Run and Hide (4 page)

Thursday morning, getting to school, I walked to my locker before going to get breakfast in the cafeteria with the girls. Taylor, Kylie, Michelle, Arianna, and Brit were just as chatty as usual. Arianna, the wildest of all of them, sat with a ponytail on top of her head, her long brown hair hanging flawlessly to her belt, a modern-day Spice Girl. She had the right to want to flaunt it, though. It was natural and gorgeous. She stood out to me because she seemed even more excited to see everybody than usual. Once everyone was done with greetings, she said to me, “Ana, I have a surprise for you.”

              “What do you mean?” I asked, knowing precisely what she meant.

              “Well, you know that guy David, the senior running back who got an offer from South Carolina?”

              I rolled my eyes. She had pointed him out to me the day before, when I’d made the mistake of looking at him too long. “Yeah, I guess, what about him?”

              “Well, he’s coming over here right now to talk to you.” As she told me this I immediately looked up to see this huge mass of a guy in a gold-and-black letterman’s jacket walking toward us. The three other guys with him were smaller than him, but still big, wearing sweats and t-shirts. “Talk to you, as in get-to-know-you talk,” Arianna chimed in, “here he comes.”

              Despite the forced apathetic, nonchalant way I’d carried myself through the days I’d spent in that school as Ana, Sydney could not hold it together when David and his friends strode toward us. I felt my heart beating through my fitted yellow tee hidden under a “summer scarf” that I now thought looked more stupid than ever. David was … attractive. Tall, dark-skinned, ridiculous muscles, but not steroid ridiculous. He walked so flawlessly, a couple of books in hand and a goofy smile on his face. He’d been looking at his friends and talking, but then he turned forward, and my eyes fell to the floor. I blushed.
Shit!
Ana had to be strong and fight Sydney away.
Come on Ana, come on.

              “Hey ladies, what’s up?” His voice was heavy. I looked up and he was looking at me.

              “Hey guys,” Michelle said while the rest of the girls stood up to exchange hugs.

              Five different girls hugging four different guys became an impossibly lengthy process, leaving me feeling awkward by just saying “Hey” or “What’s up?” in-between the never-ending hugs. But then David locked eyes with me and took a step in my direction. The others started joking and laughing, probably about the upcoming football season or summer stories. David seemed determined to speak to me, though, and his eyes told me he found me appealing.

              “Ana, right?” he asked, pointing a finger toward me. He was so big he made you want to be wrapped up in him, in that jacket, knowing nothing else could feel that warm.

              “Yeah, that’s me,” I said. And perhaps for the first time, I believed it.

              “So you’re new here right?”

              “Yeah.” I nodded “It’s pretty okay so far. I heard you guys have really good football.”

              “We work hard,” he said directly, letting me know he was not just attempting not to be cocky.

              “Well I hear you’re one of the stars too, right? Running back?”

This made him smile a little. Nice smile. “Well, I work hard, too.”

He was easy to talk to, and if I wrote all his features and qualities down on paper, he would appear precisely perfect. 3.5 GPA, going into business, played the cello—yes, the cello. He listened to rap, rock, and techno music, and to top it all off, he benched 260.

By the end of the conversation, I found myself less than excited to go to class as we all walked out to the hallway, preparing to leave. While we walked, David stayed beside me. I was watching his eyes, laughing at everything he said, not even trying to; he was actually funny. He was laughing at my jokes too, and growing more interested with every new detail of Ana’s life. Maybe living here could still be a good thing. Maybe I could learn to love it here. We talked—until a familiar face appeared, earphones in his ears and that infamous hood atop his head.

Eric pulled out his headphones and slapped David on the back. “David,” he called, the word long and drawn out, like how you greet a friend you just saw drunk the night before. “What’s going on, brother?”

              I was caught.

“Brant, how you been?” David spoke in the same tone as Eric had. Good friends.

“Good, good,” Eric answered. I noticed that as soon as he’d entered the conversation, the entire mob behind David and me stopped talking, and all eyes watched Eric. “Hey ladies, gents,” he said, and everyone responded to him fondly. Who
was
this kid?

