by Vi Keeland
Left Behind
by
Vi Keeland and Dylan Scott
Copyright © 2014 by Vi Keeland and Dylan Scott
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
Left Behind
Edited by: Caitlin Alexander
Cover model: Siselee Maughan
Photographer: Christie Q. Photography
Cover designer: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
EPILOGUE
Acknowledgements
Vi's Bookshelf
About The Author
Contact Vi
For The Reader
“Stars can’t shine without a little darkness.”
— Unknown
To my remarkable husband— I wish I had met you sooner so I could love you longer.
— Dylan
To my two sweet daughters
Dedicated to my well behaved children
For my girls, for never fighting
To my daughters, who never slam doors
Sugar and spice and everything nice, that’s what little girls are made of
For not blasting your music while I’m trying to write
Presented to my children who always listen
For Grace and Sarah, I love you tons.
— Vi
Chapter 1
Nikki—
Brookside, Texas
I stand in the parking lot alone, rain pelts down on me so hard it should sting my fair skin, but I feel no pain. The navy sundress I’m wearing, the one and only dress I own, is soaked through, clinging tightly against my body. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pray to a god I’m not sure I believe in anymore, begging him to take the image that was just seared into my brain from my memory. But it’s no use. Closing my eyes only makes the visual of her lying there even more vivid. I force them back open to chase what I see away, but it doesn’t work.
My body begins to shake, sobs racking through me even before my tears begin to fall. It’s the first time I’ve cried since it happened. Time goes by, but I have no idea how long I stand there letting days of pent-up emotions wash over me. Eventually, the heavy rain begins to dwindle, my tears following its lead.
Headlights catch my attention in the distance, slowing before turning into the dimly lit parking lot. Ducking behind a nearby tree, I have no idea why I’m hiding. I only know I don’t want to see whoever it is. I peek my head out from behind the tall oak to catch a glimpse of the stranger. A woman parks, fixes her hair in the rearview mirror, and eventually gets out of the car. For a long moment, she stands motionless, looking at the words above the tall double doors.
Minutes later, a second car pulls in. This one I’m all too familiar with. Exiting her car, Ms. Evans spares no moment for reflection. She strides to the door, opens it and disappears inside without the blink of an eye. I’ve had lots of social workers over the years, but this one…she’s the worst of them all. I hate her. Watching her stroll so casually into my mother’s funeral reminds me of all the months she kept us apart. Time we could have spent together. Time I can’t get back now.
The sadness and tears gone, anger overtakes me. My limp body goes rigid, fists ball tightly at my sides. I hate her. So damn much. Feeling like a pot full of boiling water, the lid about to come flying off because the steam needs to escape, I search the ground for something to throw. Anything. Finding a muddy rock, I hurl it towards the car that took me away so many times. It clunks when it connects with the car, but the sound doesn’t satisfy me. So I find another and this time I wind up before I heave the heavy stone from my trembling hand. A loud shatter rings through the still parking lot. A hundred tiny pieces of glass fall to the ground as the alarm begins to sound. Oddly, the noise brings me peace.
I turn, feeling more satisfied than I have in days, water still dripping from everywhere on my body, and slowly walk towards home.
Chapter 2
Zack—
Long Beach, California
I remember the first time I laid eyes on Emily Bennett. Her family had just moved in across the street. The long white moving truck took up almost half of our block. I was sitting in my room on the second floor, peeking out the window. Most of the stuff I saw them unload looked like my family’s stuff…expensive area rugs, antique furniture— all junk I wasn’t allowed near. Stuff that looked boring as hell to a nine-year-old.
I was quickly growing uninterested in my spying, until something bright yellow caught my eye coming out of the never-ending truck. Twenty-six inches of gleaming chrome and bright canary-yellow high-gloss paint. No way. My mouth watered at the sight of the Schwinn Twin Back IV Racer I’d had my eye on for the last two months. I’m not sure if I was more excited to finally have a boy on my block to play with or that I might get to ride the new kid’s bike. I darted down the stairs two at a time, ripped open the screen door so fast it nearly came off the hinges, and raced across the street, completely ignoring my mother screaming at me to put shoes on. And pants. Yeah, in all my excitement, I ran out in my underwear. Nine years old and my damn mother was still buying me Batman briefs. The memory of running straight into the new neighbor, only to find out the new boy was a girl, seems like a lifetime ago.
Emily and I have been inseparable ever since. She let me ride the Schwinn the very first day I met her. Right after I put my pants on and my mother forced me to politely introduce myself to Emily’s parents— a very nice but serious couple who seemed a lot older and not quite as happy as my mom and dad.
