ten miles, and I didn’t have a better plan. Besides, I’d rather have an adventure.

  It was my turn.

  Chapter 16

  “Kitty . . .[is] young in the ways of the world, and not yet open to the mortifying conviction that handsome young men must have something to live on, as well as the plain.”

  — Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume II, Chapter Three

  Finding a waterpark—or ten—was easy. Filling out a job application turned out to be harder than I expected.

  I realized thirty seconds into it that I couldn’t list my job at Nickelodeon Universe as experience. I’d barely worked there two weeks, and I was currently AWOL. I also couldn’t list any of my parents’ friends or my teachers as references, which left me with nothing except my stint at McDonald’s last summer. Bleah. This running-away-from-home thing really took a toll on a girl’s ability to get a job. I should’ve taken that into consideration when I made my escape plan.

  If I’d made one.

  Crap. Address and phone. I couldn’t list my home address, obviously, and didn’t have a place in Wisconsin Dells. Could I list a cheapo motel as my address? Would it totally kill any chance of getting a job? I had my cell phone, so I could use it until Dad got so pissed that he had it turned off, but Mom and Dad might already be checking with the phone company to see if I’d made calls from my cell phone.

  I’d face that problem when I got there. First, someone had to offer me a job, and they couldn’t if I didn’t fill out any job applications.

  I bent over the counter and got to work.

  I repeated the process at five other waterparks, since no one offered me a job on the spot and I didn’t have anything better to do. My experience and references got more creative with each job application. By the last one, I could’ve applied for a job as Attorney General. Of the United States.

  By seven o’clock, I was hungry and tired and starting to think high school was an easier gig than I’d realized. Even when Ms. Mickel gave me grief about my stupid last name and all my sisters’ names. Even when Ms. Gonzalez made us do death marches in bitter cold and Mr. Dillingsworth droned on about stupid dead men in U.S. history. Especially when Mr. Reiman told me I was good at portraits.

  If I hadn’t run away, I could be drawing a portrait right now. Of Tess with a fat lip and broken nose.

  I pulled into the parking lot of a Motel 6, the cheapest place I could find when it was pitch black outside and I was beyond exhausted. I paid for one night’s stay in cash, knowing I couldn’t afford more than another three or four nights, tops. What I’d do after that, I had no idea.

  I lugged my duffle and backpack into my room, which was tiny and spare but cleaner than my room at home. I sighed, missing home. Not necessarily missing anyone living in my home, but I missed home and Woodbury and school and the friends I used to have. A million years ago.

  I grabbed a bagel and an orange and twisted off the cap on a bottle of water. The bagel still tasted like sawdust, which I was starting to think had more to do with the quality of the food in our fridge at home than the acidity of my stomach, but the orange counterbalanced it. Somewhat.

  I fell asleep, still fully clothed, after two bites of the bagel and halfway through the orange.

  At least this trip might make me lose weight.

  I woke up in a room I didn’t recognize, on top of a comforter that was probably disgusting under a microscope—or even without one—but hearing a sound I knew well, especially after hearing it so often yesterday.
<
br />   My cell phone.

  I could’ve sworn I shut off the ringer after the tenth time Mom, Dad, or one of my sisters called. Oh, right. I turned it back on after handing in my second job application yesterday, figuring I’d never get a job if I didn’t answer my phone.

  I grabbed the phone, recognized the Wisconsin Dells area code, and flipped it open.

  “Hello?”

  I cringed at the sound of my croaking voice and coughed to try to clear it.

  A slight pause. “Is this Catherine? Catherine Bennet?”

  “Yeah. Cat. I go by Cat.”

  The guy on the other end of the line probably couldn’t care less, so I didn’t know why I said it. God, it was tough sounding halfway intelligent this early in the morning. I squinted at the clock on the bedside table. Oops. Nearly ten. I’d slept that long?

  “I’m calling from the waterpark. You applied for a job?”

  Which waterpark? Was I supposed to ask, or would that make me look stupid, or like I’d applied at a million places yesterday? “Yes.”

