I raised my arms like a ballerina. My shadow answered.
I arched my back, grabbed my stomach, and then let my body flop over at the waist. My shadow showed me what it looked like to be stabbed.
I will lie to you. No, I’ll just turn away. Wanted to see if you were true . . . but the world I want can’t stay. A guess is a yes when you need it to be. You’re counting on nothing if you’re counting on me.
I started spinning up on one foot, pushing with the other and snapping my head to a focal point to keep my balance.
Even if the world changes around you, how do you know if you’re changing with it or simply spinning out of control? This broken, slow version of the song was Cade’s favorite. Maybe it was mine now too. My throat clenched for him. I stopped and held out my hands. My shadow reached back, and for a moment I felt like it was Cade.
CADE
The first two months back at school felt like a total blur. It was October already, and we were still undefeated. First time in the history of Tanner High. If we kept it up we’d be in the playoffs for homecoming on Thanksgiving weekend.
“Hi, it’s me.” I creaked open the door of the barn.
Jane was lying down, doing homework by the light of the hurricane lamp. The glow made her look like someone had drawn a fuzzy yellow line around her.
The barn felt more like my house than my house these days.
Jane had spread my sleeping bag over the top of the old mattress to make it softer, and I found some extra pillows in my mom’s old sewing room, along with a quilt with blue rabbits on it from when I was little. Mattey brought a faded sheet with sun designs on it from his house to use as a tablecloth for the old card table. He or Jane, I wasn’t sure which, had picked some black-eyed Susans and stuck them in a Coke bottle.
“I hate numbers,” Jane complained.
“What did numbers ever do to you?”
“There are too many rules,” she said. “And if you make one mistake at the very beginning of the equation, even if you get everything right after that, you’re still wrong.”
I lowered myself down on the mattress with a groan.
Jane put down her pencil. “What hurts?”
“What doesn’t?”
“Your coach is diabolical.”
“Pain is weakness leaving the body.”
“If you say so,” she said doubtfully.
“He says so.”
I reached over to grab some candy from beside her notebook. “Wait. Why are there only pinks in here?”
“Gunner saved them all for me.”
I let out a little snort of laughter. “Of course he did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think it means? He wants to jump your bones.”
“Stop,” Jane protested.
“Y’all gonna be bumpin’ uglies.”
“What?!”
“You never heard that phrase? Bumpin’ uglies. You know . . .”
“Yeah, I mean, I get it. But come on, really? Uglies?” Jane sounded appalled.
“You really think a guy is pretty down there?”
“Uh . . .”
“Well, I mean, I am.”
“Oh my God. Cade!”
I busted out laughing and rolled out of arm’s reach so she couldn’t smack me. We lay there for a while, eating Gunner’s candy offering.
“Hey, guess what?” Jane said.
“What?”
“I went to Savannah’s today to practice our routines.”
“I’m surprised you came back,” I said with a laugh. “Waterfront views. That crazy big kitchen. Flat-screen TV in her room. And did she show you how her bathroom floor is heated? Because who wants cold feet after a shower?”
Jane’s voice got tight. “Oh, you’ve been there?”
“Of course.”
“Of course.”
“She’s my friend.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, why?” I asked.
“She’s gorgeous.”
“That’s true.” Couldn’t argue with that.
“So why just friends?” Jane asked.
Wait, was she jealous? Really? That was so very . . . regular high school girl of her.
“Why do you care?” I teased.
“Who said I cared?” she fired back with a smirk.
“I think you do.”
“I think you want me to.”
I laughed and shook my head.
Back in the day, my father found a stone when we went camping with Gunner and his pops all the way up in Montana. Crack it open, he’d told me. It might be a geode. Sure enough, there was a line of blue on the inside and all these little crystal ridges.
Jane was layers and layers.
“So?” She looked at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“So . . . Savannah used to be just one of us, before Maddison Electric started making millions. Lived in a little place up the road from here. Didn’t have that car and the fancy clothes. It’s different now.”
“She asks about you a lot,” Jane said.
I brushed it off. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I like her and all. But some people don’t . . . match. Can you imagine her . . . here?”
“In the barn? Um, no.”
“Of course not in the barn; I mean on the farm at all. Savannah should be away at some private school, but her father’s too overprotective, wants her where he can see her.”
“I didn’t meet him. No one was home except Savannah and the housekeepers.”
“Yeah, none of us really hang out over there. It’s awkward being someplace so fancy. I always feel like I’m going to break something.”
I rolled over, trying to hide the wince, but Jane was onto me.
“Rough practice?” she asked, suspicious.
“I’m fine. This is nothing. I mean, I’ve played with a broken wrist before.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, my dad said not to tell anyone or they’d make me sit out. So we waited to make it through the playoffs to go to the ER.”
