Waiting on Justin

by Lucy H. Delaney

  We were free.

  We lay side-by-side on his bed, exposed and unafraid, for the first time ever, of getting caught. We talked deep into the night about what life would be like, and we kissed freely, deeply, passionately between the lulls in the conversation. My shirt and bra came off but he still refused to cross the line. I straddled him and moved my hips until he groaned I hoped this time, for the first time, he would ignore it, so I kept going—but no. He lifted me up and off of him, stretched his arms up to the wall, and took in air. Then he sat up on one arm and looked down at me, playing with my breasts and dipped his head to kiss them quickly. I sucked in a breath as he raised himself back up and smiled and looked me over, his desire as obvious as my own. His hand trailed down my navel and up again, tracing the contours of my curves.

  “Someday,” he promised.

  “Someday can be today,” I offered.

  “Nope, not yet.”

  “Always not yet!”

  “Not always; our day will come. Just wait.”

  “That's all I do, Justin.”

  “Just a little longer.”

  “You suck!”

  “I know, and you like it.” He straddled me that time, grabbing my hands in his, pushing them up over our heads so that our bare chests touched. And we kissed until the groan escaped again. Then he pulled away for good and winked.

  “Love ya, baby!” and like that he was done. He walked over to his duffel bag and pulled out some clean clothes and a book, thumbing to the page he had dog-eared, before setting it face down on my chest of drawers and heading to the bathroom to take a shower, a cold one probably.

  We awoke the next morning, each on our own bed, though I had fallen asleep with my head on his chest listening to his heartbeat while he read.

  To my dismay, the move didn't make me a grown up in Justin's eyes. I was still a child in his opinion, not ready for sex or managing my own life. Like a child, he told me I still had to go to school while he went to work.

  Serrano was three or four miles away, much too far to walk every day, and he had to be at work before I started, which meant I couldn't ride with him. The city bus was my only option. I skipped the next day to figure out which bus to take and how much it would cost.

  Two days after the fight with Clayton and Sipe's talk, I finally returned to school. It was a joke, really—I was so far behind—but I had nowhere else to go. It felt good to be in school, to have something I was used to doing, even if I didn't understand what they were talking about anymore.

  I expected to get sent straight to the office from first period since I didn't have a note, but instead Mr. Pearsall called the office and motioned me away to find my seat. While the other kids talked about their night or annoying parents, I watched Mr. Pearsall talk about me to someone on the other end of the line.

  He looked at me and answered questions, probably about me: “Fine ... No, I don't see anything—well, maybe it looks like she has a cold sore, but she's wearing her jacket so I can't see anything but her face ... No ... No ... She hasn't said a word ... OK, will do, let me know when you do.”

  I waited for it, but he never sent me to the office. He didn't talk to me at all but kept looking at me during class. Somehow I knew if I bolted for the door he'd stop me. Someone was asking about me and didn't want me spooked. The problem was I didn't know who he was talking to or why they were asking or what they wanted. I wanted to run, but I knew Mr. Pearsall would catch me, so I waited anxiously for the bell to ring, bobbing my foot up and down until my desk shook and wishing I were sitting in Mr. Reyes’ classroom instead. I knew he would have at least talked to me, not just about me to someone else on the phone. He might have even told me what they were planning.

  Miguel Reyes was a first-generation American who fought for his citizenship and won it through service in the U.S. armed forces. After fourteen years in the service, he was wounded in Desert Storm, received a Medal of Honor, and retired from active duty. He used his G.I. bill to go to college for no particular degree until he found his calling: teaching U.S. history and helping kids who had a tough start to life like he did.

  It happened accidentally: he noticed that he always took history classes, specifically American history, if he had an elective. He was proud to be American, proud to know what most second, third, and fourth-generation Americans didn't know about their country, and he yearned to explain American pride to anyone—especially the youth of America, whom he felt were out of touch with their heritage. A friend encouraged him to take some teaching classes, and two years later he was a certified teacher.

  Serrano High School had an opening for a U.S. history teacher the year before Justin's freshman year, and Mr. Reyes was the top candidate. He had been teaching three history classes a day but wanted to work full time, and that's how he got into JAG. He told me later, with a chuckle, that the ad on the school district website downplayed the students’ weaknesses and talked up the teachers’ need to motivate students to obtain job readiness skills for America's job market. He was hired two days after the four-person panel interview, and a single JAG class was added to his teaching schedule. He had no idea the job he took to fill his day would make him one of the most important people in either my or Justin's life.

  He said he learned quickly that the kids he was required to work with, kids like us, were labeled “high-risk.” That was a nice way to say that we were one step away from disaster. He realized that most of us simply lacked hope for a better future, and he took it upon himself to give us hope along with employability lessons. Unlike our other teachers, he gave us the benefit of the doubt in most situations, an ear to listen and credit for what we had to deal with. It always seemed like he could see past our problems and straight into the heart of the issues. That doesn't mean we always appreciated him getting involved in our lives, but we liked him. He said his best times were seeing kids make it, especially the ones no one else thought would. The worst times were dealing with the problems the kids faced—problems like the one I presented that morning.

