My Name Is Rowan: The Complete Rowan Slone Trilogy

by Tracy Hewitt Meyer

  I shrugged and rubbed my arm. “No. Mom is asleep.” I held my breath. “Want me to make you something?” I asked quickly.

  He stared at me, his eyes hard. Not bothering to answer, he walked through the door. “Amy! Get out of that bed!”

  The screen door slammed shut behind him, but the thud of Dad’s booted steps reverberated across the yard.

  “Amy!”

  I cringed at the sound of Dad’s heavy fists beating against the bedroom door. I pulled out my cell phone, a hand-me-down from my dad when I started driving and took over all the household errands.

  I looked at the yard with its bare patches and long stretches of shadow; at the world around me with its steep mountains, constructing a landscape that was beautiful, intimidating and mysterious. The sun was setting behind the largest mountain, casting pastel streaks across the sky. A hawk soared high overhead, its colors indistinguishable in the fading light.

  The house quieted and the only thing I heard through the screen door was the sound of dinner being prepared–cupboards opening and closing, silverware and plates being set. Then a car pulled in. Someone was dropping off my sister. I’d forgotten to pick her up.

  My heart stopped. Please don’t let Dad see that someone else had to bring her home. He didn’t come out of the door, though.

  But that thought was quickly forgotten when I saw who was behind the wheel. Mike Anderson. Why was he bringing her home?

  Trina threw open the car door and jumped out. She flashed me a smile that was a little too big, a little too pleased. “Bye, Mike! Thanks for the ride!”

  She slammed the door and did a little skip in her cheerleader’s uniform, the skirt barely covering her butt and the top so short her stomach was exposed. “Hi, Rowan.” Her voice was full of sugar. “Have a nice day at work?”

  Levi growled as she bounced up the stairs, her long blond hair swishing against her back. Mike’s car stayed in our driveway long after the door slammed behind my sister, but I couldn’t look up.

  Why was he giving Trina a ride? Was it only because I had forgotten to get her? Would that put the smirk on her face?

  There was nothing between Mike and me. There never had been. We’d known each other for years and you could say we were friends, casual friends. Acquaintances. But for me, seeing Trina get out of his car caused bile to rise in my throat.

  Gritting my teeth, I flipped opened the phone and searched my contacts until I found Dan’s cell number.

  I took my time typing out the text:

  Maybe we should go out. I’ll be 18 in 3 weeks. We can go out then.

  Happy birthday to me.

  MY ALARM went off at five forty the next morning. If I didn’t get into the shower before Trina, who took an hour and a half to wash, primp and do what God only knows, I’d have to wait until night. And today I had other plans after work. Namely, a library date with Mike.

  But thinking of that meeting didn’t bring the same wobbly knees it did yesterday. Now each time I thought about him, his image was replaced with Trina’s smug face as she tumbled out of his car. Not very pleasant. No, not very pleasant at all.

  Still, I went into the bathroom, shut the door without a sound and turned on the water. Soon the mirror clouded and fog swirled toward the overhead light. I stepped into the shower and let the scalding water burn red streaks onto my skin.

  I washed my hair, face, then my body, keeping the strokes light over the scars on my left arm, a habit I’d developed when I used to cut myself. But I hadn’t done that in a few years. Three, to be exact.

  The first time I did it, I had just turned eleven. My baby brother had been dead a month and Mom and Dad had gotten into another earsplitting fight. Who knew what it was over that time? The only solace I had found, as I huddled on the bathroom floor, was the old razor from Dad’s toiletry kit.

  But I didn’t cut anymore.

  I turned off the water and got out of the shower. Wiping a circular clearing in the foggy mirror, I studied my reflection. Water streamed out of my long, light brown hair and over my thin shoulders. My eyes were an indeterminate mix of blue and gray; like a stormy sea, my Gran always said.

