Stolen

by Elizabeth Gilpin

  Chapter 10

  THE NEWS FINALLY arrived that Polly was getting out. Like an inmate released early for good behavior, Number Five had jumped the line. She got the official word during an afternoon session. Her parents had written a letter, a saccharine missive heaped with annoying praise that she read aloud.

  “We’re so proud of you. You’re a shining star. Our good girl was in there all along.”

  Polly read all this with a placid smile. But when she got to the next paragraph she let out a shriek.

  “I’m going to Oakley!”

  I knew about Oakley, but only because Polly talked about it all the time. It was one of the many overpriced therapeutic boarding schools most kids attended straight from the woods. To hear her sing its praises, you’d have thought it was an Ivy League college and not a school for rich fuckups in the middle of nowhere.

  “At Oakley you get to ski,” Polly had told me half a dozen times. “And there’s white-water rafting in the summer.”

  Thrilling. To be honest, I didn’t pay much attention to the chatter about schools at first. I was convinced that if I could just make it through my time in the woods without getting sent to lockdown, I’d get to go home. The odds were against me, but I refused to accept them. So I took in the rumors as a passive listener.

  Good to know, but that doesn’t really concern me.

  I had managed to glean that there was something of a hierarchy in the world of therapeutic boarding schools, and Oakley was apparently one of the better ones. Meaning: more expensive and less strict. A place for medium-troubled teens. Not as rough as the lockdowns or the military institutions. More outdoorsy than Carlbrook, less austere than Mount Bachelor. Nothing at all like Montana Academy, which seemed to be entirely focused on ranchhanding.

  “I leave in three days,” Polly said, practically squealing. “Oh my god, and my parents are coming to pick me up!”

  “Yep,” a staffer said. “They’re really proud of you, Polly. You should be proud of yourself.”

  Polly’s comic grin expanded, then morphed into a frown.

  “Oh wow,” she said, looking around the circle. “Only three days. I’m gonna miss you all so much.”

  We mumbled in response. No one seemed particularly upset about Polly’s departure, not even the girls with numbers lower than hers. The ones who’d been here longer but hadn’t “progressed” with the same speed and enthusiasm as my ass-kissing mentor. It was a relief that she was leaving, although I had no doubt she’d be extra peppy until then, reminding me every day that she was leaving while I was still stuck in the woods.

  For the next two days, Polly talked incessantly about Oakley. The school, she explained, was basically a ski resort in the mountains of Utah. There was a rock-climbing gym and a pottery studio, and resident dogs roamed freely. Marissa had heard a rumor that Oakley was basically a halfway house for kids fresh out of lockdown, but if Polly knew that, she was in total denial.

  “I feel like the luckiest girl in the world,” she said, her fake grin now permanent.

  I woke the morning of Polly’s departure to find a note outside my dwelling.

  DON’T GIVE UP.

  Thanks. That’s just soooo helpful.

  All day, she was like a backwoods Santa Claus, gifting pieces of her bow drill set and uneaten food. Polly had made it to Water Phase, the third stage, which meant she had a flashlight in her possession. I’d coveted that light on many a dark night, but Polly wasn’t allowed to pass it along to me or anyone else. The only way to earn a flashlight—or a Crazy Creek chair, should one make it all the way to Air Phase—was to kiss a lot of staffer ass.

  So I ended up with Polly’s trail mix.

  “I didn’t even eat the M&M’s,” she said.

  In the afternoon we gathered for her graduation ceremony. The setup was similar to the one I found waiting for me the day I joined Fire Phase. We had arranged pebbles in a circle, where Polly’s name was spelled out in flower petals, letters alternating between pink and blue. It was supposed to represent transformation—the blossoming of a new, better Polly—but it looked more like a grave marker. In a way, I guess it sort of was.

  “I can’t believe this is actually happening!”

  She stepped into the circle, beaming. Her parents were there, beaming right back. When Kendra broke the ceremonial stick in half, I fantasized about grabbing it out of her hand and thrusting the pointed edge toward Polly. I could hold her hostage, like some sort of pirate, and force her parents to drive me out of here.

  “Today we celebrate a special girl,” Kendra said, “and acknowledge all the hard work and growth that’s led up to this point. Polly, you’re proof that with the right tools and a good attitude, anything can be accomplished. I’m proud to send you off on the next leg of your journey.”

  “Oh my god, thank you so much.”

  Polly’s parents clasped hands. They both wore khaki slacks and lace-up loafers in some prim approximation of camping attire. Neither looked like they’d spent much time in the wilderness. They had a WASP-y, repressed vibe, and I pictured the moment they found out about their daughter’s sexual exploits: Three boys! How could you do that to us?

  Now they were working hard to seem warm and loving. Good parents who would never send their daughter away unless it was a last resort. They had to save her from herself.

  And look how well it worked. She’s not even a real person anymore.

  Polly’s mother sat forward. “Sweetheart, we are so proud of you. You’ve turned your whole life around.”

  Her father nodded. “You’re becoming exactly the kind of young woman we’ve tried to raise.”

