Flyaway (4 page)

I freeze. Court ? I try to count up the days I've been absent in my head, but I've lost track.

She dumps me back in the chair. "So you were saying you stayed home to answer the phone. Tell us more about that."

I'm not about to tell her that staying at home to look after Mom was my idea, that I'm scared she'll crash so hard she'll sleep right through those calls. Or the smoke detector going off. Or the landlord pounding on the door, swearing about the rent.

I'm sweating so bad, I wonder if I forgot to wear deodorant. "My mom's trying to get this business thing going, okay? She's trying to get together enough money to start her own jewelry company. She designs really cool beads and earrings and stuff." I see Aunt Mindy roll her eyes. I know I'm talking way too fast, but it's out of my control. "She has to sleep during the day, and I just wanted to make sure she didn't miss any important calls."

"And this has nothing to do with this situation your aunt's talking about ?"

"No!"

Now Aunt Mindy's out of her chair. "My sister can't even keep her life together. How's she going to run a jewelry business ? When I went over the other night to check on Stevie, there wasn't a scrap of food in the house. She hadn't seen her mom in two days. That was two days ago, and we still haven't heard from her."

Mrs. Watkins looks at me. "Is that true, Stevie?"

I stare at the floor. My heart's pounding a million miles an hour.

"I can understand your concern about the drugs," she tells Aunt Mindy, "but at this point, that's hearsay. Let's deal with what we've got in front of us. I assume Stevie's safe at the moment?"

Aunt Mindy sinks back into her chair. "She's staying with me now."

The way she says "now" makes it sound like "forever."

"And you do realize I'm obligated by law to report any possible instance of neglect to CPS," Mrs. Watkins says.

Okay, I'm officially screwed. I slump in my chair and hide my face in my hands.

"You and I can discuss that later," I hear Mrs. Watkins tell Aunt Mindy. "For now, let's talk about our next step here. We need to get Stevie back on track."

I keep my face buried in my hands. What's the point in going back to classes now? It's all just parties and end-of-the-year stuff anyway. I want to tell them I can't think about school when Mom's not paying the bills and we might get kicked out of our apartment again. But if I say that, I'll be taken away for sure.

"Don't worry," Aunt Mindy says. "She won't be skipping any more classes; you can count on that." She puts on her butt-kissing voice. "I've told Stevie how important high school is, how if she doesn't do her best she'll regret it for the rest of her life."

I peek through my fingers and see Mrs. Watkins hold out a chubby hand to shut Aunt Mindy up. I'm actually starting to like her.

"Let's think, here," she says. "Fortunately we caught this before Stevie racked up enough unexcused absences to land her in truancy court."

I take my hands away from my face and glare at her.

"And we're also fortunate that the Seattle School Board gives us some leeway to tailor attendance interventions to specific students." She glances at me and then back at Aunt Mindy. "So here's what I'm thinking: Given the personal stress Stevie's under, and given the fact that there are only seven days left in the school year, counting today, I'm sure our principal would be willing to waive her requirement to attend classes the final week of school."

Yes!

Aunt Mindy frowns. "I hate to disagree, but—"

"Let me finish." Mrs. Watkins gives her the that's-enough-out-of-you look she usually saves for students. "Final grades are already in. I pulled Stevie's up on the computer this morning. The good news is, she passed."

Double yes!

"The bad news is, not by much. She's not eligible for summer school, but I'd highly recommend hiring a private tutor for her over the summer."

Crap.

"If you can afford it, that is. That way she'd be in a strong position to start her sophomore year in the fall."

Of course Aunt Mindy's all over the tutor idea. Anything to make my life miserable.

Mrs. Watkins turns to me. "How does that sound?"

"Fabulous," I mutter.

She hoists herself from the desk. Her thighs jiggle into position. "I'm glad we're all on the same page," she says, and shakes Aunt Mindy's hand. "I'll be in touch."

I watch them congratulate each other and don't say a word, even though I feel like socking them both. Let them think this tutor idea is going to solve everything. At least it got Aunt Mindy to shut up about the stuff that cop told her. I even nod at Mrs. Watkins as we leave the office.

We're halfway down the hall when I hear a voice behind me: "Stevie!"