I think I fell in love with Emily before I even understood what falling in love meant. When I was ten and my team lost the pee wee superbowl, Emily was right there in her cheerleading outfit, gushing over how I almost won the game for the whole team. And the next year, when my team won, Emily screamed and cheered louder than anyone. That was Emily— my biggest cheerleader, proud of every move I ever made and madly in love with me. How could a guy not love that?
But over the last couple of years a lot has changed. Emily has changed. Sometimes I don’t recognize the Emily from the yellow Sc
hwinn. As I watch that same little girl, now all grown up, saunter to our table I search her eyes for a sign of the Emily she used to be. I’m sad when I can’t find her.
She’s still as beautiful as ever though. Emily tosses her hair. Long, blonde, and straight at the top, with curls starting midway down her back, it looks like she spent hours getting ready just to come to school. Knowing Emily, she probably did.
“Ready to go, Batman?” Emily returns to our lunch table after making her daily social rounds. Eight years later and she’s still torturing me about that day. Only, these days, she knows what I really have on underneath, dark grey Calvin Klein boxer briefs. The same kind she likes to grind her half naked body against a few times a week, but still won’t let me take off.
“Go without me. I’m gonna go talk to Allison Parker. She’s my partner for our English project.” I know my response won’t sit well with Emily, but I’m almost at the point of not giving a shit anymore.
“Really, Zack? Again? If I didn’t know better, I’d start to think you and the little nerd girl had something going on.” She knows Allison and I are just friends, that’s not what she’s really pissed about. All of her stuck-up friends meet in the courtyard every day after they’re done eating, and god forbid she doesn’t have me to tote around. Most days she doesn’t even talk to me anymore, but she hangs on to me like we’re goddamn connected at the hip.
“You won’t even notice I’m not there.” I stand and grab my books from the table, silently marking the end of the conversation. For me, anyway.
“Of course I will, and so will everyone else,” she whines, reaching for my hand.
And there’s the real reason that I’m getting bitched at for wanting to work on my English project. The captain of the cheerleading squad must be seen with the captain of the football team. The earth might tilt off its axis if all isn’t picture perfect in Emily’s world. But I’m a master at fixing my wrongs with Emily Bennett, so I slam my books down on the table loudly, making sure all eyes are on us. Then I wrap my arms around her tiny waist and pull her close, making it so she has to tilt her pretty little head up to look at me. Sealing my mouth over hers, I kiss her long and hard.
She’ll pretend to be pissed at my little public display of affection, but she won’t be. She loves every damn minute of the attention. And the more girls who sigh as she strolls by, the better the treatment I’ll get when I see her again after school.
Chapter 3
Nikki—
Brookside, Texas
The morning sun shining through the trees does nothing to lift my mood. After tossing and turning all night, I was more exhausted when I climbed out of bed than when I’d crawled into it.
Sleep depravation leaves me edgy and I jump when my cell rings. “I haven’t leaped out a window, Ashley,” I yell as I hit the speaker button on the phone, halting my cleaning of Mom’s dresser drawers. She means well, but she called four times already and it’s only 11 a.m. “Shouldn’t you be in math class?”
“I’m smart enough. Besides, I’ll get by in life on my charm alone,” she says sarcastically. “Calculus is for the dim witted.”
“Really? I always thought Calculus was for smart kids.”
“Nah. They just tell that to the kids with no personality so they don’t hop out a window. We tell them they’re bright, but what it really means is you’re boring as shit so you have to work twice as hard.”
“You do know people tell me I’m bright, right?”
“That’s okay, stick with me, I’ll dumb you down.” She pauses. “I only have English and gym left, thought I’d cut out and keep you company this afternoon.”
Surprisingly, I’m able to talk Ash out of cutting class, I know she wants to see for herself that I’m okay. That’s why I didn’t mention I found out I’ll be moving next week. Ms. Evans handed me the news this morning. Foster care. Again. Ashley’s mom agreed to keep me temporarily, but her trailer has less room than mine.
My frequent stints in foster care whenever Mom was hospitalized were usually short lived. I knew they were only temporary. But I still have almost a full year until I turn eighteen and I don’t even want to think about living with strangers for all that time. I can’t imagine surviving without Mom and Ashley.
Ashley Mason has been my best friend for four years. It’s the longest I’ve ever had a best friend. Actually, it’s the longest I’ve had any friend. We met in Mr. Carson’s English class. We had just started To Kill a Mockingbird when I transferred into Brookside. I’m the geek who reads two books a week and has every English assignment done before it’s due. Ashley is the other kind of girl. The kind who reads Spark Notes and despises any book that doesn’t have pictures. Some people just hate to read, Ashley is their queen. She couldn’t fathom that I’d already read To Kill a Mockingbird because I wanted to. Our obvious differences are what attracted us to each other. Ashley needed help and I gave help. It’s who I am. I guess all those years of taking care of Mom made it second nature for me.