  “It was a hard decision to bring you out here.” Polly’s mom blinked away tears. “And we didn’t come to it lightly. But it was the right one. This place has exceeded our expectations.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” Polly said, nodding. “Thank you for saving me.”

  Mentally, I rolled my eyes.

  Polly’s mom turned toward the circle. She looked from girl to girl, but she clearly wasn’t really seeing any of us. She wasn’t taking in the sunken eyes and the scowling lips. The layers of caked-on dirt that made us appear more mud than flesh. She was seeing only her own daughter, her wayward child who had beaten the odds and was going to be okay.

  For a little while, maybe. On the outside, at least.

  “You know what?” Polly’s mom said. “I wish I could call every one of your parents and tell them how great you’re all doing.”

  The ceremony ended, and we moved on to Polly’s good-bye dinner. It was still just rice and beans, but at least we ate hot. Not only that, but the staff actually started a fire for us, showing off their superior bow-drilling skills. Nevertheless, the sight of gelatinous beans sliming across half-cooked lumps of rice didn’t exactly have Polly’s parents salivating.

  “You’re welcome to join us,” a staffer said. “There’s plenty to go around.”

  “Oh, that’s so nice of you.”

  Suddenly the couple was tight-lipped and stuttering, cutting one another off in a desperate attempt to avoid eating this crap.

  “If only we’d known.”

  “Such a shame.”

  “But we have reservations in town.”

  Waffle House takes reservations now? I remembered all the fast-food joints from the drive up and wanted to laugh.

  Polly’s parents seemed ready to go. After all the speeches about how wonderful the program was, they couldn’t wait to leave the woods. They urged their daughter along, helping her load her pack into Nate’s truck.

  My blood boiled as she climbed into the front seat. I wanted to run over and jump in. Maybe I could hide in the truck bed, escape somewhere between Appalachia and Utah. Instead, I ate raw ramen noodles, biting right off the block, and ignored the hand frantically waving good-bye out the window.

  Turns out Polly wasn’t all the way gone just yet.

  I was boiling the head of my toothbrush, as per our nightly ritual to avoi
d a painful death by listeria, when the staff called us over. Kendra’s face was expressionless, and she wielded her flashlight like a weapon.

  “Everyone follow me. Stay close.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see. No talking, Allison.”

  We’ll see what? A bear? A dead body. Maybe it’s one of us.

  We did a quick count of the girls. Out of habit, I expected thirteen, but there were only twelve of us now. Once again, I felt like a ghost.

  There is no Thirteen. Now I’m Twelve.

  Kendra marched us through a dense thicket of trees. Up ahead, another staffer stood with her flashlight pointed downward. The spot she marked was small, too small for a body.

  That is, a body left intact.

  “Circle up,” Kendra said. “Everyone in.”

  We clustered together and peered into the beam of light. For a moment I had no idea what we were even looking at. As my eyes adjusted, something else started happening to my nose.

  It’s poop.

  We all seemed to realize the same thing at once.

  It’s human poop.

  I wanted to laugh. And I could tell a few of the girls were right there with me. The whole thing was so absurd. Fourteen people standing around in the darkened woods, gazing at a mound of human feces.

  “Ladies,” Kendra said, “this is a surface turd.”

  No shit. Wait. Literally, yes shit.

  “Surface turds, as we all know, are not allowed.”

  Once again, I stifled a laugh. Either from gagging or giggling, most of us were covering our mouths.

  “Someone,” Kendra said, “needs to claim it.”

  Claim it? Claim the pile of shit? This might be a new low.

  “This isn’t a joke,” the other staffer said. “We’re going to stand right here until someone owns up.”

  Kendra moved her flashlight off the turd and directed it toward our faces, interrogation-style. One by one, she started calling people out.

  “Allison? Is this your way of trying to exert some control?”

  “Ew,” Allison said. “No way. That does not belong to me.”

  “Carolina? Seems like your style.”

  “It isn’t,” Carolina said.

  “She’s right,” Isabelle chimed in. “Arson? Totally.”

  “Or vandalism,” Marissa said. “But not this.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  I was caught in a grin.

  “Maybe you got lost on your way to the latrine?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said. “Wasn’t me.”

  Not this time, at least.

  “Well, it was one of you.” The other staffer was losing patience. “So we can drag this out all night, or you can just speak up.”

  “What if it was Polly?” Allison said.

  “It wasn’t,” Kendra said. “Don’t try and weasel out of this.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “Come on, girls. Don’t try to pass the blame. Polly wouldn’t do that, not on her last day.”

  “I mean, isn’t that exactly when she’d do it?” I said.

  Marissa laughed. “That’s when I’d do it.”

  “Nice try,” Kendra said.

  She dismissed our absurd line of reasoning, not that I blamed her. But the longer we stood there, the more it began to feel like it probably was Polly. Minutes ticked by and the turd remained unclaimed. None of the other girls even seemed guilty, and these were some generally guilty-seeming girls.

  Even the staff seemed to come around to the idea. Not that they admitted it or anything. It was late and a person can stand around staring at a piece of shit for only so long. The interrogation moved from casting blame to fixing the problem.

  “Well, someone’s gonna have to clean this up. We aren’t leaving it here.”