The bell rang, and everyone but Eric gave hugs goodbye and walked off in different directions.

“It was nice meeting you,” David told me, holding both my hands in his. “Hopefully I’ll see you again, soon.”

“Yeah.” I gave him a smile, unable to fully concentrate on words. “Same here. See you.” I wiggled my hands out of his.

Which left Eric and me standing unnaturally close together in the middle of a hallway filling with rushing students. I looked at him, as if to question:
May I help you?

“You seem to have a way with guys,” he said. And with those words he had me totally perplexed, partly because he was speaking to me at all.

“He’s like the first guy I’ve even spoken to,” I said, then waited.

“You’ve spoken to me too.”

He noticed my smile creeping in before I did. But as soon as I noticed he was smiling, because I was smiling, I stopped mine. He shrugged.

“Well, mostly you just stared,” he said and smirked again. I shook my head and squinted at him. And he just walked away.

“The jackass strikes again,” I said beneath my breath. He turned a little, and I could see a crooked smile creeping into his expression. He assembled his headphones back into his ears and disappeared down the hall and into the mob. I shook my head, lifted my shoulders, and left to start day three.

As I turned to go, I collided with a tall brown woman in a skirt and heels.

“I’m so sorry, excuse me,” I said, starting to walk around her.

“Hold on a second,” she placed a hand on my shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Sy—
um
, Ana.”

“Ana …”

“Smith.”

“You’re new here I presume?” She perched her brows high on her forehead.

“Yes, brand new,” I said, and smiled.

“Great, welcome to Rock Bridge, I’m Kelly Hawthorne, head of the PTA.” I remembered “PTA” stood for “Parent-Teacher Association.”

She reached out a hand to greet me, and I shook it and said, “Nice to meet you.”

“Same. I just wanted to introduce myself and let you know our first meeting is this Thursday. We love to get our new parents involved, so be sure to let your parents know.”

“Oh, all right, thanks. Will do.”

“Great, I look forward to seeing them there.”

I smiled a no-teeth smile and waved goodbye upon slipping past her and power-walking toward homeroom. All of the attention was stacking up.
What am I doing here?

Upon arrival to homeroom, I remained consciously reserved for the rest of the day. Lit, Pre-Calc, and Physics passed without issue. So then, History came, and I had to prepare to avoid any attention specifically in this class, my favorite or least favorite, I couldn’t decide.

The classroom was out in a trailer. And this time, I beat most of the students in. They filed in gradually, and in waves. Except Eric, who rushed in just as the bells were ringing. As did everyone in the room, I turned to see who was coming through as he entered. The winds outside had gotten pretty strong, so as he turned to shut the door, a breeze caught the tip of his hood. As the hood slid off it smoothed the glossy black strands of his hair. He winced, and it showed his imperfections: his crooked smile, those thick eyebrows.

He reset the hood on his head and took a seat in the back. I managed to stop staring at him, but couldn’t help but sneak a second glance. After that, I snuck a third, and then on the fourth I was surprised to see him looking back. He bit his lip a little, as if contemplating something, or like he was in pain. I had no idea what expression consumed my face, but he nodded toward me, and my face tensed.

Hey,
he mouthed, and I nodded back.

But that was the last of it, the only attention I got all day. And at the end of the day, the final bell rang. I went to my locker, charged my phone in the library, and then left the school to head to the shack.

While moms honked in the front lot as they saw their children’s faces, I crossed my arms and worried about how soon I would run out of money.

“Ms. Smith,” a deep, seasoned voice called from behind. What now?

“Yes?” I turned to see a large belly beneath a round white face and gray smile.

“My name is Mr. Ludlowe, vice principal.”

“Hi Mr. Ludlowe, great to meet you.” Why was he talking to me?

“One of your teachers pointed you out to me today. I was looking for a good time to stop you. I wanted to make sure you and your family received the welcome package, as it contained a couple of forms you’ll want to fill out.”

“Oh,” my hands went numb, cheeks reddened. “When was it sent?”

