Leaving Paradise (3 page)

As I swallow the last of the wad of beef, I realize they’re all waiting for an answer.

Umm . . .

The hopeful look on my mom’s face makes me realize she feels sorry for me. As if I care that I’m not friends with them anymore. Mom cares. She’s got to deal with paying for half of the medical bills that the insurance didn’t cover. My parents are divorced and I hate feeling like I’m adding to her stress. Guilt, like a big wad of roast beef, settles in my French dip-filled gut.

I want to wince when I hear myself say, “Sure, sounds like fun.”

Mom lets out a breath while the girls suck in theirs.

“Can you pick her up?” Mom asks my cousin.

“Sure, Aunt Linda,” Sabrina says.

Seriously, I feel like a little kid having my mommy make a playdate for me. Especially when I hear my mom ask, “What time?”

“I guess around eight.”

“Grrreat!” Mom says like that tiger in the cereal commercial.

How am I going to get out of this without my mom finding out? There’s no way I’m going to a party and have people stare and gawk at me. It’s bad enough I’ll have to deal with the ridicule in school on Monday.

After Mom brings their side salads and leaves us alone for two minutes, Brianne flashes me a sly smile. “Do you know the big news?”

News? Um, I haven’t exactly been in the gossip loop lately. “That Mr. Meyer wears a toupee?” I heard that about our school principal a while ago.

Brianne laughs. “No, that’s totally old news. I’m talking about Caleb Becker being released tomorrow.”

What?

Danielle dips her fork in her dressing and stabs a piece of lettuce. “Mrs. Becker called my mom today and told her. Early release. I wonder if they’ll let him back in school.”

Early release? He was supposed to be away for at least six more months. I had the perfect plan—to leave for Spain before he got back. A deep, sharp pain in my chest jabs me when I take a breath, and my fingers are shaking. I’m having a mini-panic attack, but trying not to let everyone else know.

“Maggie, are you okay?” Sabrina asks as I push the pie away from me.

No. I’m definitely not okay.

three

Caleb

As if having my dad stare at me throughout the entire drive from St. Charles to Paradise wasn’t torture enough, my mom has been wringing her hands together since I was discharged from the DOC this afternoon. I don’t even think she’s looked in my direction once.

What the hell am I supposed to say?
Stop being nervous, Ma
. Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well. Her son is a convicted felon. I just wish she would stop constantly reminding me of it.

Okay, so it’ll take some time. She never excelled at being the doting mother to begin with.

When we turn down Masey Avenue, Paradise Park is in front of us. I got my front two teeth knocked out at the Paradise Park playground when I was five and had my first fist fight on the basketball court there when I was nine. Those were the good old days. I can’t believe I’m seventeen and thinking about the good old days.

A block later we reach the familiar two-story brick house with four white pillars flanking the front door. I step out of the car and take a deep breath.

I’m home.

“Well . . .” Dad says as he opens the door. “Welcome to Paradise.”

I nod instead of laughing at the most common greeting to visitors in this town. I lurk in the foyer. The decorating hasn’t changed in the past year—I can see that right off the bat.

Strangely enough, it doesn’t feel like home.

It smells familiar, though. Like apple spice. I haven’t smelled this sweet, tangy scent in what seems like forever.

“I’ll, uh, be in my room,” I tell them, although I say it like I’m asking permission. Why, I have no clue. It used to be my room, it still is my room. So why am I acting like this place is just a pit stop?

I step up the familiar staircase, but this feeling of claustrophobia overcomes me and I start to sweat. I venture farther up the stairs and scan the hallway. My eyes rest on a black vision leaning against the door frame of my sister’s room.

Wait.

That black vision is my twin sister, Leah. She’s not just a silhouette of my sister, that’s her in the flesh. And she’s wearing nothing but black.

Black hair, black makeup. Damn, she even has black painted nails. Goth to the core. A shiver runs up my spine. It’s hard to believe this is my sister. She resembles a corpse.

Before I let out another breath, Leah throws herself into my arms. Then these huge sobbing noises come out of her mouth and nose, reminding me of my cellmate.

Even when Judge Farkus eyed me with disgust and told me I was going to be locked up for almost a year for my gross negligence and stupidity for driving drunk, I didn’t let out a peep. Man, when they made me strip and did a full cavity search, I was humiliated beyond comprehension. And when Dino Alvarez, a gang member from the south side of Chicago, came up to me during exercise hour and cornered me my second day in the DOC I almost shit my pants. But I never once in all that time cried.