I turn around and there's Tonya, her reddish-brown dreadlocks sticking out from her pale face in all directions. She's got her cell phone in one hand and a can of Mountain Dew in the other, and she's working her gum so hard it makes my jaw ache to look at her.

"Where have you been?" she says. "I keep looking for you atlunch and I called you a bunch of times but you never called me back and I tried to tell you about my party but—"

"Sorry. I gotta go. I'll call you later." I hustle for the front door, then turn and glance back. Tonya's standing there glaring at me. Feeling like the world's lamest excuse for a friend, I escape to the safety of the parking lot.

I just can't face talking to her right now. I just can't face anything. All I can think about is that call from Drake and the money Mom took from my heart-shaped box. And the time a few weeks ago she was on the phone with him and she didn't know I was listening and she made her voice real soft and she said, "Did you get it? Did you get the crystal?"

It's 1:38 in the morning, and all I've been doing for the past hour and a half is trying to put this lousy day behind me. But sleep won't come. I know if I could just talk to Mom, everything would be okay. "What's eating you, baby?" she'd say, and she'd ask me to cuddle up and tell her all about it. I'd give anything to hear her voice, so I tiptoe into the living room to use the phone.

I grab the cordless and plop onto the couch. Before I dial, I close my eyes and go back to my favorite memory: I'm in our old place in Montana, and Mom is wrapping me in the blanket with little blue flowers on it. She leans over and kisses me. The memory seems so real I can almost feel her breath against my cheek. But when I open my eyes, I'm still sitting in Aunt Mindy's living room in the dark.

I dial our number. I let it ring, and even when the answering machine comes on, I keep the phone pressed to my ear, hoping. I can hear rain splatter against the windows and pound on the roof. I pray that if Mom isn't at the apartment, at least she's someplace safe and dry. I hang up.

I'm about to go back to bed. But the look on Tonya's face at school this morning pops into my head, and I know there's one more call I need to make. I ring her cell.

"Hey, Tonya. Stevie. Did I wake you up?"

Her voice is fuzzy. "It's, like, two a.m. What do you think?"

"Sorry about this morning."

"Yeah, what was up with that ? And how come you never call me back? And how come you're never at school?"

"What are you, my mother?" I start to laugh, but the sound gets caught in my throat. I watch a fat raindrop slide down the window, leaving a slug trail behind. "I just ... well ... things have been a little crazy."

"Tell me about it! I had another fight with Mike. He tells me I can't have anybody over while he's out of town and I tell him, like, I'm sure I'm just going to sit around by myself like some kind of nun or something. Oh, by the way, did I tell you about the party we're having? It's—"

"Tonya." Sometimes you have to stop her before she zooms into hyperspace. "I'm not coming to your party."

Her voice goes high and singsongy. "The Professor's gonna be there."

The Professor is her brother's best friend—which is weird, because they're like total opposites. His real name is Van, but nobody besides teachers ever calls him that. I'm not much for crushing on guys, but if I was, I'd definitely go for him. He's smart, for one thing. And I don't mean ordinary smart, I mean super smart—like he's in all the advanced classes at school and talks about stuff like black holes and string theory and can pronounce words I've never even heard of.

For another thing, he's tall. Me and Mom, we're both short, and we like a guy we can look up to. I can definitely look up to the Professor. And I love the way he looks down at me over the top of his glasses, and the way his brownish-blond hair falls into his eyes.

I'm pretty sure he likes me too. The first time we met, at one of Tonya's parties, we hung out together the whole night. We kicked back on her deck and gazed up at the sky, and he told me all about light-years and how the stars we were looking at might not even exist anymore. Then he started stopping by my locker at school, asking if I needed help with my homework.

I haven't seen him since I quit showing up for school. I miss talking to him for sure, but what I really miss is the way he looks at me. He has this way of staring right into my eyes, like he's trying to see down into the center of me. But even that isn't enough to make me drag myself to Tonya's party.

"I don't care," I tell her. "I'm not going to spend an entire night watching you and Doug get drunk and act like morons."

"What's up with you, anyway? All of a sudden you're like Little Miss Just-Say-No, and all I want to do is have some fun and—"

"Tonya."