“We sent it before the first day. Nothing dire, it’s some simple stuff, emergency contacts, clinic card, things like that.” The southern hint in his voice strained to comfort me, but it couldn’t. Ms. Gomez might have that welcome package on her kitchen table, phone in hand ready to dial the school, while I stood with pinballs bouncing in my brain. Why had I given them her actual address?

“
Um
, when do you need it by?”

“Well, as soon as possible. Just make sure your family got it all, and let me know if there’s anything I can help you with, all right?” Such a friendly man, stabbing me with blades, every word.

“
Mhm
.”

“Go on now, have a good one.”

Likely not
.

My mind sped back toward the shack.
Could I sneak in her house and find the package?
No.
Could I change my address, say it was a mistake?
Maybe.
Could I get a P.O. Box or something?
Not broke at sixteen.
Could I just give it all up and tell someone the truth, let them send me home
? I guessed I could, but Dad didn’t want me home. I didn’t want me home.

Nothing to do now but go back to the shack and think of what to do. I tucked my hands under my armpits and glanced around to see if anyone had caught me talking to myself. Two girls chatting on the front steps had, but they turned their heads as soon as I looked in their direction. I forced my lips together and walked briskly away from school.

Entering the school building with a fake address scribbled in the notebook I held, I found all five of the girls, my friends I guessed, standing together by the main staircase.

“Ana!” Brit called when she saw me. “Hurry up, we’re planning the weekend.” I walked up to them as they made room for me in their circle.

“Sure, just, I have to stop by the front office soon.”

              “Oh,” Kylie said, “well, we were just talking about going to the game tonight. You down?”

              “
Um,
I’ll see, things are kind of crazy right now.” They looked at me, beckoning for an explanation. “Getting settled in the new place, and all.”             

“Oh yeah, okay that’s cool. But, Saturday we’re going to this girl Hailey Green’s party, you know her?”

              “
Um
, don’t think so, not yet.”

              “Well you have to go. She’s cool, she doesn’t care.”

              “
Um
, well, I can’t drive, so—”

“Oh I’m driving, I got you, where do you live?” Taylor asked me. An uncomfortably lengthy silence ensued as I looked around for an answer.

I didn’t know any street names, any addresses to send them to. I couldn’t think of a good reason to cancel. The only addresses I knew in Greensboro were the school address, and Dr. Gomez’ home address. Dr. Gomez would surely call the cops if she saw the creepy “sure you don’t have a sister” girl waiting around her yard on a Saturday night. I’d have to think of something better.

              “It’s in that neighborhood about three blocks from the school.…” I told them where her neighborhood was, and they all nodded as if they were familiar with the neighborhood.

“I’ll meet you guys at the front.”

              After the plans were settled, I ditched the girls and charged toward the office with “V.P. Ludlowe” written on the window. After bursting through the door I realized my anxiety was pouring from my sweat glands.

“Hello, Ms. Smith.”

“Hello, we uh, changed houses.”

“Oh, okay … so soon?”

I tried to gather myself.

“I mean, no. I mean I gave you the incorrect address before. That’s why we didn’t get it, the package. So, if you get any weird calls or anything …” I ripped the sheet with the fake address in the same neighborhood on it from my notebook and handed it to him.

“
Mhm
, is everything all right, miss?” He looked up at me through thick reading glasses.

“Yes. Perfect.”

“Class is starting soon,” he finished as he gestured that I turn the door handle and leave. So I did. Mail took a few days, right? I’d have to think of something.

In the hallway, David and his group of friends stood joking near a cluster of lockers. The tall one, a junior—I think he was a basketball player—saw me and called out “
Hola mami
,” exaggerating his accent. I couldn’t catch a break.

              “Hey, guys,” I replied, continuing my pace. David approached me after his friends grumbled a few jokes and suggestive noises.

              “Hey beautiful,” he said when he’d gotten up close. Even with the intense worry crowding my thoughts, I smiled some. I looked up to see him towering in front of me, the smile slipping away just as suddenly as it had come. He walked me to homeroom.

