One Week (6 page)

Jess looks around, though not as subtly as I’d like. “Not really,” he says. “But they’re keeping that picture of you up on the screen, and somebody is bound to notice at some point.”

Damn. Damn, damn. “We can’t wait for another bus to show up,” I say. “We have to get out of here.”

“Okay,” Jess crosses his arms. “Leaving aside for a moment the fact that you’re running away to New York City without informing your very rich and very intense father, how do you suggest we do that, exactly?”

I look around desperately. “We’ll call a cab.”

Jess snorts. “A cab? To San Jose? Are you kidding?”

“I don’t care how much it costs!” I exclaim. “We have to get moving. I mean, if you want, you can stay here and wait for a bus that may or may not show up…”

“Oh, no,” Jess laughs. “You’re not leaving me here while you travel in style. But how are you going to pay for it, Miss I-Can’t-Use-My-Credit-Card-Until-We-Get-To-Chicago? Won’t daddy be able to trace where the cabdriver takes us?”

I bite my lip. “I’ll pay cash. When the car gets here, I’ll use the ATM and take out enough money—”

“You’d better take out a hell of a lot of money to cover the rest of the trip, plus what you owe me, by the way,” Jess interrupts.

“I’ll take out plenty of money,” I scowl. “And we’ll get in the cab, and we’ll immediately get on the train for Sacramento, and all my dad will know is that I was at a rest stop in the middle of where in the hell.”

Jess picks up his cheeseburger and finishes the rest of it in one bite. “Okay then. Hurry up and call.”

*  *  *

It seems to take forever for the cab to arrive. We didn’t exactly know the closest town, but Jess and I guessed it would probably be Paso Robles. We ascertained that we were at the rest stop between exits 95 and 96 on the 101, but the not-very-helpful dispatcher at the cab company didn’t sound like he believed us. Fair enough, I suppose—it’s not often that people who managed to get themselves to a rest stop in the middle of the day can’t get themselves away from the rest stop without calling a cab. We finally convinced him to send somebody, but every minute of waiting was torturous. I was sure someone would recognize me, and I sat hunched over in the corner the whole time.

But the cab does finally pull up, looking exactly like one of those creepy black town cars that carry mobsters from place to place. Jess and I look at each other and shrug. It’ll do.

I run to the ATM, and after hesitating for a moment, I take out $500. That’s the most it will let me take out, but even covering the cab fare, and not forgetting Jess’s oh-so-important eighty bucks, that should be plenty to get me to Chicago, at which point I’ll hit a bank and draw more. A lot more, because $500 isn’t going to get me very far in New York City.

In the process of calling the cab, I had to turn my phone on and see the million missed calls and voicemails, some from Julia, but most of them from my father. I tried not to feel guilty—it’s not like he’s really all that worried about me, he’s just taking advantage of the situation to fulfill some terrified father fantasy he’s been harboring. It occurs to me as I swipe my card that he might have cancelled it, which would have been pretty dangerous considering that it would leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere with no money—it probably would have forced me to give up and turn myself in. But no, the card works fine. I shrug off any remaining guilt I may
have had, because, see? Any normal father would have cancelled the card, would have made it so this whole thing would be over sooner rather than later. But not my dad.

I stuff the cash into my wallet and run out to the town car. Jess has already shoved his duffel bag in the trunk, and is explaining patiently to the driver that yes, we really do want him to take us to the San Jose train station. The driver shrugs, and programs it into his GPS system, and
finally
we get the hell out of the rest stop.

The town car is much more comfortable than the bus. I’m in leg room, back support, air-conditioning heaven. Not to mention the car has decent shocks and doesn’t roar like a freight train. The next several hours pass by in kind of a blur. I nod off again sometimes—cars do that to me, I’m like an infant—and Jess spends most of his time either reading or looking out the window. It’s kind of weird how quiet he is—most people in such close quarters as the back seat of a car would feel obligated to make some form of small talk, but not Jess. Between naps I try to decide if I find this annoying or something of a relief.

When we arrive at the train station, I pay the driver and try not to think about the huge dent that just put in my $500. Jess steers me onto the right train to Sacramento, because obviously I have no idea where to go. It can’t be that hard to figure out if Jess can manage it, but I just don’t seem to have the capacity.

