My Name Is Rowan: The Complete Rowan Slone Trilogy

by Tracy Hewitt Meyer

  The face looking back at me in the mirror looked like a brown ghost. But the bruises weren’t visible, which to me meant goal achieved. The makeup was a little dark for my skin, but if I zipped up my hoodie all the way, no one would be able to see my neck.

  I shuffled through the rest of her makeup bag and found blush, which I applied to the apples of my cheeks. I powdered my face, adding a pasty finish then a heavy coat of pinkish red lipstick.

  Black eyeliner was next. I swiped it over my top and bottom lids, from one corner of my eye to the other. Then I put on several coats of black mascara. After running a comb through my hair, I teased, sprayed, teased and tousled it until I looked like the remake of an eighties rock star.

  If the reflection looking back at me resembled me at all, which it didn’t, I’d have cried for the little girl behind all that camouflage. But the person staring at me looked like Trina, if she had brown hair. I looked nothing like myself. And that was good. Maybe no one would recognize me at school.

  There was a spot of red on my teeth so I swiped my tongue over it. For the final touch, I grabbed the bottle of perfume that Trina wore every day, even on the weekends. I spritzed my wrists, held my breath against the onslaught of scent molecules invading my nostrils, and left the bathroom as quietly as I’d entered it.

  After filling Scout’s bowls, I changed her litter box and slid out the front door. The sun was on the rise and it was a warm spring morning. Levi bounded around the corner and I gave him a quick hug, checked his bowls and then kissed his head.

  “I’ll be back later, bud.”

  He studied me with large round eyes that seemed too reflective. I turned away. “I’ll be back soon,” I said again, and hurried to the car.

  I avoided the rearview mirror as I drove to school. There were two people I wanted to see and I hoped they would be at school early. I hadn’t even bothered to ask Trina if she was going. In fact, we hadn’t exchanged a single word in days.

  But when I pulled into the school parking lot, it wasn’t Mike or Miss J. that I saw. It was Christian, leaning against his car. He had a blue bandana tied around his head. On anyone else it would’ve looked silly. On Christian, though, it looked cool. I pulled the car in beside his and got out.

  “Trina–” he started, but stopped. “Rowan?” He pushed off his car. “I thought you were Trina. You look different.” He squinted until his eyes were narrow slits. “Are you okay? Where’s Trina?”

  I grabbed my backpack and hoisted it over my shoulder. “She’s at home, I guess. Don’t know. I left before she got up.”

  He studied my face.

  “Have you seen Mike today? Is he here yet?” I asked, agitated. There were four other cars there. I didn’t recognize Mike’s but sometimes he caught a ride with a friend. The lot would be full in about twenty minutes and I wanted to be inside before then.

  “I haven’t seen him.” Christian put his hand on my arm. “Rowan?”

  “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  I eased away from him. “I’m fine. Gotta go.”

  “Rowan.” I could sense, more than see, him reach for me again. But I didn’t linger. I darted toward the main door and slid into the school.

  The halls were quiet. The only sounds were the soft hum of the air conditioner, teachers writing on chalkboards, shuffling papers, stapling. The cleaning crew was moving their large garbage cans, full of cleaning supplies, toward the maintenance closet. The men and women that made up the cleaning crew were the only foreigners that lived in our area. They were Asian, though I wasn’t sure which country they were from. No one that I knew of had ever bothered to ask. Maybe I would one day.

  I eased down the hall with my eyes on the floor until I came to Miss J.’s office. She was at her desk, head bent over papers. In her hand she held a red pen and was marking up some document. I watched her through the glass in the door until she looked up. Her eyes widened when she saw me. After a pause, she waved me inside.

  “Rowan…Are you okay?”

  I slumped into the seat across from her. “Fine. Why?”

  “You look different, for one thing.”

  “Yeah. I thought it would be better to look like a clown than to look like I was on the losing end of a meet and greet with a pit bull.”

  She nodded, her eyes wide as she watched me. “Is your father back home?”