I pat my sister’s head, not knowing what else to do. I’ve hardly had any physical contact in the past year, and craved it when I sat in my cell for over three hundred days and nights. But now, when I’m getting some from my own sister, it feels like the walls are closing in on me.

“I need to lie down for a while,” I say, then gently push her away. What I really need is a break from this old/new barrage of family in my life.

As I walk into my room, the dark wood floor beneath my feet creaks, the sound reverberating in my ears.

It’s a kid’s room
, I think to myself. Sports trophies and my Star Wars Anakin Skywalker lightsaber are still on my bookshelf where I left them, and a Paradise High School pennant is nailed above my bed. Hell, even the picture of Kendra in her cheerleading uniform is taped to my headboard as if we’re still a couple.

I cut all ties with her when I got arrested. Kendra is a girl used to being pampered by her parents and would be grossed out by the people I’ve been living with for the past year. I could just imagine her snubbing Dino Alvarez’s girlfriend during weekly visiting hours. The last thing I needed in the DOC was other inmates kicking my ass because I have a girlfriend who wears designer clothes and carries a two-hundred-dollar purse.

Visiting day for me consisted of Mom wringing her hands nervously and staring at me like I was someone else’s kid, and Dad rambling on about weather and nothing in particular just to fill in the silence.

Walking to my bedroom closet, I finger all the new clothes Mom must have bought for me. What was she thinking? My t-shirts and jerseys are gone. In their place are geeky, button-down plaid shirts hanging like soldiers. On the shelves, all folded up like in a Gap store, are different shades of pleated pants.

I pick up a pair and hold them in front of me. They’re way too small. When should I break the news to her I’m not the skinny kid who used to live here? I worked out every day for the past year to blow off steam and fend off guys like Alvarez. Muscles don’t just weigh more, they change the entire structure of your body.

Sitting at my desk, I look out the window and glance at the Armstrongs’ house. My window faces Maggie’s bedroom.

Maggie Armstrong.

The girl I was convicted of maiming.

Okay, I know it’s unfair. But it’s hard not to want to blame her. If it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t have been locked up. I’ve thought about Maggie and the events leading up to the accident more times in the past year than I want to admit.

“Caleb, you there?” Dad asks, then knocks.

Gotta love it when people knock. I haven’t heard a knock in a year. I open the door and gesture for him to come inside.

My dad walks in and I close the door behind him. He’s still got a full head of dark hair and a tailored mustache. He’s okay as a dad, but a total wimp when it comes to standing up to my mom.

“Your mom’s invited a few of her friends over after dinner.” He hesitates, then adds, “For, um, a homecoming party.”

A knot on the back of my neck starts to form. I rub it. A homecoming party for a guy who just got out of the slammer? Unbelievable. “Cancel it,” I say.

The veins in his neck tense up and start turning a strange shade of purple. “Listen, it’s what your mother wants. She’s been through a lot this year with you in jail. Just . . . do what she wants and put on a show for her friends. It’ll be easier for everyone if you play along.”

“A show?”

“Yeah, plaster a smile on your face and humor the women in her social club. I do it all the time,” he says, then leaves the room as quickly as he entered.

It takes a second to register what he just said. Smile? Show? I feel like I’ve been transported to some Hollywood movie set. But it’s not a movie, it’s my life.

Taking the lightsaber in my hand, I turn it on. Laser sounds fill the room when I wave the saber like a great Jedi warrior. God, how I used to spend hours dueling imaginary demons with this thing when I was a kid.

Now I’ve got new demons to fight.

Ones I can’t make disappear with a wave of a toy.

four

Maggie

“Maggie, look at what I bought for you.” My mom stands at my bedroom door in the evening, holding up a pair of pink velour pants and a zippered jacket. “The saleswoman said all the teenagers are wearing these. They’re very, very hip.”

“Nobody says
hip
anymore.”

“Cool?”

I take the outfit from her. It’s a Juicy Couture set, totally soft and nothing like my Wal-Mart clothes. “Mom, this must have cost over a hundred dollars. It’s very
cool
, but we can’t afford it.”

“Don’t worry about the money,” she says, waving my concern away. “I put in some overtime at the diner and have a little extra this month. Besides, school starts Monday and I wanted you to have something hip, cool, whatever. Try it on.” Mom does a little excited dance as she waits.