“I’d better see you at the game tonight.” He hugged me, and he smelled like a businessman or a lawyer. The kind of perfect that makes you forget what
flaw
was.

“Sure,” I answered, my mind everywhere and my feet stepping into homeroom with the sound of the first bell.

* * *

Kaitlin, my Pre-Calc partner, had been interrupted while describing to me the failures of an ex-boyfriend.

              “You’re talking about Eric Brantley? That guy that always wears hoodies in the middle of summer?” a nosy girl two desks over asked. “I haven’t known him to date anybody at Rock Bridge. I mean
no
one.” What’s-her-name’s thick bangs couldn’t cover the interest in her eyes. My face tightened.

              “Oh no, this guy’s name is Derrick,” Kaitlin said.

“Oh, I was about to say.” The girl’s eyes dropped to the floor, and we thought she was finished. We both looked away before she said, “I heard Eric has a girlfriend at some other school or something like that, so he just flirts with girls here whenever he wants. And he never gets caught because nobody here knows her.”

              I wondered what expression I wore. Why was this chick still talking?

A tall, thin guy behind Kaitlin rebutted, “I don’t think anybody really knows what’s the deal with Brant. He’s just him, you know. You don’t know him, so don’t talk shit.”

He smiled as he spoke, and Kaitlin and the girl both entered full-fledged flirt-mode. His name was Kevin, conveniently close to
Ken.
He was pretty good looking, pretty well built, just pretty overall. The girls giggled after his every word and swooned with every inflection of his voice. I didn’t blame them. I did however, wonder why the football players seemed to know Eric so well. Both Kevin and David had called Eric “Brant,” like a teammate: a water boy would make more sense. I wouldn’t have picked Eric Brantley for a team-sports type of guy. Then again, I wouldn’t have picked anything I’d learned about that boy so far.

              By fourth period I had almost forgotten that I was living and attending school illegally in a town where I knew no one. When boys and games and parties came in the picture, life felt much more like before. Like back when I didn’t have problems, except this time, even better. These people liked Ana, a lot. Who knew, maybe here I could erase history. With a little strategy, I might just keep this up until graduation.

And so, as it did every day, then came fourth period. A storm had hit Greensboro and it was raining outside, hard. Lucky me. My History trailer was one of the farthest trailers from the school building. I’d dropped off my jacket in my locker after American Lit, stupidly, and would have to walk the whole way to the trailer, defenseless. I contemplated running, but decided I might try “playing it cool” instead. I took one step into the rain and immediately regretted my decision.

I looked down to avoid being slapped in the face by the downpour. Puddle after puddle, the bottom of my jeans drank the water my flip-flops and wet feet splashed onto them repeatedly. I decided to run after all, right then and there, who cared what I would look like? As I was taking off I felt a hand grab mine, and I turned as an umbrella covered me and rain no longer attacked the top of my head.

I looked up to see a tall, thin guy in a hooded sweatshirt, with headphones in his ears and a smirk on his face. Eric held the umbrella over my head like it was something natural.

“Here, take it,” he said, and something in me made me want to cuddle into him and let him shelter me. I grabbed the umbrella, thinking he meant for me to hold it for the two of us, but he pulled his hood a little tighter over his head, and took off toward the trailer. I paused, dumbfounded.
Eric Brantley is undoubtedly strange, what else is new?

I blinked, and continued on to the trailer. With every step I took, though, I became infected with frustration. How could he make me quiver with one touch of his hand, and smirk at me as if to say, “I am human,” then run as soon as I thought I might have a chance to actually learn something about him? I couldn’t stand his lack of predictability—his lack of resistibility, either. It was like he had his hands on a switch that made some uncontainable energy flow through me instead of blood. I knew I was too vulnerable to let him have that power over me. If everything around me was out of control, at the very least I had to be in control of me. Ana was always in control. I was not about to let anything hinder my new independence.

              I finally reached the trailer and stepped in, dripping and soggy. He didn’t look at me when I came in, but I was staring right at him while I walked up to him and handed him his umbrella.