  “Nah. Haven’t seen him. Don’t know if he’ll ever come back.”

  “I’ve talked with a worker at Child Protective Services.”

  “About what?”

  “You and Trina.”

  I nodded.

  “You have a few different options. Different than what Trina has.”

  I nodded. I was almost eighteen. Trina was almost sixteen. I would be an adult soon, out on my own, even though I still had one more year of high school.

  “Yep. Lucky me.”

  “Have you thought about living on your own?”

  I shrugged again, already growing tired of this conversation. So I changed the topic. “I did get asked to the Prom.”

  “By whom?”

  I clamped my lips together and flipped my hand in the air.

  “Are you going to go?”

  Would Mike even still want to take me?

  Miss J. was quiet for several moments, opening that space in time for thoughts to swarm in my head like unsettled, irritated bees. What would happen to Trina? Maybe she’d stay at the house with Mom. She could take care of her baby while taking care of Mom. God knew it wouldn’t be the other way around. And if Dad didn’t return, it wouldn’t matter whether Trina left.

  Dad, who knew what would happen to him. He could get his own place and wallow in his misery over what might’ve been if the baby hadn’t died. Or better than that, if Mom hadn’t gotten pregnant in high school, trapping him into a marriage he didn’t want. I’d have to find out the truth about that situation. Maybe Gran would tell me.

  “I’ll figure out my options later,” I said. “I’m sure we’ll be getting a visit from CPS soon and I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. But now, I need to graduate. Then I need to get into college. I’ve missed a few days with this.” I rolled my eyes and pointed to my face. “But it shouldn’t affect anything.”

  I pulled out the red lipstick that I’d taken from Trina’s makeup bag and smeared on another layer. Miss J. watched me, blinking several times like there was something in her eye. With a sigh, she pulled a folder from the corner of her desk. After flipping through a few pages, she shut it again.

  “Just make sure you don’t miss anymore. And be on time.”

  I slumped a little lower in the chair. “I know. I will. From now on I’ll be here every day, on time. With Trina or without.”

  “Okay. You have a test in trig. Have you studied?”

  I gritted my teeth. I’d forgotten about that and trig was not my best subject. “Yes.” I eased the waxy stick in and out of the smooth black tube. The bright, creamy color was mesmerizing.

  “How do they make lipstick?” I ran the pad of my finger over the slanted tip. “It’s really pretty.”

  “Rowan.” Her voice was full of things I didn’t want to hear: warnings, worries, threats.

  The bell rang.

  “Gotta go. Thanks.” I grabbed my backpack and headed toward the door.

  “Rowan?”

  “Hmm?” I turned.

  “Take off some of that makeup. At least take off the lipstick. You don’t want to look like someone you’re not.”

  I grabbed a tissue from a table beside the door and left. I darted into the bathroom before anyone could see me; lipstick in one hand, tissue in the other. The halls were filling up with students now and the bathroom mirrors were already occupied by girls reapplying the makeup they’d just applied at home.

  I slid into a stall and used toilet paper to wipe off the lipstick. Then I reapplied it, looking into the reflective silver surface of the bag hook. It was probably uneven but I didn’t care. For some
reason that thought made me smile.

  Back out in the hall, I kept my head down and made my way through two hallways until I came to my locker. The scent of old books and erasers hit me when I opened it. I really should get an air freshener. I leaned in, searching for my chem book when a familiar voice spoke near my ear.

  “There you are!” Mike touched my shoulder. “Hey.”

  I didn’t want to turn; didn’t want him to see me.

  He tapped my shoulder. “Rowan?”

  “Hmm?”

  He leaned around. “Look at me.” He put a finger under my chin. At first I resisted the pull of his finger but then, finally, I let him turn my face.

  “Oh my God. Rowan?”

  I didn’t know if he was horrified by the makeup or the bruises.

  “Rowan, what happened?”

  He put both of his hands on my face. His brows were creased, lips slightly parted. I inhaled his scent, letting it fill my insides. For the first time in days, I felt alive.