  “Would you like to come in for an interview? Are you available at, say, noon today?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Great. Ask for Steve. I’ll see you then.”

  “Which—”

  I heard the phone click in my ear.

  Crap! Which waterpark? Now I’d never— Oh, wait. I looked at the number on my cell phone. I couldn’t call back right away, in case it was the guy’s direct line and he recognized my voice when I asked which waterpark he worked at and told me to forget about the interview. I hopped off the bed, curled up my nose at the half-eaten orange on top of the TV set, and headed to the bathroom for a hot shower.

  Half an hour later, I redialed the last number on my cell phone. The woman who answered said the name of the waterpark up front, so I didn’t have to ask. Whew! Hanging up, I glanced around the room, wondering what I could do for the next hour and a half. I went to the bathroom and tried scrubbing the black paint out of what I’d worn yesterday. No luck. If I got the job, would they give me an advance on my first paycheck?

  Ha. I already knew the answer to that one.

  So I had one pair of jeans, one sweater, and three shirts to get me through the next couple of weeks. If I was lucky. I also had a black-paint-covered outfit I might as well burn.

  I pulled my sketchpad and pencil out of my backpack and—

  Argh. I must’ve grabbed a blank sketchpad from my locker instead of the one I used in Drawing class. But I didn’t remember having another sketchpad. Oh, wait. This must be the one Megan “lent” me the second day of class, even though I could’ve sworn I gave it back to her. Even my memory was gone! Rolling my eyes, I started drawing pictures of the clothes I wish I had with me. Funny. It didn’t console me one bit.

  “You graduated from high school in December. Even though you won’t be seventeen until next month.”

  I nodded, trying to look calm and brave and brainy enough to have done all the things I claimed on my application. This waterpark had been the fifth place I’d applied yesterday, and I couldn’t even remember all the whoppers I’d written on the application by that point.

  Steve frowned at my application, his nose scrunched in disbelief, which made me wonder why he bothered to ask me in for a job interview. He must be desperate. I smiled brightly at him, counting on it.

  “You’re from Woodbury, Minnesota, but you’ve lived in New York, Arizona, Florida, Montana, and . . . Paris?”

  My smile got tighter, but I nodded. I’d been so intent on potential employers not focusing on Woodbury when I filled out the application, I started listing every place I could think of, hoping it’d be confusing enough to avoid questions. We’d seen the first three states on vacation, so it was almost as if I’d lived there—for a week—and Montana was my salute to Lydia. And I’d always wanted to go to Paris. I hoped Steve didn’t know any French. I could barely manage oui.

  Steve finally looked up from my application. “What brings you to Wisconsin Dells?”

  Other than a horrendously painted black Jeep? “My family spent time here when I was a kid, and I always liked it.”

  “You going to college?”

  “Not yet.” And not likely. I coughed into my hand to choke off the bubble of laughter that threatened. “I don’t want to start before this fall, at least, and I thought it’d be a good idea to get some work experience.”

  Not to mention money. Money would be good.

  Steve frowned. “Seems like you have a lot of job experience already. McDonald’s, lifeguarding, animal shelter, even Minnesota Monthly. How did you manage all that and graduate early from high school, too?”

  Easy. I listed every job my sisters and I had collectively ever held. “I like to keep busy. And I didn’t play sports, so I had plenty of time.”

  “But you swim, obviously. You worked as a lifeguard.”

  I gulped as the lies spun in the air, growing bigger and bigger like a gigantic water balloon about to crash all over my head. Liz had been a lifeguard. Liz could swim. I wasn’t sure I could without drowning.

  But the water in a waterpark is pretty shallow, isn’t it?

  I met Steve’s gaze head-on. I wanted this job. I needed it. “Sure. I mean, I swim a lot. What I meant was that I didn’t play sports on a team. Doing that is like a full-time job, and I’d rather make money.”

  Starting today.

  Steve’s lips twisted slightly, like he totally saw through my lies but thought the whole thing was funny. Or maybe I’d been right in the first place. He was desperate.