“How long until we get to Sacramento?” I ask.

Jess checks his ticket and shrugs. “Three hours or so. Not bad.”

“And then when does the train leave for Chicago?”

Jess gives me a look. “I have no idea. My schedule is, as you might imagine, a little off at this point. I’m supposed to be arriving in New York tomorrow morning, and clearly that’s not going to happen.” He sighs. “I’ll have to call my mom to let her know I’ll be late. That’ll be fun.” He slings his duffel up onto the rack and sits in the window seat, as usual.

I slide in next to him, thinking. “You know, you never answered me before about why you’re going home in the middle of term. Was your mom who you were fighting with on the phone?”

“What?” Jess asks, confused. “When was I on the
phone?”

“Yesterday, at the bus station,” I explain. “Before you went off to go get drunk,” I add.

“So you were what, eavesdropping?” He doesn’t sound pissed, just curious. “Or following me? How did you know I was in that bar, anyway?”

“I wasn’t
following
you…exactly.” Jess looks at me skeptically, and I feel my face turn red. “Okay, I was kind of following you, but only because I couldn’t remember what bus to take, and there wasn’t anybody to ask, and I knew you were going to the same place, so I figured I would just get on whatever bus you did. Only you didn’t turn out to be the best person to follow, did you, seeing as how you decided to miss the bus and pass out on the street instead?”

“Uh-huh,” Jess smirks. “You’re pathetic, you know that? You couldn’t run away from home if you had your driver Carlos to help you do it. And why
are
you running away?”

“Why are you going home?” I counter.

Jess doesn’t answer. No shock. Well, I don’t feel inclined to share my reasons if he’s going to be all secretive and weird about his. I fiddle with the straps of my bag, and wish I’d thought to see if the train station had a newsstand with some books or something. Nobody ever tells you that running away is mind-numbingly boring most of the time.

“The fight was with my mom,” Jess says suddenly, breaking the silence.

I look up, surprised. “Yeah? What was it about?”

He shrugs uncomfortably. “About why I’m coming home.”  He stops, and I give him a second, but then gesture for him to go on.

“Yes?”

“UCLA kicked me out,” he mumbles.

I blink at him, surprised. I mean, poor hair-dyeing decisions aside, Jess just doesn’t seem like the type to get kicked out of anywhere. I bet he does all his work, has a campus job, is a member of various school organizations—just your ordinary, B-average, parties on the weekends and studies during the week college kid. Dweebier than some, maybe, but still.

“What happened?” I ask gently.

“Campus security found enough pot in my dorm room to fill a joint the size of a dachshund. It looked like I was selling it.”

“But you weren’t,” I say.

Jess shakes his head.

“So, what, did somebody plant it in your room?
Somebody with a grudge?”

Jess looks embarrassed. “Not exactly.”

“What then? You weren’t actually planning to smoke all that yourself?”

“Uh, no,” he coughs. “I was…well, I was holding it for a friend. A bunch of friends, actually, who all used the same supplier, and they all had class when the guy was going to come by, so I just took all of it from him for them, and then campus security showed up like five minutes later, and I got busted.”

My mouth twitches. I can’t help it. “You got busted because all your drug-dealing friends were in
class?”

Jess gives a self-conscious half smile. “Yeah. Pretty hard-core, huh?”

“So why not turn in your friends? I mean, some friends they are, letting you take the fall. And how did the school know you were getting their deliveries?”

“They didn’t.” Jess stretches his legs out and leans back in his seat. “The cops were after the supplier guy, but of course the campus had to be involved, and once
they caught me with the stuff, there had to be
consequences, right? The Dean of Students said I was lucky not to get charged. And as for pointing the finger at my friends, what difference would it make? I still took the drugs from the guy with full knowledge of what I was doing. They have evidence of that. So it would just
be taking my friends down with me. Completely
pointless.”

I shake my head. “You’re really, really stupid. You know that, right?”

“It’s becoming clear to me,” Jess says heavily. “So my mom is pissed, obviously, because UCLA gave me this great scholarship, and now, with this on my record, the only schools that will take me are shitty community colleges in the middle of nowhere. And I don’t blame her—I’m pissed at me too—but I just can’t take hearing about it again and again. It’s like, yes, I fucked up, you know? I’m completely aware. You don’t have to keep telling me.”

