Shifting (8 page)

I stopped fighting.

I crouched down on the floor, pressed my forehead to my knees, and covered my head, waiting for the interruption I knew must be coming. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I made the mistake of looking up. I only saw Danni's face for a split second before she smashed a bowl of hot chili into my face.

“What is wrong with you people?” a voice boomed. The hall became hushed. “Danni, get away from her now, or so help me, I'll pummel you!”

“But she's a prostitute!” Danni protested weakly.

“I don't care if she's a murderer! Leave her alone! Get out of here and leave her alone! All of you! Get out of here!”

Feet shuffled over the food-spattered floor as people moved away, and then Coach was with me, pulling me to my feet and wiping chili and melted cheese off my cheeks. He cursed under his breath and began wiping my face with the hem of his shirt.

“Bridger, run and get a wet towel from one of the lunch ladies,” Coach barked. He hugged me to him, not minding that he held someone wet with saliva and juice and spattered with all sorts of cafeteria food.

I didn't mean to cry, but I couldn't help it.

“Oh, no. Are those tears from my best sprinter?” Coach asked. “You can take a fall on the hurdles and not even blink, but when you get a little chili in your eye, you cry?” His voice sounded strange. I looked up and saw tears trickling down his bristly cheeks. “I'm so sorry, honey,” Coach whispered, hugging my head to his chest.

Bridger appeared with two damp washcloths. One was pressed to his nose and soaked with blood. Coach took the other and began wiping my face and arms. “Let's get you home, Maggie,” Coach said when the foulest things were wiped from my skin. “I'll drive you.”

“I'd rather walk. I need to be alone,” I told him between sniffles.

“But it's raining,” Coach protested.

“Rain isn't going to hurt me.”

“Maggie Mae, I can't let you leave without calling Mrs. C. first. Wait right here.” Coach trotted toward the office.

I didn't wait. Bridger's dark gaze followed me as I made my silent, humiliated way to the front doors.

The day was uncommonly cold, yet I didn't feel it. I was glad for the icy rain washing the filth from me as I slowly trudged through the mud puddles on the side of the road.

I hated my life. I hated school. I was so miserable I stuck my thumb out as cars passed, eager to hitch a ride with anyone, anywhere, if it meant never having to go to Silver High again.

Several cars passed, splattering me with mud, when a truck pulled to a stop in front of me. My heart started pounding as I asked myself if I was brave enough to get into that truck and go, empty-handed, into the wide world and fend for myself. I had nothing, not even my jacket—just the shirt on my back.

Someone wearing a bright yellow rain slicker got out of the truck and splashed through the roadside puddles to my side.

“Coach called me,” a familiar voice said. I peered beneath the slicker hood, into the anxious eyes of Mrs. Carpenter. “Let's get you home. I'll draw up a nice hot bath for you and make hot cocoa.” She put an arm around me and guided me to the car.

I couldn't decide whether I was happy to see her or not.

12

Shash must have felt the anxiety coursing through my body and causing my stomach to hurt. He stuck to me like a shadow as I walked through the barn to the chicken coop.

The chickens either couldn't sense my inner turmoil or they were too plain dumb to notice. They didn't protest in the least as I reached beneath them and stole the warm brown- and green-speckled eggs from their nests and put them in a basket.

With the eggs gathered, I threw a cupful of grain onto the ground and locked the coop. Walking to the other side of the barn, I sat on the bottom step of a flight of stairs leading up to a padlocked door and sat. Shash followed.

“Trust me,” I said, stroking his soft forehead. “I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

It was Tuesday morning, and I had to leave for the bus in twenty minutes. Mrs. Carpenter hadn't said anything about me
not
going, so I was thinking up all kinds of excuses to keep myself away from Silver High. My throat hurt, I was having cramps, my vision was blurred, appendicitis … they were all lies, but I didn't care. I couldn't go back and face all of those students. I didn't have it in me.

I would drop out and start a new life, maybe back in Albuquerque, working a minimum-wage job for the rest of my uneducated existence—if I could keep out of jail now that I was eighteen, legally an adult, and running the risk of getting in some real trouble for my indecent exposure. Even flipping burgers at McDonald's till I was able to retire didn't sound nearly as daunting as going back to school.

Shash whined.

“I know. Looks like I'll be making another fresh start. Again.” I left the barn and trudged to the house. It was warm inside and scented with bacon. I carried the eggs to the kitchen, where Mrs. Carpenter was hanging up the telephone.

“That was my son, John,” she informed me.

Great,
I thought,
she's called my psychiatrist.

“He's glad to finally know the reason behind your indecent exposure,” she continued.

I almost dropped the eggs. “You told him?”

Mrs. Carpenter pursed her lips. “He says he can't imagine why you didn't tell him yourself. Nude sleepwalking isn't common, but it's nothing to be ashamed of.” She chuckled and took the eggs. “He says there's a cure.”

“Oh, really?”

“Stop sleeping in the buff.”