  “You want us to clean up Polly’s shit?” Carolina said.

  “No,” Kendra said. “For that snide remark, I want you to clean up Polly’s shit. Or whoever’s shit it is.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “Find a stick. No arguing or we’ll be here all night. The rest of you can run pack drills.”

  “In the dark?” Isabelle said.

  “Yes, in the dark. Let’s hope there are no more surprises lying around.”

  Oh god. Anything but fucking pack drills.

  I absolutely hated pack drills. We all did. They were pointless and hard, a mix of physical exertion and anal-retentive folding. Basically, we had to run from Point A to Point B, drop to the ground, empty our knapsacks, then immediately put everything back inside. We had five minutes to complete the task, get up, and do it all over again. I couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be a “drill” for. Except maybe some obscure Japanese game show.

  DON’T GIVE UP.

  I arrived sweaty and exhausted at the foot of my shelter, where Polly’s message sat glittery and annoying in the silver moonlight.

  Fuck you, Polly.

  I lifted my boot and stomped down hard, right on the word DON’T.

  Now it’s more realistic. All I want is to give up. To go to sleep and stay asleep until this whole thing is over.

  I threw my boots outside my shelter for pickup and lay down. As tired as I was, I couldn’t fall asleep—not even for a minute, much less eternity. There was something off about the night. Something different I just couldn’t put my finger on.

  The crying. It’s gone.

  I’d gotten so used to falling asleep to distant sobbing that I’d stopped even registering it as strange. It was my new songs of the sea CD—ambient noise, the same every night. Its sudden absence was jarring. It could also mean only one thing.

  Polly was the sobbing girl. She cried at night to make up for smiling all day.

  It really had been an act, and it worked like a charm.

  Turns out Polly was kind of a badass the whole time.

  Chapter 11

  Eleven

  I began losing track of time. All the days blended together and I could no longer remember how many of them I’d spent in the woods. After Polly left I became Twelve and soon enough I was Eleven. Summer began to fade as fall approached. At first it was a relief to hike without the sun beating down so harshly, but the overcast days brought their own kind of dreary fatigue.

  I had just become Ten when the nights got so cold I started sleeping in all my clothes.

  Ten

  As miserable as I was, I had to put things in perspective when a new girl named Stephanie arrived. There was something off about Stephanie. Her body worked differently, her eyes and tongue and even the way she walked. But these physical anomalies were nothing compared to her behavior, which was aggressive and insolent from the start. If I arrived angry, Stephanie was enraged. She stomped around, kicking up dirt and yelling, from the moment she got out of Nate’s truck.

  Stephanie was neurodiverse. She was defiant not just because she was angry, but because she was completely overwhelmed. I couldn’t believe her parents would send her off to a place like this. Or that the staff seemed to show no sympathy for this girl with special needs. I wanted to give her a hug and tell her things would get easier, but I knew it was against the rules. I knew for someone like Stephanie, there was no reason to think it would get any easier.

  In fact, it got harder. Stephanie’s first few days were excruciating to watch. Her first hike was a shorter one and she got through it all right. But the second time we set out to wander across the woods, Stephanie wasn’t having it. We’d been out for only an hour or two when Stephanie decided she’d had enough. She threw a full-on tantrum, screaming and kicking. It only escalated from there until, eventually, she plopped down on the ground and flat-out refused to move.

  “Get on your feet right now,” a staffer said. “Or you’re seriously in trouble.”

  But she shook her head and held her ground. The staffer tried to physically lift Stephanie to her feet.

  “You’re on a path straight to lockdown. Is that what you want? Th
e way you’re going, there’s a straitjacket in your future.”

  Stephanie didn’t even respond. She just balled her fists and stayed seated. It was kind of heroic, really. The rest of us had never seen anyone stand up to the staff like this. If it got us out of hiking, we’d practically name a holiday in her honor. Clearly, Stephanie wasn’t going to back down and the staff would have no choice but to call it a day. It was either that, or leave a vulnerable minor all by herself in the middle of the Appalachian woods.

  Wouldn’t you know it, they did just that. Two staffers stayed behind and the rest of us marched on.

  When we finally arrived at our new campsite the staff huddled together around a two-way radio. For the next fifteen or twenty minutes they were so preoccupied with the Stephanie situation, not to mention being down two counselors, that they barely even noticed the rest of us. After weeks of constant surveillance, when every movement was tracked and every word policed, this little bit of freedom had a dizzying effect.

  At first we just talked a little more than usual. Then we started quietly sharing “war stories,” relating anecdotes from home just to see what we could get away with. Sitting with Marissa and Allison, it occurred to me that if there was ever a time to run away, this was it.

  “Think we could pull it off?” I said.

  “Maybe for a night,” Marissa said. “But they’d find us for sure come daylight.”

  “We need to pull a Stephanie,” Allison said. “Make it so they don’t know what else to do with us.”

  Allison grinned and stood up. She climbed the branches of the nearest tree and jumped, trying to land on one foot. She ended up on her ass instead and we all started laughing.

  “What are you doing?” Marissa said. “Are you trying to break your leg?”