“And that’s why you decided to go to a bar rather than go home.” And why you let the bus leave without you at the rest stop, I add silently.

“Yeah. Kind of faulty judgment there, I admit. Which seems to be the case all the time, lately.” Jess stares morosely at his Converse, and I follow his gaze, seeing where the canvas is all worn through around the rubber. His feet must get wet when it rains.

“Well,” I shrug. “It’s not like my judgment has a lot to say for itself these days either.”

Jess doesn’t push, he just waits patiently for me to continue. And so I do.

“It’s not that I think taking off was a bad decision,” I explain. “My life hasn’t been my own for…ever. And it’s not like I’m planning to disappear forever or anything. I know that won’t happen. But I needed to show my father that I’m an actual person, not some blank slate with hair and a pretty face that he can turn into whatever publicity-seeking freak he wants me to be.”

Jess crinkles his forehead. “Why would he want to do that? I mean, what’s in it for him?”

 “Hell if I know,” I exclaim, throwing up my hands. “I’ve never understood it. It gets him attention, keeps our name on people’s minds, I guess, which makes it easier for him to get projects, which get more attention, on and on. But I think he genuinely
likes
that kind of attention, and he can’t understand why I don’t, no matter how many times I try to explain it to him.”

“Well, what happened, exactly?” Jess gestures at my blistered feet and my lack of a change of clothes. “It looks like you kind of left in a hurry.”

I bite my lip. “Well…you know Thom Derrek,
right?”

Jess makes a face. “Worst actor ever in the history of the world.”

I chuckle half-heartedly. “Yeah. Well, my dad set us up on a date yesterday, and--”

“Wait, hasn’t he just been charged with date rape?” Jess’s eyebrows furrow.

“Um, yeah. My dad said that he had it on good authority that the accusations were false, and that Thom and I would be a great fit—based on what, exactly, I have no idea—and anyway he kept at me about it until finally I agreed. But I made him promise to stay with me the whole time—I was a little nervous about it, you know? So Dad had him over for dinner.”

I stop, and take a deep breath. Jess reaches over tentatively and takes my hand. I pat him awkwardly and let go. “Nothing happened, really,” I say. “You don’t need to look so freaked out.”

“What did happen?” Jess asks gently.

“Well, shortly after Thom got there, we were standing around having drinks, and my dad got a call that he said he had to take. Like it hadn’t even been fifteen minutes and he abandoned me. And Thom…”

I stop again. Jess squeezes my hand again, but doesn’t say anything. “He didn’t
do
anything, at first. He just started talking. Like the guy on the bus. And I didn’t know what to do—I mean, it was my house, but he was acting like this was perfectly normal behavior and it all just felt so surreal. And then he…he grabbed me and shoved his fingers up my crotch…and he, he bit my shoulder.”

 Jess’s eyes flick over to the mark at the base of my neck. He squeezes my hand so hard it hurts.

“And I pushed him away and ran out the door. I left the house with my purse and nothing else. I wasn’t even thinking at all. I know now that I probably could have screamed for help…”

“Where was your father?” Jess asks tightly.

I sigh. “He was only upstairs. He would have heard me. And I know that he couldn’t have thought something like that would happen. But… I was—am—so fucking
pissed
at him for having put me in that position that I couldn’t call him. And now I won’t.” I give Jess a challenging look, to see if he’ll push me to go home, but he doesn’t.

“What about your mom?” Jess asks.

I look away and start picking at the straps of my bag again. “She took off when I was two. My dad has custody, and she’s never tried to see me. For years, he would give me Christmas and birthday presents and say they were from her, but I finally figured out that she never sent anything. Not even a card.” I twitch my shoulders uncomfortably. “I don’t know where she is or anything about her. Whatever.”

We sit quietly for a moment, and then Jess gives me a glance and lets of my hand. He stretches, trying to relax the mood a little bit. “I get it. I mean, I didn’t realize it at first, but I’ve seen pictures of you online and in People magazine. Where they pick apart the clothes you wear to go shopping, and stuff like that. Even apart from this whole Thom Derrek thing, which, rest assured, is just about the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard—if that’s not really you, not something you’re actually into and are comfortable with, I can see why you’d want to get away from it.”