Speed of Life (7 page)

And then I get it.

We're
not
being robbed.

The guy just wants to
buy
cigarettes.

The breath I've been holding whooshes out of me and I start laughing in relief, which makes him laugh more. I laugh so hard tears stream down my face, and he slaps his hand on the counter like he can't believe how funny we both are. On the floor, Rosa's looking at me, horrified. I guess because she's been so busy texting, and everything's kinda surreal anyway, she still hasn't figured out we're not being robbed. Now she thinks I'm losing it, which is not that far from the truth. My whole body is shaking, like I'm in an earthquake or something.

Finally, when I don't stop laughing, the guy gets quiet and narrows his eyes at me. “You're some weird chick. Can I have my change or not?”

“We're closed,” I tell him, sobering up.

The guy looks around at the store and says, “I thought it was kinda dark in here.”

This cracks me up all over again. I'm so relieved that I'm not about to die, that Natalie's not going to be murdered or kidnapped, that I grab a whole carton of Marlboros and hand it to him. “Take it,” I say.

He smiles a big, crooked slow grin and nods. “Really? Cool. I like you. You're all right.”

“I'll let you out.” I go around the counter, wiping tears off my face, and turn the lock with a shaky hand. As I open the door and let the guy through, I hear the distant wail of sirens.

Oh, shit.

When I finally get Natalie loaded into the back seat and we hit the road, it's almost two o'clock in the morning. The police weren't thrilled about the false alarm. They still had to do a full investigation in case there was a guy hiding somewhere and threatening us, making us lie to get the cops to go away. The officers even checked our cars.

And then Jimmy and his wife, Betty, showed up, and we had to go over the whole thing again. If that wasn't bad enough, Betty was pissed I'd given the guy the cigarettes. I didn't even mean to admit that part—​it just came out. She told Jimmy to dock my pay, but he glared at her and handed me a lit smoke to calm my nerves.

Natalie was an angel the whole time, but I got a talking-to by a police officer and another lecture from Jimmy about bringing her to work. That won't be happening again. Not that I'd be that stupid after tonight. Hell,
I
don't even want to come back.

When I pull up to the house, Bonehead goes crazy, barking and tugging on his chain. Probably no one remembered to feed him. The front door opens and light spills out into the yard, and Amber and Gil come running out. Well, she's running, he's weaving, but he's on his feet.

Mr. Hendricks screams at Bonehead from across the street, and Amber's yelling at me, wanting to know where we've been, and then Nat totally loses it and starts crying at decibels that could shatter windows.

“Shut the hell up!” another neighbor yells. “Or I'm gonna call the cops!”

I hand Natalie to Amber and drag Bonehead up onto the porch, not unhooking him until I can shove him through the door into the front room. Mom doesn't want him in the house, but he's so excited by now that it's the only way to shut him up. She's not home anyway. He dances around in pure jubilation, his claws scratching the plywood floor even worse than it was.

“Have you been smoking?” Amber demands, sniffing me.

“Take care of Natalie—​she's wet. Let me feed the dog, and then I'll tell you what happened.”

Gil's already passed out on the couch again, thank God. A minute later, Bonehead is slurping down his food in the kitchen, and I drag my ass into the bedroom, where Amber is cooing to Natalie and putting baby powder on her butt. I collapse onto my bed.

“Where the hell were you?” she whisper-yells. “You were supposed to pick me up. I called here and no one answered, so Aunt Ruby had to drive me.”

“I was at work.”

“How come you didn't tell Gil? He was freaking out too.”

“He was passed out when I left. Mom knew.”

“I couldn't get her on the phone.”

“Sorry. I—”

“What were you doing at work until two o'clock in the morning?”

“We got robbed,” I say, finally shutting her up. She's so shocked, she lets go of Nat, who almost wiggles right off the Rubbermaid container we've set up as a changing table. Amber grabs her before she falls, and Nat squeals in pain. I hope Amber's fingers don't leave a mark on the baby's arm. That's the sort of thing they check for at the school daycare. In the rich part of town, a mom can probably save her kid from falling, but around here, the authorities don't believe in accidents.