  “How soon can you start?”

  “Um, today?”

  An hour later, I was wearing a swimsuit and shorts supplied by the waterpark, had a whistle around my neck, and had just finished a quick tour of the waterpark. We rotated positions every half hour, and only a couple of places involved deep water, but none of it over my head. As far as I could tell.

  First station: a chair overlooking the lazy river. Easy. The water was only about three feet deep, max, and right now almost no one was in the lazy river. I leaned back on my chair and decided I’d done pretty well. Mom and Dad might even be proud of me—I mean, this was the first job I’d scored without Dad’s help, as it turned out—but I had a feeling they wouldn’t put a gold sticker on my forehead.

  If they found me.

  My first payday was Friday, luckily, since they paid employees every two weeks. If I didn’t eat much, I could swing three more nights at the Motel 6. Of course, I’d get only a few days’ pay on Friday. Not enough for an apartment, which would be a lot cheaper in the long run than the Motel 6. And a lot more comfortable than sleeping under a bridge.

  I was so busy thinking about my sleeping arrangements that I barely heard all the whistles until they started screeching right in my ear.

  “Cat? Cat Bennet!” The shouting was right in my ear, too. “What are you doing? That little girl nearly drowned. She was screaming. Her whole family was screaming!”

  My head whipped around in every direction, but the only excited person I saw was Steve, his eyes practically popping out of his head as he kept screaming at me.

  “What girl? I didn’t see a girl!”

  I’d learned denial from Lydia, the queen of it. Not that it was foolproof, as Lydia learned all too well last summer.

  Steve’s arms were doing windmills in the air. “We pulled her out first. What the hell were you doing, daydreaming? This is a job!”

  I flinched, feeling the sting of the near-drowning, Steve’s words, and his spit on my face like one big slap.

  I started shaking. “I-I wasn’t daydreaming. I was looking the other direction.”

  And I had been looking there—while I daydreamed—since a bunch of hot young college-age guys were a lot more interesting than a family led by a fat old grandma whose wrinkled boobs sagged out the sides of her swimsuit.

  Steve’s nostrils flared wide. Not pretty. But losing my job within a half hour wouldn’t be pretty
, either. I kept a straight face and looked earnestly at Steve. I was prepared to drop to my knees and beg if I had to, but I was hoping my bare knees wouldn’t hit the tile floor.

  He finally shook his head. “Since I didn’t actually see it, I’ll let it go this time. But we don’t let our customers drown, Cat. No more screw-ups, okay?”

  I nodded.

  Steve glanced at his watch as another lifeguard came up to us. “Time to switch positions anyway.”

  He walked away without another look at me. I nodded at my replacement, then glanced at the schedule in my pocket and moved to my new location.

  But I never did stop shaking.

  I made it through my whole six-hour shift on Tuesday, and again on Wednesday, without anyone drowning.

  My family stopped calling my cell phone after Monday, which I told myself was good, but I knew it wasn’t. I mean, it wasn’t like they’d throw a party and rent out my room. They’d look for me, wouldn’t they?

  I drove around for an hour after work Wednesday searching for a place to stay, but no luck. It wasn’t the summer season, obviously, and Wisconsin Dells is a summer resort town, so you’d think it’d be easy. The only places I could afford, though, were spare rooms in people’s houses. The guys who rented them out gave me the creeps, and the older women I met all seemed to look right through me and shook their heads.

  Lying on my bed at the Motel 6, I slapped my forehead. I should ask my coworkers if they needed a roommate. Someone would want me, wouldn’t they? I hadn’t actually let anyone drown yet, after all, and no one at the waterpark knew I had a sister in reform school for pole dancing.

  I grabbed my sketchpad and pencil off the bedside table, leaned against the headboard, and closed my eyes, trying to picture some of my coworkers. The guy with the tattoos all over his body. The girl with a huge hairy mole on her chin but a body so hot that the guys hung all over her anyway. The older woman at the ice cream stand. Steve.