“That must have hurt like hell.”
“Coach says blood makes the grass grow.”
“Right,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me.
My silence told the truth. Jane tossed me my old quilt, fluffed up the second pillow, and patted it, motioning for me to lie down under the threadbare bunnies.
“So how often does your dad hit you?” Jane asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not dumb. Come on. I want to know.”
I sighed. “It’s not like . . . an everyday thing. He just gets himself all worked up over nothing sometimes, and if he’s drunk too much . . . then . . . yeah.”
“Why don’t you tell someone?” Jane asked.
“Why don’t you tell someone about everything that’s happened to you?” I countered. “Other people will start making decisions for you about your life. I don’t want that. If I get put in the system, who knows if I even stay in this county? I have to protect my football position. It’s my only way out.”
“So it’s about survival more than loyalty.”
I thought about that. “Mostly, yes. But I also feel like he deserves the benefit of the doubt from me. My mom never even gave him a chance, you know? She didn’t come to him and say, Oh hey, I kinda hate my life on the farm. Let’s talk about alternatives. She traded up and never looked back.”
“I just don’t get how your mom could have ever left you behind to get beaten up.” Jane shook her head.
“It only started after she left.”
“What if you told her?”
“She doesn’t answer my calls.”
“Oh.” Jane was quiet for a few minutes. “I don’t talk to my mom
either.”
“When did you last see her?”
“When I was four.”
“Where did she go?”
“Last I knew, jail. For stealing credit cards. I’m sure she’s out now. My best guess is she went back to where we lived in New Hampshire. Manchester.” Jane shrugged.
“What about your dad?” I asked.
“I don’t know anything about him,” she said.
“Maybe that’s better than thinking you know who someone is . . . and then they’re . . . not.”
We lay there side by side, our stories so different and so similar.
“You can stay out here too, you know,” Jane whispered. “This used to be your spot. To get away from your father. It still can be.”
That was the first night I slept in the barn next to her.
JANE
Daylight hides the shadows. For every echo that haunted nighttime, life at school was the opposite. The smile I pasted on during dance practice didn’t feel so foreign on my face anymore, and that was foreign. The bounce in my step was no longer forced. At first, I would catch myself, like I wasn’t allowed. But wasn’t this the whole point? When I was with everyone at Tanner High, I really did have hours, even entire days, when I didn’t think of running, or blood, or Raff. Those thoughts were thoughts to lose.
“Ah! So exciting. Your uniform came in!” Savannah ran across the school gym, waving a bright blue leotard with a puffy silver skirt. “Just in time for homecoming!”
Jojo swooped in, holding it against her and posing with it, one hip out. “It has your name on it and everything! Look! JANE!”
She handed it to me, and I ran my fingers along the sequins. Who ever thought a fake name in sparkly cursive would make me feel more real than I had in years?
“I love it,” I said. And I wasn’t lying.
The music kicked up. We moved in unison, in tight leggings and tiny tank tops, ponytails that flopped back and forth. But instead of feeling ridiculous, I felt . . . safe. One of them.
After dance practice each day, I would walk over from the gym to the football field to meet up with Cade and ride home. He was always the last one left, jogging a few extra laps or lifting for a little longer than everyone else.
That afternoon, with the big Thanksgiving homecoming game around the corner, Cade stayed especially late. I could see him at the far end of the field doing push-ups. When he spotted me though, he hopped to his feet.
“Goooo, team!” Cade teased.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” I challenged. “Show me what you got.”
Cade cocked his head and opened his arms wide as if to say, Watch me. But then when he tried to do a cartwheel he couldn’t get his legs up over his head. He landed in a heap on the grass.
“That’s what you get for making fun of me.” I plopped down on the empty field next to him and grabbed his water bottle to steal a sip.
“Wait, what’s this?” He grabbed the uniform from me. “Look at you! Official.”
“Shut up.”
“You’ll look so cuuute,” he teased.
“Whatever!”
“Next step: homecoming queen,” Cade said, cracking up at my appalled expression.
“Never that.”
“Don’t try and tell me you don’t dig all this.” Cade grinned. “I’ve seen you practicing in the barn.”
“Ah! Spy!” I squirted some of the water on his face.
“You look like you’re ready for game day,” he said, wiping it off.
“So do you.”
“Thanks, but I, uh, question your expert opinion.” Cade grinned. “You’re not exactly a fan of football.”
“Sure I am.”
“Okay, go for it. Tell me what you know.”
“See those lines at the end of the field? Those are called end lines. And the ones on the side? Sidelines.” I nodded like I was very smart.
“Oh. Impressive,” Cade said. “And what line are we sitting on?”
“The starting line.”
Cade cracked up at me. “You’re hopeless.”
“And you’re relentless. This is a record workout even for you,” I pointed out. “The sun’s already setting.”