  My skin was pale and my cheekbones prominent. I had a small frame, petite as Gran called it, with my collarbones protruding sharply and my ribs easily identified. But there was beauty there, if I was honest with myself. Would Mike see it? Or would he just see a mousy little girl who was a better writer than him and the road to a higher grade?

  Did he really like my sister or was she just taunting me? But then, why did he bring her home?

  Trina pounded on the door, not loud enough to wake up Dad, but loud enough to tell me my time was over.

  “Hurry up!” she hissed.

  I looked back into the mirror. Dark circles were nestled under my gray eyes. I ran the faucet until the water was frigid and splashed it on my face.

  “Hurry up!” Trina spat again.

  I combed my hair with more strokes than needed, pulled on a robe, hung up the towel and finally opened the door as slowly as I could. Trina pushed past without a word and shoved the bathroom door shut, narrowly missing catching my hair.

  “Good morning, Rowan.” It was my mom, awake, her voice wheezy and tired. She was sitting in the kitchen.

  “Mom?” I squinted to make sure it was really her and not an illusion. “Um, I’ll be there in a minute.” I went into my room and pulled out a pair of faded jeans, grabbed one of my many long-sleeved T-shirts and a blue hoodie that had the word Army across the back in large, white letters. That was my staple wardrobe and I never, ever changed it. Even when the weather was ninety degrees and so humid you could melt like butter. I grabbed my backpack and headed toward the kitchen.

  Mom sat at the small, round table with a cup of coffee untouched in front of her. There was a bruise along the right side of her face, barely noticeable with the way she wore her hair–pulled around her features like she was peering through a curtain.

  “How’d you sleep, darling?”

  “Fine. You?” I poured a glass of orange juice and put a piece of bread in the toaster. Every few seconds I glanced at her, but she just stared into the coffee cup and didn’t answer my question.

  “What’s new with school?”

  I popped the bread out of the toaster, trying to remember the last time we’d talked about school. That was probably when I was in the fifth grade–the second time I was in the fifth grade. Did she want me to go all the way back to the sixth grade and catch her up? I shook my head. “Nothing.” I spread butter then jelly on the toast.

  She laughed, a forced, lifeless sound. I winced as she continued, “I remember I used to say the same thing to Gran when she asked me that question.”

  Oblivious to my narrowed stare, she talked on. “Every morning she would ask, Darling, what’s new with school? And I always answered like you just did. Nothing, Mom. Nothing at all. Teenagers are all alike. So little to say. So little to share.”

  How much sugar had she already eaten? Mom had what could be considered the worst diet in the world. She would devour huge amounts of food, mostly junk, then go and lay in bed all day. Her doctors warned her. So did I. And Gran. She didn’t listen.

  “But I always loved to talk to Grandma late at night, after she’d already gone to bed.” She cupped the coffee mug between her hands. “I’d go in and wake her up to talk about boys…and friends…and boys. Mostly about your dad.” Her laugh sounded nervous, forced.

  She caught me watching her and turned toward the window, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

  “Gotta go, Mom.” I kissed the top of her head, her hair leaving an oily residue on my lips. She needed a shower.

  “You okay, Mom?” I threw the half-eaten toast in the trash.

  “I’m fine. Fine.” She chewed on her stubby fingernail.

  “It’s going to be a nice day. Good day for a walk.”

  Mom was just an inch taller than me. But she had to outweigh me by at least one hundred pounds. M
aybe more. Likely more.

  She finally put the cup to her lips and didn’t bother to answer.

  “Tell Trina I’ll wait outside.” I darted out the door.

  It was thirty more minutes before Trina was ready, all perfumed, teased and puffed to perfection. She didn’t speak to me as I left Levi’s side and met her at the car. We were going to be late again. Another tardy slip for the Slone girls.

  THERE WAS one parking space left in the school’s lot and it happened to be beside Mike Anderson’s blue sedan. He was late too, it seemed. He watched us pull into the empty space and for one brief moment our eyes met. I slammed on the brakes before I hit the car parked in front me.

