I jump up. “Already?”
He shrugs. “Well, it’s eight o’clock. There are always some early birds.”
“You’re being nice.” And that makes me suspicious.
“Don’t read too much into this, Wolfe.” He gets up and saunters out of the room, his hands in his pockets.
I stare after him for a moment, contemplating. He’s never nice. I need to hide out and then get the hell out of here. I grab my bag and shoes and straighten the bed, slipping down the hall. Voices carry up the stairs, giggling girls and a boy’s low response.
Ian’s room is kind of what I would’ve expected. The walls are gray-blue; his bedding matches in darker tones. There’s a lacrosse stick on his desk and a helmet beside it. The rest of his room is pretty much spotless. Closed black closet doors, plush carpet instead of hardwood.
I drop my bag and sit on the edge of his bed. Music kicks on downstairs, loud enough to vibrate the floorboards.
I slide to the floor and dig through the bag, pulling out my phone. I’ve avoided it, but now I turn it on. There are too many missed calls, and half from Riley. Another half dozen from Caleb. A few from Robert and Lenora. And texts. So many texts.
I click on my conversation thread with Riley.
Riley: OMG, where are you? Caleb just burst in on Eli and I…
My mouth drops open.
Me: You had sex with Eli?!
Riley: Not what’s important right now, Margo! WHERE ARE YOU?
I bite my lip. I can’t answer. What if she tells?
Me: Somewhere not obvious… I hope.
Riley: I’m scowling at you right now. Just so you know.
Me: I need space.
She doesn’t respond. I guess that’s space.
I’ve tried for years to avoid loneliness. To push away everyone and everything in an effort to fortify myself. I changed homes frequently. At ten, I made attachments wherever I went. By twelve...
Past
Angela was waiting for me when I got back to the DiMario’s house. The bus dropped me off at the end of the street, and sometimes they waited for me in their car. If Mr. DiMario wasn’t drunk, that is. If he was, then I walked to their house and tried to slip in undetected.
Anger. So much anger in one man.
I slip inside, braced for screaming, for broken glass, but there was only silence and my case worker. She seemed sad. Her lips were pinched, and her eyebrows pulled down in the middle.
She had a bag next to her full of my stuff. Four shirts, a package of underwear from Walmart, two pairs of socks. I only had the jeans that I had on. Nothing brings a kid down to earth faster than carting around their worldly possessions in a trash bag.
“Where to?” I asked her.
She just shook her head. “A respite home.”
Respite. Temporary. A night, a week.
I glared at her. “What’d I do this time?”
“The family said you were stealing.” She showed me a watch that belonged to Mr. DiMario. “I found this in your room.”
My heart pounded. He wouldn’t have called Social Services—he would’ve beat me silly. I’d been with the DiMario’s for three weeks, but it was enough to instill fear.
“I didn’t. I don’t even like stupid old watches.”
She rubs her eyes. “What am I supposed to do here, Margo? It’s grounds for removal.”
It’s better this way. Mrs. DiMario stroked my hair until I fell sleep, but I was better off without them. Stronger without them.
I straightened my shoulders and snatched the bag from Angela’s side, rifling through it. Everything was there and accounted for—except one thing.
“Where’s the bracelet?”
She shook her head. “What?”
I ran back into my room. It was no larger than a closet with a twin bed on a low frame and a dresser against the wall. Everything was stripped, even the sheets. I jerked around, falling to my knees.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“The bracelet,” I said. I was frantic. Blue and gold. Blue and gold.
It had to be here somewhere. I should’ve never taken the stupid thing off, but it frayed. I was afraid it would snap if I wore it.
Someone at school might see it and yank, and then he’d be gone forever.
I was halfway under the bed when she grabbed me and yanked me out.
“Stop,” she said.
My attention was glued to the floor.
“There wasn’t a bracelet in here.”
Tears filled my eyes. “I put it—”
“I’m sorry, Margo, but…” She glanced around, throwing up her hands. “I don’t know. We have to get you to the respite house.”
She forcefully led me out of the house. I barely registered where we were going through the tears, but then I was in the car, hugging my belongings to my chest.
Gone. It was gone.
My life here? Easily erased.
How did they manage to do it so efficiently? It’s evil the way kids like me could be wiped off the map. Didn’t like her attitude? Boom, gone.
Like she never even existed in the first place.
Present
It’s impossible to do anything except count cracks in the ceiling. The music is full blast, and the sounds of a million people layer on top of it. I tried scrolling Instagram, checking emails, listening to my own music…
Nothing drowns out the noise.
I stand and check my reflection. I look surprisingly okay for the day I’ve had.
I pull on a hoodie from Ian’s closet—the least I deserve—and cover my head. There’s not much I can do about my face, except let my hair half conceal it. Once my boots are on, I slip my phone into the hoodie pocket and crack the door.
The music is even louder in the hallway.
Remembering Ian’s warning, I lock his door behind me and try to act inconspicuous. No one throws me a second glance—maybe I am incognito—until I get to the back door. I open it and step out onto the porch, inhaling a deep breath.
“Margo.” Caleb leans on the house. He’s in shadows, but I’d recognize him anywhere.
“Waiting to lay another trap?” It’s amazing how quickly fury reawakens.
I wonder if that’s how he feels when he looks at me, too.
“Trying to convince myself not to carry you out of here and show you how I really feel.” His words are dark.
I shake off the chill. “How’s that going?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” He straightens. “Why are you?”
I saw him this morning. My heart shouldn’t be beating out of my chest like this. He’s just a boy. He’s just Caleb.
For a split second, I imagine hurting him. Punching him in the face or kneeing him in the groin. Anything to make him mirror the agony I feel on the inside. Because seeing him hurts in unexpected ways. There’s broken glass inside me, pushing its way out.
“Margo,” he repeats, walking toward me.
I stiffen, but I don’t move until he’s right in front of me. His hand comes up, sliding around my neck and into my hair.