I wanted her to leave for work so I could call Sabrina and tell her I’m not going to the party. “Mom, it’s seven thirty. Don’t you think Mr. Reynolds will be upset if you’re a half hour late?”

She smiles, her excitement hasn’t waned. “Sweetie, I’m waiting for Sabrina to pick you up.”

My stomach sinks to my knees. “Why?”

“Because it’ll make me
so
happy to finally see you go out and have fun.”

I feel the pressure building up and entering my lungs.

I dress in the velour outfit, and as soon as my mom sees me she’s beaming. “Oh, sweetheart, you look
gorgeous
. Pink goes so well with your olive complexion.”

I have to admit, the outfit is gorgeous. But I’m not. Although the pants hide my hideous scars, no amount of money can make an outfit hide the awkward tilt in my stride. After Mom watches me brush my stringy, dull brown hair and lends me makeup to wear, I find myself standing at the door waiting for Sabrina.

“Now, if you have any problems, I wrote down some emergency numbers for you.” She hands me her cell and a piece of paper. “The first one is the number to the diner, the second is Aunt Pam’s, the third is Dr. Gerrard’s emergency line, and the fourth is 911.”

Images of Spain race across my mind. She treats me like my head is as messed up as my knee. “Come on, Mom, 911? It’s been ingrained in my head since preschool.”

“People forget numbers all the time when they’re under stress, Maggie.”

I open my Wal-Mart purse and shove the paper inside. “I’ll be fine,” I assure her, although I’m not so sure myself.

“I know. I just want you to be happy. And safe. But if your leg hurts or you want to come home early, I’ll leave work and come get you.”

Suddenly it hits me. Why she’s giving me the attention she’d give to a newborn baby. “You know Caleb is coming back today, don’t you?”

Her deer-in-headlights look doesn’t go unnoticed. “Someone
might
have mentioned it at the diner yesterday.”

I moan and groan, “Moommm.”

“Sweetie, don’t think about it. Just look the other way and pretend the Beckers don’t exist.”

I guess now wouldn’t be the best time to talk about how much I miss my ex-best friend who also happens to be “one of those Beckers.” A car horn beeps outside. It’s Sabrina.

“Go,” Mom says. “And call when you get there so I know you’re safe, even if you think I’m being overprotective or
uncool
.”

I walk out the door, trying to count the days in my head until I leave for Spain. I think it’s a hundred and eighteen days, obviously not soon enough. When I get in the front seat of my cousin’s car, she says, “Nice outfit.”

Sabrina knows well enough that we struggle financially and my clothes are an extravagant expense we can’t afford. Two years ago my dad left on a business trip to Texas. It was supposed to be for four weeks, he was trying to convince a group of investors to move their digital-chip manufacturing facility to Paradise. They rejected his proposal, but they offered him a job traveling around the country as their consultant.

In two years my dad has been back to Paradise three times. Once to ask my mom for a divorce, once to announce he’s getting remarried, and the last time was after the accident. He came for one week, then left. He says he’s happy, that he wants me to come visit his new home, but he never makes any commitments or sets up any dates. I wasn’t even at his second wedding.

“Thanks.” I run my fingers over the soft pants one more time.

And that’s our entire conversation until Sabrina parks on the street and we walk toward Brian Newcomb’s house.

“What’s wrong?” Sabrina asks. “You’re limping worse than usual. I thought your leg was better.”

“It was . . . it is.” But a spasm reared its ugly head today.

I hear rock music blaring out of the windows of Brian’s house and take a deep breath. There’s going to be dancing. Dancing involves moving around and bumping into people. What if I fall? Worse, what if I can’t get up and people start laughing?

At the front of the house, I’m ready to hightail it back home and hide out in my bedroom until I leave for Spain. But Sabrina eagerly opens the door before I can retreat.

As we enter the foyer, I’m hypersensitive and aware all eyes are focused on me. A chill runs down my spine. Could it be I have a zit the size of an avocado pit growing on my nose? Is my limp
that
bad? Or is it gossip they crave? Either way, I don’t like the attention. I’d just about do anything to remain lost in the background forever.

“Hey, guys, it’s Maggie Armstrong back from the dead!” yells a guy on the football team.

“I heard Caleb Becker is back, too,” a guy named Ty calls out.

“That’s what I hear,” I say glibly, not feeling at all glib. I can’t hide. Do they know I want to? “It’s no biggie.” I’m surprised that I’m able to get the words out; my throat is threatening to close up.