  “Are you okay?”

  I blinked several times. “I’m fine.” But I wasn’t and tears spilled out from my lids and slid over my brown makeup. Mike dropped his hands from my face and wrapped his arms around me.

  My arms wound around his back. I inhaled deeply and imagined my tears leaving brown streaks down his white shirt. His heartbeat was strong against my cheek. I counted each beat until I felt my own heartbeat’s rhythm merge with his.

  I exhaled.

  THE WARNING bell clanged and students hurried all around us. Mike handed me a tissue from his pocket and I dabbed at my eyes. The tissue was smeared with black.

  “I have to get to class. I have a trig test later and haven’t studied.”

  “Here.” He pulled the tissue from my hands and wiped my eyes for me. “Rowan?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why are you wearing so much makeup? I thought you were Trina.”

  Was the makeup so blaring people didn’t notice our hair color was different? Our bodies?

  “Gotta hide the bruises somehow.”

  “What bruises?” He grasped my chin and lifted it up. The fluorescent bulbs overhead hurt my eyes and small black dots peppered my vision. Guess he had only been horrified by the makeup. What would he think now?

  “Rowan, what happened?” His words quivered. “Who did this to you?”

  I pulled away. “I gotta go, Mike. I have to get to class.”

  He put his hands on my shoulders, stopping me. “Rowan,” he said through clenched teeth. “Who did this to you?”

  “Dad.” He released me this time when I pulled away. Over my shoulder, I said, “It’s okay if you don’t want to take me to the Prom. I know I’m not the kind of girl you’d want to take home to your mom.”

  Before he could answer, I pulled my hair over my face and darted down the hall. I eased into my seat just as the tardy bell rang.

  Mr. Chambers was passing out papers and when he laid the white paper on my desk, my heart nearly fell to my toes. A quiz. A quiz so soon after a test? How could I have forgotten? I swallowed past the leaden lump in my throat and willed myself not to cry. Of course, I hadn’t been to school in days. How was I supposed to know?

  One failed quiz–now. One failed test–later. All in one day. And our biology report? Nothing. I’d done nothing on that. I bit my lip to keep from bolting out of my chair, jumping out the window and running until I fell off the face of the earth.

  Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead and I envisioned the brown makeup oozing down my face like a waterfall. Soon it would be a puddle on my quiz and there would be nowhere to put my answers. Not that I knew many of them anyway. The pencil shook in my hand. My heart muscles clenched and I grasped my chest. I couldn’t get enough air to fill my lungs.

  Counting to myself, I tried to force deep breaths, to make my chest expand and fill my lungs with air. I tried to make the pencil, held tight between my fingers, stop shaking. I tried to make the black letters on the white paper merge into words I actually understood.

  But when the words on the page whirled into a mix of black dots, I jumped up.

  “I can’t do this.” I stumbled up the aisle toward the door.

  “Rowan?” Mr. Chambers looked up from his desk.

  “I’ve gotta go.” I pushed out the door and into the hallway.

  “Rowan!”

  The door slammed shut behind me. I fell against the lockers, gasping for breath.

  “Are you okay?” Mr. Chambers slid to a halt in front of me. “Rowan, what’s wrong?” His face bent to level with mine. “Do I need to call the nurse or 911? Rowan, speak to me. Now.”

  I shook my head and gulped. “I’m not prepared for that quiz.”

  His eyes scanned my face. I could feel it. I turned to the side.

  “Rowan, has someone hit you?” He tried to move in front of me again but I walked away.

  “Yes. But my guidance counselor knows.” I faced him full on. “I’m not prepared for the quiz.” I knew my bruises were no longer masked with the makeup; that it had melted off. He would see them as plain as the color of my eyes.

  “Of course, Rowan, you can make it up. You just let me know when you’re ready.”

  A ball filled my throat, making it difficult to speak the words that I needed to. But I managed to choke out, “Thank you,” before I swallowed painfully. I turned before my eyes would spill over again.