"Sorry. But I wish you'd tell me what's going on."

I hug one of Aunt Mindy's zebra-striped pillows. I promised myself a while back I'd never drink or do drugs again, but I haven't told Tonya yet. Actually, I haven't been all that straight with Tonya lately, and she is more or less my best friend. My only friend is more like it. Us Value Village shoppers have to stick together.

"Okay, I'll tell you what's going on. But promise you won't blab to anyone."

Last time I let her in on something big—that Mom got a job at the club—it wasn't long before the whole school knew about it. Still, I need someone to talk to. So I hug the pillow tighter and spill at least part of the mess: Aunt Mindy showing up and forcing me to stay with her. Getting hauled into Mrs. Watkins's office. Having to have a tutor. I even admit that I don't know where Mom is and I miss her and I think she might be with her creepy new boyfriend, Drake. But I don't tell her everything.

"I think we should try to find her," she says when I'm finished.

A sudden gust of wind flings a bucket of rain against the window.

"This guy Drake—you know where he lives, right ? Why don't we just go to his place and see if your mom's there ?"

Cool air prickles my bare arms. Even though the possibility of running into Drake is about as appealing as finding a dead rat on my pillow, the idea of seeing Mom makes my heart beat faster. And if Tonya was with me ... well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"You do know where he lives, right ?"

"Yeah, south of downtown." Mom took me with her one time when she went to his house to pick something up. It's not the kind of place that would be easy to forget.

"So here's the plan: I'll get Mike to drop us off downtown tomorrow for a matinee. We'll take the bus from there."

Just the thought of setting foot near that house again makes my stomach churn, but I know I've got to do it.

"Okay, it's a plan. And Tonya?"

"Yeah?"

"Quit calling your dad 'Mike.'"

We decide to meet at one o'clock. I give her Aunt Mindy's address, and then I put the phone back, lean against the couch, and close my eyes. The rain sounds softer now. I'll be talking to Mom soon; maybe things will be okay.

I guess I doze off for a minute, because the sound of the toilet flushing startles me awake. Aunt Mindy must be up. As I hurry down the hall to the guest room, I notice her computer's on. I can't help myself: I slink into her room and peek at the screen.

"Symptoms of Methamphetamine Addiction" says the banner at the top.

I can't believe it. Now Aunt Mindy doesn't only think Mom's "involved" with crystal; she thinks she's addicted. Okay, so maybe Drake talked her into trying it once. Or even twice. But there's no way she's an addict. This is just another one of Aunt Mindy's sick attempts to screw up Mom's life.

I almost stomp away, but then I let my gaze drop to the list below the banner:

• Hyperactivity
  
• Sleep disturbances
  
• Excessive talking
  
• Mood swings
  
• Paranoia
  

I can't read any further. The letters on the screen turn into spindly-legged insects that creep into my brain.

"Stevie! I didn't know you were still up." Aunt Mindy is standing in the doorway in a baggy pink T-shirt and leopard-print slippers. Without makeup, her face looks naked.

I push past her and barrel toward the guest room, then slam the door and throw myself onto the bed.

"Stevie," Aunt Mindy says through the door, "you've got to trust me. Everything's going to be okay."

I squeeze my eyes tighter and try to pretend her voice is Mom's.

 

When I wake up the next morning, it's after eleven. Aunt Mindy's car is gone, so I wander into the kitchen in search of caffeine. There's a note waiting for me on the table.
Stevie,
it says.
At the studio, back by 11:30. Please load dishwasher and take out trash. We're meeting with tutor at noon. Love, M.

I crumple the note and toss it in the garbage. Then I remember my plan with Tonya, and suddenly I'm as jumpy as if I'd just knocked back a triple mocha. I decide to skip the coffee and go get dressed. I'm going through my clothes, trying to figure out what to wear, when I find Alan's card in the pocket of my jeans. Things have been so crazy I'd almost forgotten about Tweety Bird, but now I picture the way she struggled in the dirt and hear her shrill cry. I squint at the address on the card:
8503 30th NW
The bird clinic must be near that funky little coffee shop right along the 48 bus route. I'm thinking I should head over there someday and check on her. Then I remember Alan's stupid smirk and toss the card on the closet floor.