“Are you okay?” Amber asks, sitting on my bed and holding Natalie so tightly the baby whimpers.

“I'm fine,” I lie. “But Nat's probably hungry.”

“Okay. I'll get a bottle. But don't fall asleep before you tell me what happened.”

Now that all the adrenaline has left my system, the tension's completely gone and I'm a wet rag. I lie there in that weird eerie light from the halogen floor lamp and close my eyes. When Amber comes back, I ask her about Bonehead.

“He's curled up on the couch next to Gil. Do you want me to put him in your car?”

“Leave him.” I'm too tired to care. And then I explain the whole night to Amber without even opening my eyes. And what does she zero in on? The smoking.

“We agreed no more cigarettes,” she says. “Especially around Nat.”

“You know what, Am?” I say, sitting up. “When you get robbed, or think you're getting robbed, you can have a cigarette too. You can have a whole fucking pack, for all I care.”

“Yeah . . . okay. Sorry.”

We sit there in silence as she finishes feeding the baby. By the time Amber's burped her, I'm under the covers and almost out again.

“I'm glad you're okay,” she says, keeping her voice low. “I hate this city.”

Me and Amber both know Portland has lots of great areas—​we just don't happen to live in any of them. Tonight, I hate it too. We didn't even get robbed, but I'm not sure I could've been any more scared even if we had been. I turn on my side and look over at my sister. She's wearing an old white T-shirt that's gray from being washed with our jeans, and her long red hair tumbles around her shoulders. She's shivering from the cold, and she looks small and fragile as she reaches for the lamp. I wonder how I can protect her and Natalie if I can't even protect myself?

Once Amber has turned off the light and we're wrapped in the familiar darkness, I say, “Hey, Am? What do you know about Kansas?”

“There's no place like home,” she mumbles.

Exactly. That's why I'm thinking maybe we should leave. Small-town America suddenly sounds pretty appealing.

I wake up to Natalie's whimpers. Lately she's been doing this in the morning instead of full-on wailing. It's like she's figured out she'll get more sympathy and attention if she sounds resigned to her fate. Amber's dragged herself out of bed and is picking her up. I so want to roll over and go back to sleep, but we're doing those lame-ass statewide fitness tests in PE, so I have to go. I'm the only senior in our class, which makes it even more pathetic—​most students fulfill the PE requirement in the first two years of high school, but me and Amber had bronchitis for three weeks when we were freshmen and had to sit around in the library, missing PE class. She made it up junior year, but I put it off until the last minute.

I don't mention Kansas while we're getting ready. In the light of day, it seems like a stupid idea. Even if I got into college, how could I go? Amber would totally freak if I backed out on our plan now. The only reason she's even stayed in school this long is because I've promised to help take care of Natalie while she learns the ropes at the Glass Slipper. If she thought I was going to screw her over by making her move to Kansas, she'd quit high school right now just to get back at me.

That's what I tell myself, anyway. But honestly, every time I think about going to work at Jimmy's again, my hands start to shake and my heart revs up like the Mustang's motor. McPherson, Kansas, population 13,322, is sounding better all the time. Also, I can't stop thinking about how cool it would be to actually learn all the stuff I want to know, not just what Jimmy can teach me in his small shop. People who restore cars make a lot of money. A lot . . . even during recessions. Rich people don't worry about the shit everyone else does. If I took this course, someday the three of us could live anywhere we wanted. We wouldn't have to buy a fixer-upper, either. We could get one of those big new houses in West Linn or a cool condo with underground parking in Northwest Portland. We could live in style. I'd be making real money. I think if it weren't for leaving our family—​and the Glass Slipper—​for four years, Amber would be cool about moving because she'd understand it would help us in the long run. But Kansas is too far away.