  “Rowan?”

  “Yes?” I glanced over my shoulder.

  “Everything will be okay. You’ll see. Everything will be just fine.”

  The ball erupted from somewhere deep inside my chest, forcing waves of despair through my body. I ran down the hall, heaving, and ducked into the bathroom before he could see my tears.

  I slammed the stall door shut and fumbled with the lock. Then I slid to the floor and cried–loud, hiccupping crying that echoed off the tiled walls. With shaky fingers, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the thin, familiar steel and yanked up my shirt sleeve.

  WHEN I reemerged some time later, the quietness of the bathroom was overwhelming. I filled my lungs with several long, deep pulls. On shaky feet, I walked to the basin and ran the cold water. With hands white with soapy suds, I washed my face. Soap ran into my eyes, making them sting like I’d washed with vinegar. But I didn’t stop until I’d washed my face twice, tears from the soap mixing with the water.

  Then I rinsed several times. My eyes were puffy and red but there were no remnants of the black liner. There was no evidence of the lipstick or the blush, or the brown liquid that had tried in vain to mask the evidence of what it was like to be a member of my family.

  THE REST of the day passed in oblivion. Someone must’ve talked to my trig teacher. Before I even sat down in my seat, Mrs. Sanders pulled me aside and told me that today she wasn’t letting me test. She wanted me to go into the library and find a quiet place to study. I could take the test next week.

  At first, I didn’t understand her. She wasn’t making me take the test? Then she gently turned me toward the door and gave the slightest of pushes until I left the classroom and went to the library.

  The rest of the day passed in a haze. I know I went to the rest of my classes because, by the end of the day, I had a backpack full of homework and a planner full of assignments. But if someone asked me a single thing about any of my classes, or lunch, the only single event I’d be able to pinpoint that had happened was that Mike had held me in his arms. In fact, I could still feel his warmth. I wasn’t surprised to find him leaning against my car when I left the building at the end of the day.

  “Hey,” I managed. I searched for something normal to say. I settled on, “No practice today?”

  “Yeah, there is. But I’m not going.”

  “Why not?” I glanced up at him. Did the bruises make me disfigured? Ugly? Why didn’t I leave that makeup on? At least then it would’ve looked more like I was trying too hard to look like Trina than it was that I was covering up something.

&n
bsp; “I’m not going to practice today. I need to talk to you.”

  “Need to talk to me?”

  “Yes, you. Why did your dad do this to you?”

  I glanced around the parking lot. No one was looking at us but I felt self-conscious anyway.

  “I’m not going anywhere until you’ve answered me.” His words were like concrete and steel nestled in soft, warm down.

  I nodded, letting a breath ease out of my nose. “My dad knows about Christian. He went out, got drunk, then came home.”

  “And did this to you?”

  I nodded. “Yep. Something like that.”

  “Well, why did he hit you if Trina was the one who got herself pregnant?”

  I was quiet for several minutes. Did he know about Aidan? It was a small town. Word got around. It may have happened seven years ago, but that didn’t mean anything.

  I shook my head. “Mike, I can’t get into it now.”

  “Try. Please.”

  I touched the bruise on my cheek and pushed my finger into its center, sending a shot of pain over my face. “My brother died years ago. And my dad, none of us, has ever been the same.”

  “Oh, man. That’s tough. But it doesn’t explain why he hit you when Trina comes home pregnant?”

  I wanted to tell him to quit asking. Don’t push me on this.

  “Rowan, why?” he persisted. “Why did he do this to you?”

  Then, against my will, I answered. “To sum it up, Aidan died because he got overheated when he was asleep. I, I…” then I blurted it out, “I put the blanket on him that made him too hot.”

  “What? Rowan, oh my God.” He pulled me against him.

  As he held me, I could feel his muscles go from comforting to tense. “I’ll kill him.”

  I stepped back. “What? Who?”

  “Your dad.”

  “Mike, he’s not even home.”

  “Is he coming back?”

  I shrugged. “I assume so. Why?”