  As Justin recounted to me later, I had technically become a ward of the state the moment my mother died, but they didn't know I was their responsibility until the school got involved. Ms. Sipe didn't know what to do about a truant child with no legal guardians, so after I took off, she called in a report on me, and that got the ball rolling with the state. To make matters worse, Clayton called the school after we ran away, saying Justin had taken me out of the house and he thought we were having sex. All of my teachers had been notified of my situation and were supposed to keep the day as normal as possible, but keep me in their sights if I were to show up. Because of his relationship with me and Justin, Mr. Reyes was supposed to find out where we were staying, if he could, and then report to Sipe so she could tell the state.

  Mr. Reyes was livid. He knew he had to get to Justin or me before anyone else did. His planning period was the second period of the day, so he used it to track down Justin, and he knew right where to find him. I didn't know then that Mr. Reyes had left to talk to Justin, but I knew something was up for sure. It wasn't that anyone did anything; it was what they weren't doing that gave it away. They all seemed to be waiting. They were stalling, first Mr. Pearsall, then Mr. Aguilar. They were keeping me in class. I felt their eyes on me in the halls too. I knew if I went out the doors during passing time they'd be on me.

  It scared me. All I wanted was to know what was going on. I didn't know why no one would tell me. I saw Mr. Reyes and a couple other teachers go into the lounge after third period. If I was big news that day, I knew they would be talking about me in there. I went into the office and asked Ms. Mora, the nurse, for a tampon and walked down the office corridor to the staff bathrooms. The women's was almost directly across from the lounge door. I ducked into the bathroom until I heard the fourth period bell ring. The teachers with classes would be clearing out and the rest would probably stay put in the lounge. I used all of my prowling skills to twist the knob as quietly as I could and li
sten in, unnoticed. Sure enough they were talking about us.

  “We don't even know if that's the case, let alone why they ran.” Mr. Reyes was saying

  “He took her; that's what Kim said,” DeAnna Duncan, my algebra teacher who never tolerated me, said.

  “We don't know that either. You guys have no idea what those kids have had to put up with. There has been no parental involvement or cooperation from day one with Justin or Haylee since she's been here. The dad probably tried to hurt her and Justin is protecting her.”

  “Oh right, because that's what that kid does.”

  “Believe it or not, DeAnna, yes, that's exactly what that kid does.”

  “Right. He's bad news, and the sooner they can get that girl away from him, the better for her. Hopefully she's not pregnant already. They should put him in jail.”

  “Unbelievable, you know that?”

  “Hey, I'm just calling them like I see them. I've got a hundred kids a day to deal with, and your kids make it intolerable. If they were gone, my job would be a whole lot easier.”

  “And that's their fault?”

  “Yes, most of the time it is. They're old enough to know better. They're punks. They start problems, and then you run around after them wiping their butts and covering for them.”

  “No, not really; I just have compassion. You should try it on some day.”

  “I'll pass.”

  I had to get out of there. I knew it. If I could get away from them quickly enough I wouldn't have to keep playing their game, whatever it was.

  My fourth-period class was just a few doors down from the office, I got a pass from Ms. Mora back to class but instead of going straight there, I took the stairs down and away from the teachers who knew me. I walked out the back doors of the school's bottom floor and around to the front. The chances of a teacher looking out a window and seeing me were slim to none; they stayed near their desks or whiteboards. I was paranoid that someone might be outside, though, if they were looking for me, so I peeked around the corner first. It was clear.

  It was my chance. Three kids I knew well enough—Carlos, Giovani, and Shelby—were taking the walk to Smoker's Corner. They were a perfect cover. I caught up quickly and used them to blend in. Perfect getaway. I walked right past the state vehicle that pulled up to the curb and even made eye contact with the driver. I didn't know it then, but she was my new social worker, Clara Pike. She watched me run past her windshield to catch up with them. Luckily for me, she hadn’t been given a picture of me yet, or she might have recognized me.

  I forced myself to walk with the group to the corner so I didn't stick out. I kept expecting to hear Sipe or someone else yelling for me, but they never did.

  “I thought you dropped out,” Giovani said.

  “Naw, just ain't been here much since my mom died.”

  “Oh ... sorry.”

  I hated how people got all awkward when I said that. Their faces turned from normal to masks of pity. Then they never knew what to say; at least the kids my age didn't try to say anything to make me feel better. Mostly they tried to change the subject.

  “It's whatever. Any of you got any buds?”

  “That stuff will rot your brains out, Haylee. What are you thinking, you stoner?” Carlos laughed. That meant they were out or didn't want to share.

  “Smoke?”

  All three boys said, “Yeah,” at the same time. I took the closest one, from Shelby, but we waited to light up until we were inside the tree line.

  “You going back to class?” Shelby asked me, legs shifting back and forth. It looked like he was trying to keep warm, but it was his nervous habit; he did it all the time. It wasn't even cold out.