“But he almost
killed
you,” someone else says. I don’t even know who said it; the crowd has become one big blur. I don’t even think I could take a deep breath now if I wanted to.

“It was a year ago. I’m over it.” Gulp. Being brave is not as easy as it looks. Especially when your heart is racing faster than the beat of the music, which has now faded into the background. Lucky music.

“How can you be? Weren’t you in a wheelchair for, like, four months?”

One hundred and twenty-three days to be exact, but who’s counting? “I guess.”

“People, give her room to breathe.” I turn to the voice. It’s Kendra. Caleb’s old girlfriend. We used to hang in the same circles, but we were never close. She reminds me of a fake, plastic doll. To my surprise she grabs my arm and pulls me out on the back patio. With my limp it’s hard to keep up with her without tripping over my own feet, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“Have you seen him?” she asks in a whisper.

For a second I’m confused. Kendra is popular, someone nobody can ignore. But I’m not really here, am I? Sure, my body is. But my serenity is back at home, in my room where I can hide from the past and reminders of the accident.

Kendra shakes me, and I’m back at the party.

“Did you see him?” she asks. The way she looks at me you’d think her eyes were darts.

“Who?”

She’s annoyed, her curly blonde hair bouncing with each movement of her head, emphasizing her mood like exclamation points. “Caleb.”

“No.”

“But he lives right next door to you,” she says almost desperately, those darts narrowing into little slits.

“So?” Okay, so I never did particularly click with Kendra. She knows it, I know it. Not many others know it; we’d been very good at pretending we were on the same page. It feels like a standoff, her challenging me for information she wants and thinks I have. But I don’t have it, so I don’t even have the satisfaction of holding back information from her.

Brian peeks his head out the screen door. “Kendra, what’re you doing out here? Come in and save me from having to play spin-the-bottle.”

Kendra looks from me to Brian, then back. “I’m coming,” she says, tossing her hair once again with a flick of her head, before entering the house. I’m left alone. Outside.

I’m fine with alone. I’m used to alone. Alone is comfortable for me, it’s quiet and doesn’t demand I be happy or satisfied or . . . asked any questions. I try not to think about what it was like when I wasn’t alone, when I was an integral part of the social scene. When Kendra and I weren’t enemies or friends, but hung with the same people. And even if we weren’t socially equal, then at least we were on the same social playing field.

Get-togethers wouldn’t have been the same without me.

Now it’s not the same with me.

I sit on a lounge chair by the pool. A few minutes later the party has multiplied and people start congregating and dancing on the patio. I am still alone, but within the crowd.

Brianne is hanging onto Drew Wentworth, Paradise High’s varsity quarterback. His hands are all over her as they dance close to a slow song blaring from the second-story window.

Danielle and Sabrina are huddled in a corner, gossiping and giggling. After a while some guys pull them onto the patio and start dancing with them. The scene reminds me of those California teen reality shows. I stick out like a sore thumb wearing a pink Juicy Couture outfit. I open my purse, glance at the emergency numbers my mom gave me just to make sure they’re still there, then close my purse back up. Surely becoming an outcast when you were previously popular isn’t considered an emergency, is it?

Kendra and Brian start putting on their own public dance show right on the diving board after changing into bathing suits. Everyone gathers around, chanting for the couple to jump in. Kendra loves the attention, she’s used to it. Her family has owned the biggest parcel of land in Paradise for the past two hundred years. Her dad has been the mayor for the past ten years, and her grandfather was the mayor before that. Some girls are born to have it all.

Soon a bunch of other seniors come out of the house wearing bathing suits. Danielle walks over to me. “Did you bring a suit? Sabrina and I are going to change in Brian’s room.”

If I came out wearing a bathing suit showing all my scars, I’d probably clear the place out. “My doctor says I can’t swim yet,” I lie.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No problem,” I say, pulling out the cell.

While Danielle and Sabrina run up the stairs, I hobble out the door and dial the number to my mom’s work.

“Auntie Mae’s Diner. Can I help you?”

“Hey, Mom, it’s me.”

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine. Having a blast,” I say as I limp away from Brian’s house and start walking down the street. I don’t know where I’m going. Someplace private . . . quiet . . . where I don’t have to think about what I’m missing. A place I can close my eyes and focus on my future.

A future without Paradise.

I can imagine the smile on my mom’s face as she says, “See . . . and you were worried you wouldn’t fit in. Don’t you feel silly now?”

“Absolutely.” The truth? I feel absolutely silly that I have to lie to my mom.