I spend lunch with Natalie at daycare, going over the papers Ms. Spellerman gave me. By the end of the period, I almost have the info memorized. The bell rings, and I lift Nat up off the rug where she's been rolling around and put her back in her crib. As I lean over to kiss her, she grabs two fistfuls of my hair, and her grip's so strong, it takes help from Mei-Zhen to get me free. For some reason, this makes my heart swell up and I don't want to leave her. Mei-Zhen has to shoo me off to class, but a part of me lingers with Natalie. Sometimes I'm so amazed she's ours.

On the way to algebra I decide there's no point in arguing with Amber over McPherson now. I'll get the stuff together and then
maybe
I'll apply. And then
maybe
if I get in I'll tell her. And
maybe
she'll be excited and want to go. I doubt they'll take me anyway.

I'm not too bad at schoolwork, but Amber usually fills out any forms either of us need, so I'd be on my own there. But still, I can probably handle the application. And last year in English, we practiced writing college essays, which was the biggest joke ever. Only something like ten percent of the kids from this school even go to college, and most of them enroll in the two-year ones, not universities. None of us need to know how to write an essay. Except, maybe now I do.

If I really want to go ahead with this plan, my biggest problem is all the fees. Not just to apply to the college, either. According to Ms. Spellerman's paperwork, I have to take the SATs, and that costs a bunch of money. I'm not sure how I can siphon it out of our bank account without Amber noticing. I won't have to pay for the test until I sign up to take it in January, so if I really do apply—​and I'm not saying I'm going to; I'm thinking about it for now—​I'll figure something out then. Maybe I have a couple of extra car parts Han can sell for me on eBay.

There's also an SAT study course, which Ms. Spellerman has highlighted and said I really need to take. It's on Tuesday nights, and she's included a form I can fill out to get them to waive the tuition, but I'd still have to buy two workbooks for twenty bucks each. Also, what will I tell Amber when I go to class at night?

This is a stupid idea.

I almost give up right then, but I keep thinking about how scared I was at the gas station and how much I like working on cars but hate pumping gas. I could tell Amber I need a hundred bucks for parts. She'll freak out a little, but as long as it sounds legitimate, I know she'll give in.

That night, I tell the first of what I know will be a lot of lies, even though I'm still not sure I'm actually going to apply. “The car's gonna need a new battery.”

“Seriously?” Amber spoons applesauce into Nat's open mouth. “How much's that gonna cost?”

“Probably a hundred bucks.”

“I thought we bought one last August.”

Damn. I was hoping she wouldn't remember. “Yeah,” I say, “but it was a rebuilt one. They don't really last.”

“Why'd we buy it, then?”

“Because they're a lot cheaper. I should've bought a new one.”

She sighs. “Well, I guess you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“I'll take care of it this week.”

Now I have the okay to get the money out of our account, which is good, but I also have to pray the battery I bought last summer makes it through the winter. Or else I'm busted. And I guess I maybe have to apply now.

On Thursday night, I offer to take Natalie to Forward Momentum. It's a parenting class for moms that we're forced to take if we want to keep Natalie in the school daycare program. Me and Amber got the okay to alternate going every Thursday because we're raising the baby together and sometimes one of us has to work. If we both have to, then we're excused, but only if we show Mei-Zhen and Jocelyn our schedules.

“Why?” Amber asks. “You went last week. It's my turn.”

“I know, but I'm not working until Saturday and I thought you might want to chill.”

Lie. Lie. Lie.

She fills in a few numbers on the puzzle she's doing. “You hate it there.”

“Not really.”

Lie. Lie. Lie.

Amber loves going to Forward Momentum, and she knows I don't. I have to be careful now so she doesn't get suspicious. “You look really, really tired,” I say. “And I'd have to drive you anyway.”

She sighs. “Yeah, all right—​if you want to go, that'd be cool.”

The only reason I'm volunteering is because I need to see if Jocelyn, the lady who runs the show, will write me a letter of recommendation. According to my to-do list, I need three references. Ms. Spellerman's writing me one, and Jocelyn's the only other adult I can think of to hit up besides Jimmy.

“What's the topic for tonight?” Amber asks me, since I went last week.

I search my brain. I hadn't really been paying attention. “Umm . . .” And then I remember. “Dealing with authority.”