  “Naw, I'm heading home. I think they're gonna bust me for something.”

  “What?”

  “Not sure,” I answered honestly. “Pearsall was acting all weird in class. He didn't say nothing about me being absent for like ever, but he kept looking at me.”

  “Oh, dang! You rob someone?”

  “No. I ran away.”

  “You ran away, and you came to school?!” Carlos laughed at me and the others joined in. “Are you an idiot? Why would you do that?”

  “I didn't have anywhere else to go.” I smiled, realizing how stupid the plan was.

  “Wow!”

  “Whatever, I'm out. Thanks for the smoke. Peace!”

  Teenage goodbyes are mumbled, backward, wavy kind of things, and that's what we offered each other. I never saw any of those three boys again. I made my way home, bus stop by bus stop. Home to my tiny apartment that I shared with Justin, where I relished our brand new life together. Finally we were out on our own; finally we were away from Clayton; finally life could begin.

  The TV didn't work and I was bored. Instead of trying to catch up on school work, I took one of Justin's books from the stack on the floor by the wall and started reading. It was a Star Trek book, and in minutes I was engrossed in the story line and cuddled into bed. I must have been tired because I woke up when I heard Justin shut the door.

  “Oh, hey, babe. I fell asleep reading.”

  “How come you aren't in school?” he asked.

  “Something was up, so I jammed.”

  His face told me. He knew what was up. It was bad.

  CHAPTER 11

  “MR. REYES CAME to see me at the shop.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted to know if I took you from the house.”

  “What? No! We left together, but—we had to.”

  “I know that and you do. The problem is they've got a school full of people who don't. My dad called and accused me of sleeping with you. He said you're a ward of the state now, and they can press charges against me for it.”

  “What do you mean? We haven't done anything because you knew that.”

  “Look, it doesn't matter. They won't bat an eye about charging me; everyone knows we're a couple.”

  “Charging you for what? You didn't do nothing.”

  We've talked to Mr. Reyes since, and even he still doesn’t believe we never had sex back then. We've agreed to disagree on the subject: we can't make him—or anyone—believe us if they don't want to, and that was his point to Justin that day.

  “Haylee,” Justin sighed and ran both of his hands through his hair, “Listen to me. They're going to try and charge me with statutory rape.”

  “They can't.”

  “They can. Mr. Reyes said they will if I keep you from them. Child Protective Services are looking for you. They want you to go with them today. As long as they get you, they won't charge me. You understand?”

  “What are they going to do with me?”

  “They're going to find you a home.”

  “A home? I have a home. We have a home.”

  “It's not a home for a fourteen-year-old girl. It's fine for me, I'm nineteen now and on my own. If you were older they wouldn't care. He says you need to be taken care of.”

  “I take care of myself. We take care of each other.”

  “I know that, but they don't care. If you don't turn yourself in, they're going to find me and charge me with rape. No more job, Haylee. No more money. No more home. I go to jail and they still take you. Do you know what that does to our future? It ruins it.”

  “But we haven't had sex! We could have last night, and we didn't. They can't!”

  “Haylee,” he said, cupping my face in his hands, staring me down, “They can–and they're going to. It's only a matter of time before they find me.”

  “Mr. Reyes turned you in?”

  “No, but he can't risk his job over it, he said he has to tell them where I work tomorrow if you don't turn yourself in.”

  “But it's not fair, you didn't do anything wrong. You were saving us.”

  “I moved a fourteen-year-old girl into an apartment. What do you think it looks like to everyone?”

  My head swam. This was not at all what I thought would happen. It was supposed to get better away from Clayton's wra
th. Losing me scared Justin as much as losing him scared me. He raked his hands through his hair again.

  “I can't lose you. You're all I've got. But he's right, I can't take care of you either. You need to be in school, doing Spirit week and worrying about test scores; not paying bills and dodging CPS.”

  “I'm going to school. I went today; yesterday I had to figure out the buses.”

  “Haylee you've barely been there since your mom died.”

  “So? Things are hard right now. I'll go. I won't miss a day. I promise.”

  “You don't get it. They think you need more help than I can give you right now and they're right. I can't afford to support the two of us. I can't give you the stuff you need. And I definitely can't if they lock me up.”

  “What are we supposed to do then?”

  “Do what they want. You have to turn yourself in. We can write—you remember you always wanted me to write you love letters? Guess you got your wish.” He was trying to lighten up the mood. It didn't work. “And wait. I know you don't believe it, but you'll be old enough in no time; then we can be together and no one can stop us.”

  I stared at him. Later wasn't enough. I wanted him now.

  “Look. Think about it this way: I'm going to enlist, right?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was going to wait until you were old enough but I can do it now, and by the time my four years are done, you'll be old enough, we'll get married and no one will separate us ever again.”

  It was a line of bull. All Justin wanted was to convince me to turn myself in so he could stay out of trouble and I could get a good home, like I was a stray puppy or something.