I smiled and some of the knots in my stomach loosened.

“I thought I'd drive you to school today,” Mrs. Carpenter said as she cracked eggs into a bowl. The knots in my stomach retied themselves. “Thought we could go meet with the principal.”

“I can't go back,” I whispered.

“It seems you need to make a choice today. You're eighteen. You can do whatever you want with your life.” She faced me and put her warm hands on my cheeks. Peering right into my eyes, she said, “But never let another person's actions dictate how you are going to live your life, Maggie Mae. You are a strong, smart girl. If you never return to Silver High, what kind of message is that going to send Danni Williams?”

“That she won.” The words hurt coming out, because the way I saw it, she had.

“Smart cookie, you are. I'll be darned if you let her win.” Mrs. Carpenter dropped her hands from my face and started whisking the eggs.

“Is that what Mr. Petersen told you to say?” I asked.

“No. He told me to send you to the school in the next town over. Let you make another fresh start. I told him it was time you stood up for yourself and stayed put. So chin up. It's time to show Silver City what Maggie Mae Mortensen is made of.”

Mrs. Carpenter and I arrived at the school fifteen minutes after class had started. The halls were silent. When we got to the principal's office, Dr. Smith wasn't waiting for us alone. Coach was in one of the chairs opposite his desk, and standing beside him was Ollie.

“Good morning, Opal,” Coach said to Mrs. Carpenter, standing so she could have his chair. “And Maggie Mae.”

“Hello, Maggie Mae,” Ollie said, holding his hand out.

I forced myself to stop wringing my icy hands and nodded at Coach, then shook Ollie's hand. I took a seat beside Mrs. Carpenter.

“Good morning,” Dr. Smith said, adjusting his glasses.

“Well, Raymond, would you like to tell her or shall I?” Mrs. Carpenter, never one to beat around the bush, asked him.

“I want to tell her,” Coach interjected. He had a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, the same look he'd gotten when I beat the school's fifty-yard dash record. “Dave Whitlock and Mike Williams are suspended.” Coach smiled grimly. “They will not be returning to school for the rest of the week.”

“What about Danni?” I asked, my breath quickening.

“Danni's not suspended,” Coach said. I opened my mouth to protest but Coach held up his hand. “She's been expelled. If she wants to graduate, she has to find a new school to attend. She
planned
the attack on you, Maggie Mae. Got Mike and Dave to help her.”

A chill shivered down my spine.

Ollie cleared his throat. “Danni came over to visit me Friday night and asked about you, but I wouldn't tell her any details of your case. She must have snuck into my office and stolen your file. I'm really sorry.”

“What about Bridger? What part did he play?” I thought of his bloody nose and wondered who'd given it to him. I wished it had been me.

“He was in the chem lab finishing up an assignment. When he heard the fight, he tried to get to you, but Dave fought him away, so he came and got me,” Coach said. “Dave hit him. That's why his nose was bleeding.”

I bit my lip and tried to ignore the guilt bubbling up in me.

“Do you have anything to add, Raymond?” Mrs. Carpenter asked.

I looked at the principal. He didn't need to add anything—I could see it in his eyes. He was cursing the day I came to his school. If I hadn't come, none of this would have happened.

“I'm sorry for the unfortunate events that have surrounded you, Ms. Mortensen,” he said. “We have done everything in our power to maintain proper behavior at this school. No one else will harass you, but if they do, they will suffer consequences. You had better get to class.”

“ 'Kay,” I said, and stood.

Mrs. Carpenter and I left the office. “Do you want me to walk you back to the truck?” I asked.

“No, thank you, Maggie Mae. I'll see you after school.” She wrapped me in a hug. “I'm proud of you,” she whispered. And then she strode away.

The bell rang and the halls filled with students, though there was such a subdued air about them, you'd think they were on their way to a funeral, not second period. I swung my duffle to my shoulder and started weaving my way through the crowd. But when I saw glossy black hair above square shoulders, I stopped.

Bridger must have felt my eyes boring into the back of his head. He turned around and his eyes met mine. I looked away and took a deep breath, and walked past him.

“Hey, Maggie Mae.” I stopped walking and found Ginger hovering behind me. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about what happened.”

“Thanks,” I said, stunned.

“Yeah.” She smiled and hurried away.

I took two steps when a hand came down on my shoulder.

“You survived.” Yana fell into step beside me, her eyes lingering on a purple bruise on my forehead.

“I suppose I did,” I said.

“I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

Yana grinned. “Getting Danni's ass kicked out of school.”

I couldn't help but smile. “Whatever.”

“So, you wanna work tonight?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. The motocross is in town and I have tickets. Naalyehe said if you'd cover for me, I can go.”

“Sure. What time?”

“Be there at four. I'll walk you through the basics.”

“ 'Kay.”

“Awesome. I'll see you at lunch.”

I walked the rest of the way to math alone. If I had been invisible for my first two weeks of school, I wasn't anymore. I might as well have been in a cage with
Warning! Keep your distance! Dangerous creature!
signs on it. Because I was now Silver High's main attraction.