  “Easy, Ro,” snapped Trina.

  I shoved the car into park.

  “Oh, there’s Mike! I’m sure he’ll want to walk me to class.” She jumped out.

  With teeth clenched, I stuck my head into my backpack, searching for a key I actually held in my hand. I opened my palm and let it fall in between my notebooks. It took longer than necessary to find it, but watching Trina flirt with Mike was not a show I wanted to see. And the thought of hopping out of my car and being pulled into their conversation made me want to lose the orange juice I’d had as breakfast.

  “Dammit, where are those keys?” I grasped the metal key ring then let it fall again.

  “Walk me to class?” I heard Trina say. I envisioned her twirling a strand of hair around her finger and popping grape bubble gum. She probably did no such thing, but it matched the tone of her voice somehow.

  “Um, sure. I guess.” He sounded hesitant. Or was that wishful thinking? It took all of my restraint not to look at the expression on his face.

  I stayed bent over my backpack long past the shrill clang of the tardy bell. Then I jumped out of the car, yanking at my backpack. But it was stuck on the emergency brake. I yanked harder and the side split open. Textbooks and notebooks spilled out.

  “Dammit.” I fell to my knees and started shoving them back inside.

  “Hey. If we’re going to be biology partners, you might need to be a little more organized.”

  “What?” I glanced over my shoulder. Mike stood behind me, his face lost in the bright sunshine. “Oh, right.” I forced a chuckle, ignoring the skip of my heartbeat. “I’ll work on that.”

  He gathered a few of my papers, holding them as I tried to fit everything back inside the bag. I jerked the zipper shut and took the papers from him. “Thanks.” I stood, shielding my eyes with my hand.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I gotta go.” I swung the pack over my shoulder. “I’m late.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

  “What happened to Trina?” There was more edge to my tone than I intended. “I mean, I thought you walked in with my sister. Did you forget something in your car?” I waved to my side. “Need to talk about tonight?”

  He slipped a hand in his jeans’ pocket. “Nah. I just saw that you were still out here so I wanted to come and see if you needed any help.”

  Maybe he didn’t like Trina? Please let him not like Trina.

  “Oh, thanks.” I started toward the school and he fell in step beside me. “Um,” I started, “does seven still work for tonight?”

  Please say yes. Please say yes.

  “Yep.”

  I bit my lip.

  “Hey, I have soccer practice until six. Wanna grab a bite to eat and then go to the library?”

  Grab a bite to eat? With him? I wasn’t one to squeal but if there was a squeal moment this would be it.

  “Yeah. That would be cool.”

  Was it okay to say ‘cool’?

  “Great.” He didn’t seem to notice. “Let’s meet at Mario’s at six thirty. I’ll be all sweaty after practice and that’ll give me time to shower.”

  “Sounds perfect.” In fact, nothing had ever sounded so perfect.

  We passed through the main doors and Mike stopped at his locker. “I’ll see you in class later.”

  “Okay. Bye.” I walked away, but after a few short strides, every single muscle in my body froze up. Was he watching me? Something told me he was.

  Please let my feet walk in a straight line. Please.

  “HI, MISS J.”

  “Sit down, please, Rowan.” Tanya Johnson, my guidance counselor, pointed to a chair across from her wooden desk. She rustled through some papers, shuffled a few into a small, neat pile and handed them to me.

  “What’s this?”

  “College information.”

  “For which one?” I flipped through them without looking up.

  “For two. A community college and a state school. You’ll have an easier time getting financial assistance.”

  “What are my chances?”

  “Your chances are good.” Her round, coffee-colored eyes were wide and watching.

  “My grades are good.” The fact that I had to repeat the fifth grade shouldn’t even show up on my records.

  Miss J. stared at me, unblinking, and I hated that. So, I looked around the room. The bookshelf to my right was full of school-related items: ACT, SAT, GRE, teenage pregnancy, how to spot abuse–substance and physical, eating disorders, girls who cut themselves.