              “Thanks,” I said.

Nobody had moved seats from the first day, except maybe one or two who moved on the second day or so, but that Friday I took a seat in the desk next to his, not caring if it were obvious to the rest of the class that I sat there just to sit by him. Some murmurs passed through the room; no one dared call anything out, though. Instead they all just looked puzzled. Eric turned to look at me, as if I would explain why I’d done what I did, but I simply looked back at him, asking with my eyes if he had any objection. He smirked at me with that gorgeous sideways grin.

              Mr. Kyle lectured about freedom that day, and had selected a few quotes made by presidents regarding freedom. He mentioned Reagan’s quote, “Concentrated power has always been the enemy of liberty,” and Lincoln’s, “America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves.” He told of Jefferson’s, “Conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth,” and Roosevelt’s, “In the truest sense, freedom cannot be bestowed; it must be achieved.” He ended the lecture to begin an activity for us.

Directions were plain. “Pick a partner and discuss the quotes I’ve just written on the board. Compare and contrast, agree and disagree, support and contest. Go.”

              “Partner?” I asked Eric, but he didn’t answer. I looked at him, but he wouldn’t return my stare. So I surveyed the classroom and locked eyes with a girl across the room.

“So what about these quotes, then?” Eric asked.

              I looked at him, then back at the girl, shrugged my shoulders to her and mouthed
Sorry
as I pointed a thumb at Eric. I would finally have my chance to just ask him straight,
Who are you
?

              “So tell me how you feel,” he said, probing my eyes while he pulled the hood off his head. It fell swiftly behind him and exposed the mane that framed his face, black hair that fell down beside his cheeks, and bangs that shot diagonally across the right side of his face. He shook his head, and the bangs swayed backward. I knew he saw me staring, because once again came that smirk.

              “Did you ever play a sport?” I asked. No time for freedom talk when I had so much digging to do. I did have plenty to say, but why would he care anyway?

              “So yeah … about these quotes,” he responded.

              “Just tell me.”

              “Why do you care?”

              “I’m curious.”

              “I played football freshman and sophomore year.” He looked away from me with strain wrinkling his face.

              “Why not this year?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager, and failing. He shook his head and shrugged. “You seem to be friendly with David and the other players.”

              “You like David.”

I wasn’t sure if he was asking or stating. “Well, I just met him.”

              “You should probably let him know you’re not into him now.”

              “I didn’t say that.…”

              “But you did.”

              The frustration started to activate again. I was supposed to be interrogating
him
. I asked him, “What makes you think you know me? What makes you special?”

              “A, I do know you. B, God did—take it up with Him.”

              “Okay what’s your deal? Trouble in middle-class suburbia?”

              “Try having a mother who’s so busy keeping up with her four other accident children she forgets to feed you, let alone speak to you.”

              “We all have problems, kid.” I let it out before I could catch it. Never before in my life had I said something so cruel, but I was jealous of him. I was jealous that he had a mom to ignore him.

              He looked me in my eyes, staring hard, and said, “So why ask?”
              “Sorry,” I pleaded. I didn’t know what emotion showed on my face. But to my surprise, he didn’t look fazed, but actually comforted by the fact that I’d been a total jerk to him. I stared at the papers on my desk, upset that I’d let the conversation steer from my original motive.

              “UGA?” he asked, spotting the red-and-black keychain hanging from my bag. “Aren’t you from Cali?”

I should avoid these observant types.
“My uh … mom went there.”

“So you’re not a future Trojan?”

“Oh …” Who were the Trojans again? “I don’t know yet. You don’t need to know about me. I’m supposed to be asking the questions.”

“Chill, I answered your question. What is this anyways? Is this some type of suspect interrogation or something?”

“What if it is?” I fired back.

“Well if it is, I’m not saying anything else until I talk to my lawyer.”

I puffed a wisp of air through my nostrils before I could stifle the rest of my laugh. “You didn’t answer my other question. Why didn’t you play football this year?”

“Lost interest, I guess.” He paused, and I waited for him to continue, but no more words came.