The parent center looks a lot like where I tried to vote in the church, except the walls are covered by bulletin boards pinned with event announcements and lists, inspirational posters, and a whiteboard with faded scribbles. There are only four voting booths, and they’re cramped together, but there’s a small table of people with lists in front of them, just like at the church.
Man, I hope that’s the only thing that’s like the church, though. If they turn us away here, Marva might have a breakdown.
“Who was that woman you were talking to?” Marva asks as we get in line.
There aren’t a ton of people ahead of us, but there’s more than I thought there’d be. I glance at the clock on the wall. They’re in the middle of first period at FHH.
“Ms. Amster,” I mumble in case anyone in here knows her. “My mom’s friend.”
“She’s not voting,” Marva says, bringing her hand up to examine her nails.
I stare at her, head cocked to the side. “What?”
“I can tell just by looking at someone. She’s not voting.”
“So you knew that lady at Drip Drop had already voted?” Because she damn sure didn’t look like someone who would’ve been up in the voting booth first thing in the morning. Or ever.
“Mrs. Thomas? Yeah, of course. She’s the type who votes because she doesn’t want to look bad. She doesn’t actually care about the issues, because most of them don’t affect her and her family. But heaven forbid she get judged by someone in the school drop-off line, you know? So she does the bare minimum and slaps a sticker on her chest so people will know she did the right thing.”
“Damn.” I wonder if she’s on her school’s debate team. “But how do you know about Ms. Amster? She’s always been pretty cool with me.”
“Did you see the look on her face when you said why you were here? I’ve never seen anyone more shifty-eyed! Lots of people who don’t give a shit about the state of their country are cool. But when push comes to shove—or, you know, just showing up and filling in some circles once every two years—lots of people don’t actually show up.”
I dunno. Ma is pretty militant about voting. I don’t believe she’d be all right with her best friend not doing it.
“What if she was going to vote for the people you hate?”
Marva’s lips curve into a surprised O. Has she never thought about this before?
I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself when she pulls her phone from her jacket. She frowns as she looks at the screen.
“It’s my dad.” She bites her lip for a minute, thinking, and I take that chance to look at her without getting caught. She’s pretty even when she’s frowning. And I get the feeling she frowns a lot. She has today. But not just because she’s upset—she frowns when she’s thinking hard or judging what I said or figuring out what to say next. And I don’t even know how this is possible, because I just met her, but I can tell the little difference in each one of them.
“Dad?” she says. “What’s up?”
We inch ahead, one person closer to the check-in table.
“No, I’m not sitting down,” she says. “What’s wrong?”
I look over. That is for sure an upset frown.
“DAD! WHAT’S GOING ON?”
He clears his throat a few times, and I can tell without even being there that he’s pacing. I think I get most of my nervous energy from my father. Which is weird, because my mom has an incredibly stressful job. Not only trying to keep people alive and help them heal, but making them feel good and safe at the same time. It sounds exhausting, but I rarely see her sweat, even after a double shift. I bet Duke would make a good nurse.
“Marva, I’m so, so sorry. But…I just got back from my trip to New York and I left the front door open while I was grabbing my luggage and the mail and…she’s gone.”
I frown. “What? Mom? Yeah, she had an early shift. She left before I did this morning.”
“No, honey. Selma. She escaped.”
My world tilts. With those two words, everything goes off-balance.
“Escaped?” I whisper.
“And I can’t find her.” My dad’s voice cracks as he says, “I’m so, so sorry, honey.”
“Dad, how…? But she’s never…”
“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “We’ve left the door open hundreds of times and she’s never even attempted to leave. She always acted scared of the outside.”
“Well, I can probably be home in”—I look at the line ahead of us; it’s barely even moving—“thirty minutes?”
“No, honey, it’s okay. I don’t want you to leave school. She probably hasn’t gone far at all. Probably just had the itch to see the world and she’ll be right back.”
I guess Mrs. Thomas hasn’t called him if he thinks I’m still at school. But, honestly, I don’t care if Mrs. Thomas told him she saw me having sex with a stranger in the parking lot of Drip Drop. All I care about is getting my Selma back.
“So you’re going to just wait it out?”
“Marva, no. She’s a member of the family. I’m going out to look for her now. I just don’t want you to worry too much. I’ll keep you posted, okay?”
I swallow hard, my throat thick from holding back tears. “Text or call me as soon as you know anything.”
“I will, honey. I promise.”
Duke is watching me as I hang up. “What happened?”
“My cat…she got out when my dad came home, and he can’t find her.” My voice chokes on that last word, but I take a quick breath and blink back the familiar sting in my eyes.
“Oh, man. I’m sorry. Do you need to go look for her?” He pauses, then: “Want me to come with you?”
“Oh.” I don’t know why I just assumed that if I were going to look for Selma, he’d come with me. It didn’t even seem like a question in my mind. “No, it’s okay. I mean, thanks. But my dad is going out to look for her now. I’m sure she hasn’t gotten very far.”
But I didn’t really believe that when my father said it, and I’m not sure I believe it now.
I NEVER WANTED A CAT.
It’s not that I don’t like them. I’ve always thought they’re so regal, the way they move so haughtily and stand tall, wrapping their tails around their legs like at any moment someone could paint a portrait of them. And I’ve always admired their ability to intimidate people with a simple glare.
But with the exception of a couple of fish, we never had pets until Selma. My parents were very clear that they had no intention of getting me a dog or a cat only to have to take care of it themselves. And I liked my friends’ dogs and cats, but I never felt a burning need to have my own. Or to clean a litter box.
Until Mom came home with that ridiculous black kitten my freshman year.
I was on my period, so I blame how fast I fell for Selma on my hormones being out of whack. But someone had found a litter abandoned in a cardboard box in the parking lot of the hospital, and she was so tiny, and when Mom walked in cradling her in a blanket, I immediately burst into tears.