  “They are good.” Miss J. nodded but didn’t avert her gaze.

  The book on teenage pregnancy showed a very young looking girl in a rocking chair. Her stomach protruded almost out to her knees and she was gazing down fondly, as if being a teen mom was the most ideal situation in the world.

  “Rowan?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Rowan, there’s something we need to talk about; something that I think can potentially disrupt your future more than anything else.”

  The muscles in my neck tightened.

  “I know what happened when you were ten was difficult to overcome but you did.”

  “Why are we talking about that?” I glared at her.

  She ignored me and continued, “You just need to make sure you keep up the grades and the attendance.” She left her chair and moved in front of the bookshelf, blocking my view of the pregnant teen.

  Her face drew level with mine. “Rowan, it wasn’t your fault.”

  I jumped up and walked to the window. “When can I apply? Can I get early admittance? Go early? Maybe next year and skip my senior year?”

  She leaned against the edge of the desk, her hips spreading wide, and crossed her feet at the ankles. “No. There won’t be early admittance. And it’s very important that you continue to make good grades; to show them how serious you are about furthering your education. You’re still tardy far too often.”

  The window blinds were gray from years of accumulated grime. I ran a fingernail over one plastic row and left a long, narrow scratch down the middle of the dust. Outside was the football field. In autumn, every Friday night the stands were packed with people eager to see our championship team play. Trina was down there last season, with all the other cheerleaders; wearing her tight uniform with her perky hair and annoying, flashy smile.

  “Rowan?”

  Miss J.’s lips were pursed and her head was cocked to the side as if waiting for me to bend to exactly what she wanted. What she wanted was for me to finish high school and go on to college. She wanted me to make good grades in college so I could apply to veterinary school, where I could be surrounded by more animals than people.

  But I wanted these things. She could never know how desperately I wanted them. That’s why I stayed up late into the night, exhausted, but studying five minutes more. Why I forced myself to get out of bed in the morning, despite another sleepless night, to get to school, if not on time, at least by second period. I couldn’t control the tardiness, though. Not when I had to wait for Trina. But getting an education was my way out. My only way out.

  I walked to the door. “Thanks, Miss J.” I yanked it open.

  “Rowan.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Look at me.”

  I did, through the corner of my eye.
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  “It wasn’t your fault. You never should’ve been left alone with an infant. You were only ten. It’s time to leave that to the past so that you can have a future.”

  “I’m fine. Just fine.” My heart threatened to stop working the way it did anytime the past was brought up. “I’m making the grades. Doing fine. Why are we talking about this?”

  She stepped toward me. “You carry the past with you like it’s a bag of heavy stones weighing you down. I can see the strain on your face every day. You have to move on or you won’t be able to have a future.”

  I slammed the door on my way out.

  THE REST of the day passed in a haze, the way it did anytime my baby brother’s death was brought up. I saw Mike in biology class, but the teacher had packed each moment from bell to bell with instructions on the report: how to choose an appropriate topic, how to effectively research that topic, how to write a paper within AP guidelines.

  On the way out, he flashed a smile. “See you tonight.”

  I prayed that seven o’clock would come quickly.

  BUT IT didn’t come quickly enough because I had to go to work. I hadn’t heard from Dan since I’d sent that text. Was I really going to consider dating him? My thirty-year-old boss? I’d only sent that text because I was upset.

  Maybe there would be a lot of customers today. With the weather getting warmer, maybe people would come out to buy a used car. That should keep him occupied and too busy to needle me about a date.

  As if God had answered my prayers, Dan was outside with someone when I pulled in. He and another man stood on opposite sides of a used red pickup truck, the staple vehicle for working men in this area.

  Dan waved, the sun shining off the bald spot on the top of his head.

  I went inside and starting cleaning up the used paper cups that Dan drank from but never threw away. Then I wiped the countertop and organized the papers that he’d strewn all over the place.

  Several minutes later, he and the customer strolled through the door.