I looked at myself in the mirror and winced, and not because the bruise on my forehead had turned ten shades darker. The Navajo Mexican had a dress code: black shirt and jeans without any holes, and long hair had to be in a ponytail or hairnet. Like that was a hard choice. Pretty easy dress code to follow, except the only black shirt I owned had a giant scarlet
A
painted on the front of it.

I grabbed my old thin jacket and walked into the living room, ponytail swishing against my shoulders.

“You ready?” Mrs. Carpenter asked, eyeing the shirt.

“Yep.”

We got into her truck and drove downtown.

“Do you mind asking one of the other servers for a ride home?” Mrs. Carpenter asked as she parallel parked in front of the restaurant. “I have my quilting circle at the retirement home tonight and sometimes it goes pretty late.”

“Yeah. No problem,” I said.

“Did you bring your house key?”

I patted my pocket.

“Good.” The wrinkles between her white eyebrows deepened. “On second thought, maybe I should pick you up. I called animal control to see if they'd found any of those dogs, but they didn't find a trace of 'em. If they decide to attack you again …”

“I'll be fine.” I got out of the truck and waved as Mrs. Carpenter pulled away.

The Navajo Mexican had only four customers when I arrived, their voices mingling with the soft drums and chanting played over the speaker system. Yana was at a table taking an order. She smiled and mouthed, “Thank you!”

“Magdalena!” a voice called. I jumped. José came bustling out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag. “Magdalena. You're right on time. Here, come and get an apron and a name tag.”

Magdalena?
I looked at Yana. She shrugged.

I followed José into the kitchen and my eyes started to burn. Naalyehe was chopping onions faster than I could see. He paused and looked over his shoulder. Our eyes met and he set the knife down.

“Yana told me what happened at school,” he said. My face started to burn. Naalyehe reached into his pocket and pulled something out. “This is for you.
Yo-ih
. It means ‘beads.' ” He held a bracelet up. It was made from red and white glass beads interwoven with three larger, brown beads. “Those,” Naalyehe said, touching the brown, “are cedar berries. They will keep you safe.”

I reached out to take the bracelet, but before I could, Naalyehe hooked it onto my left wrist and whispered something I couldn't understand.

“Thanks,” I said, wondering if he had a mild case of dementia.

He nodded and turned back to chopping onions.

José handed me a white apron, which I tied around my hips. I looked up to find him studying the letter on the front of my shirt.

“I'm sorry. This is the only black shirt I own,” I said.

“It's fine,” José said. “You can have anything except profanity on your shirt, as long as the shirt itself is black. I was just wondering if you bought it that way or made the
A
yourself.
Es interesante
.”

“That means ‘interesting,' ” Naalyehe said over his shoulder.

I looked down at the scarlet letter, at the spattered spray paint. Maybe it was sort of interesting.

“Are you ready to work?” José handed me a pin-on name tag.

I stared at it blankly. “This isn't my name.”

“I thought you needed a bit of Latino flare,
Magdalena
. When my wife heard I was hiring a
gringa
…” José's voice trailed off and he carefully pinned the name tag over my heart.

“Nervous?” he asked.

“Very.”

He smiled. “Well, just do your best and hustle. Even if your serving isn't too good, your pretty face and the food will make up for it. You'll do fine.”

With a pad of paper and a pen, I went out into the dining room. For thirty minutes Yana showed me how to seat people, where the menus were, how to use the pop machine, and how to take food orders.

I can't say waiting tables was easy. It was actually really hard. And even though the restaurant wasn't very busy, I ran the floor alone after Yana left. Midway through my shift I was sticky with sweat and my back ached between my shoulder blades. But I was getting tips. Not a lot—five dollars here, a few ones there. And people actually talked to me, unlike at school. At the restaurant I wasn't invisible, and I wasn't the main attraction. I was just me.

A little after nine o'clock, after my last customers had gone, José came into the dining room with a broom and dustpan, and turned the O
PEN
sign to C
LOSED
.

“Magdalena,” he said, “good work. Why don't you take the trash out, then come and see me. Dumpster's out back.”

“All right, boss,” I said, wiping my damp forehead.

I carried the restaurant's sticky, leaking trash bags through the kitchen. Naalyehe held the back door open for me and watched as I crossed a small parking lot to the Dumpster.

“Thanks,” I said as I walked back into the kitchen.

He nodded and locked the door.

I took the tips from my apron and put them into my jeans pocket, then went back to the dining room. José was finishing sweeping the floor.

“Ah,
gringa
. How was your first night?” he asked, handing me the dustpan.

“Tiring!” I said, rolling my aching shoulders. I put the dustpan at the edge of a junk pile and José swept it into the pan.

“You did surprisingly well for having no experience. I'll put you on next week's schedule.”

A smile danced onto my face. “Sounds good.” I dumped the dustpan's contents into the trash and handed it to José.