I toss my phone on the bed and take a deep breath looking around. Who will I take care of now?
***
Notebooks filled with rambling thoughts.
Random newspaper articles folded into tiny squares.
Hundreds of empty pills bottles.
I’m grateful Ashley decided to stay in school; it gave me some time to finish cleaning out Mom’s drawers without having to explain anything. I know Ash won’t judge us. But some of the stuff I sorted through this morning has no explanation. Ashley knows all about Mom. She’s one of the few people who did. Mom’s diabetes wasn’t a secret— it was ultimately what took her life. But hardly anyone knew about her mental illness. It wasn’t something that was easy to explain. Most kids don’t even know what Bipolar Disorder is, let alone how to take care of a mother battling its demons each day. It was just easier not to bring anyone home. Except Ashley. She’s seen it all. Especially, the last few rough weeks…Mom’s disease was all about bad days and good days. But we hadn’t had any good days in a while. A really, really long while.
I look around the small trailer Mom and I shared the last four years. As always, my stuff is ready to go— easy to move. I never trusted permanency any more than Mom did. We had a silent understanding that my belongings would stay in the heavy cardboard boxes I kept organized like drawers. Even when Mom and I lived in a furnished place with real dressers, I never used one.
It’s Mom’s things that need to be organized and sorted through. It’s not a chore I’m comfortable with. Mom always kind of kept her things private. Even though she’s gone, I still feel like I’m doing something wrong going through her things.
The back of Mom’s drawer is where she keeps her jewelry box. I’m not sure why she always hid it, neither of us ever owned anything of value. I open the pink tattered box; the familiar ballerina pops up to greet me and suddenly I’m six and sneaking into Mom’s bedroom when she’s not home. I’d wind and wind the music box, watching the little plastic ballerina twirl around to the music and trying to imitate her pose. “You can hardly walk and chew gum at the same time,” Mom said, laughing, when I asked her if I could sign up for ballet lessons. Never mind that we couldn’t have afforded it.
I can’t help myself. I wind the key at the back of the box tightly, and as the music pings, the first real smile I’ve felt in weeks visits my face.
Two long strands of metallic beads wrapped around my neck, I hum the ballerina’s song as I slip cheap costume jewelry rings onto every finger. The silver one with the dark purple stone changes colors. I remember Mom telling me it was her mood ring; that it could see how she felt inside. Dark green meant sad, red meant happy. I’d always thought she was teasing me. But staring intently at my finger, I watch as the dark purple turns to green.
“You playing dress up without me?”
Startled, I jump from the bed, sending the jewelry box sailing across the room, the contents emptying all over the place as the box slams into the wall.
“Ashley! You scared the crap out of me!”
She grins. “I’m sorry. You didn’t answer when I knocked, so I let myself in. Nice safety precaution by the way, leaving the front door wide open so any strange person can walk in.”
“And apparently they did.” I drop to my hands and knees in search of Mom’s jewelry, now strewn all over her tiny bedroom. It’s not valuable measured in terms of money, but the junk is priceless to me.
“You weren’t answering my calls.” Ashley’s worry is in her voice and written on her face. I look up, finding the tips of her jet black hair have been dyed violet since only last night. So Ashley. I’m really going to miss her.
“Sorry, Ash. I just needed some time to go through Mom’s things.” I reach down to grab the music box from the floor where it crash landed and lift it, turning it upright, but the tray glued to the bottom dislodges and tumbles to the floor in the process. Two tiny plastic strips that must have been tucked between the tray and the bottom of the music box fall, landing at my feet.
Ashley picks them up, squinting at the faint words typed on the small pink strips of plastic. “Isn’t your birthday February 14th?”
“Yes, you know it is. Remember, you bought me that big chocolate Valentine’s Day heart and wrapped it in birthday paper? I always get ripped off on my birthday,” I tease. But something in Ashley’s face wipes the smile off mine. Taking the strips from her hand, I read the words that have caused her cheery pink face to drain of all its color. One bracelet reads: Twin A, 2/14/97, Mother: Carla Fallon. The second bracelet reads: Twin B, 2/14/97, Mother: Carla Fallon.
Chapter 4
Zack—
Long Beach, California
Saturday mornings are my favorite times with Emily. Lunging to stretch my calves, I watch as she walks across the street dressed in her running gear. No makeup, a headband pulling her hair back into a simple ponytail, she looks young and beautiful. More like the girl I fell in love with than the one she’s become lately. Somehow, the casualness of her appearance seeps into her attitude, making her lose the air of superiority that seems to have gotten worse the last few months.