Peach light cut over the bleachers. Cade’s grin faded when he looked over at the stands.
“Did she used to come to your games?” I asked.
“Who?”
“Your mom? I thought maybe you were thinking about her.”
“What, you read minds now?”
“Only yours. Side effect of living in your barn.”
Cade pointed. “Right there, ten up, in the center. That’s where she sat. She held court in those bleachers. Farty’s momma always parked it right next to her because she ain’t scared of loud.”
“Your mom’s loud?”
Cade nodded. “Hell yeah. And everything my mom yelled, Farty’s mom would yell louder. She’d get so fired up at the referees she’d hurl every insult she had, English, Spanish, whatever popped out. That’s how I learned to swear in Spanish.” He smiled at the memory. “The two of them were as much a part of the game as the game. All the other mothers, they’d set up shop around them, even if they didn’t know them, because that was where the party was at.”
“Sounds like she was fun,” I said.
Cade sighed. “All that yelling and cheering is what got the attention of one of the cops working detail. I laughed the first time my mom told me he was making fun of her for being so passionate. Then one day, when my dad started getting real moody over the farm sucking so bad, he just up and left in the middle of the game. No explanation. Just took off. So we were gonna hitch a ride with Farty’s family in their pickup. But the officer said it wasn’t safe to be in the open back like that. So he gave us a ride instead.”
“So that’s how it started.”
“That’s how it started.”
Cade’s expression was a practiced blank slate, but his eyes looked so sad I reached out and slipped my hand into his. He looked surprised but then squeezed back. We rested our hands on the white line painted on the grass between us..
“By the way, your ‘starting line,’” he said, “is actually the fifty-yard line. It divides the field.”
“So we’re right in the middle?”
“Yep. Same distance in either direction.” Cade let go of my hand and placed his football in it, shaping my fingers around it. “Hey, I wanna show you something. Get up.”
I stood up.
“The way football works is that you have a line you’re trying to reach. See that ten-yard line? Get there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Take the ball and try to get there.”
“You mean, like, run with it?”
“Run, dance. Whatever you want to do, just get there.”
“Okay . . .” I started to jog toward the line.
Cade got in front of me and grabbed my shoulders and firmly pushed me back a good distance past where we started. “See, now you’re more than fifteen yards away. But you still have to get to that same spot. Try again.”
I tried to dart around him, but Cade easily blocked me and guided me gently to the ground.
“You got a little closer, but you’re still farther away than where you started, and you’re running out of chances. You’ve got two more. Try again?”
I tried again. The last time Cade let me get closer before he expertly took me down. He pulled me against him so he hit the ground first and I landed softly on top.
“You almost made it, right? But not quite. And now you’re out of chances to try.”
“So that’s it?”
“This would be when the other team gets the ball. Or you have the option for a field goal. But we’re not close enough for that. When you keep getting pushed back, over and over aga
in, you have to be realistic about what you can reach. Or you’re just going to be disappointed.”
THE WOLF CUB
Tip the scale to even the field.
Gaining ground, underground.
There was a new tunnel on which our future hinged, owned by my rival, Grande, and hidden well. I would find the people who could find that tunnel. It was a giant hand reaching into the United States, so we could take what we deserved.
One day I will go to school in los Estados Unidos. I will live in the USA.
That’s what I used to say to my friends as we kicked a soggy ball between us in an empty lot, the tattered leather flapping. Stale bread. Rotting garbage. Dirty engine oil. In the summer, with the rain, our barrio smelled.
Me too, me too, they would say. We would talk about what cars to buy when we were rich, in which city we would have a fancy house with motorcycles, purebred dogs, and swimming pools, maybe even a girlfriend who was a model or a movie star. One day, someday, we would live like royalty.
Some kings are born. Others, made.
My father made the border run when I was thirteen.
He said he would send for us as soon as he had the money and a safe way to get us there. But there was no call. No knock on the door. No letter with a stamp from the USA.
I told myself there were several possibilities.
He made it there and it was not good enough for us.
He made it there and it was so good he did not need us.
He never made it there.
Who really knows how far he did or didn’t get? But we still owed the money for his crossing. Even with no proof that he was dead or alive, the men who promised to get him there came for the payment. They were men we knew by name. We knew their kids. And we knew what they did to people who did not pay their debts.
Manada de Lobos. The Wolf Pack. The Lobos always collected.
My mother’s factory job at the maquiladora would never bring in the cash they demanded. And when she got sick and died, the debt fell to me. They offered me a job delivering packages for them.
First I delivered their drugs. Then I started collecting money for the drugs. I was good at . . . convincing . . . people to pay their bills. When the Lobos dug their first tunnel, they trusted me to oversee construction. I took notes. And then, I took over.
Hide with Me Page 10
