Taking Flight (3 page)

“Okay, Dad,” was all I said. On the bright side, if his words held even an ounce of truth, I would know that look when I saw it. I was used to being looked at like I was dirt, so it’d be a nice change, I suppose.

“Caitlyn’s a very nice girl. I like Caitlyn,” he told me. “Do you like Caitlyn?”

“Yep.”

“So you like her, and then if you get the look from her… that’s when you know.” He pointed his beer at me knowingly, as though he’d just said something profound, and then tipped it back and downed the rest of its contents. I looked away from him to avoid watching him do it, but my stomach churned uncomfortably anyway, and I suddenly wasn’t very hungry.

“Okay.” I couldn’t muster up the effort to explain to him that Caitlyn was just a friend, especially given that on mornings like this one, it didn’t really feel like the truth.

*   *   *

I didn’t go out with Caitlyn the night before I left for Georgia, even though she begged me to. Instead, we stayed in and she helped me pack, and afterward, we laid awake together talking about how stupid the whole Georgia thing was and how much it sucked that I had to go. We did more research too, and got a better idea of what exactly I’d be up against.

David Marshall had a Master’s degree in Psychology, and his day job was as a school counselor. And not just a guidance counselor, like the ones that helped students work out their schedules, but the kind students also used as a substitute therapist.

He lived on a farm with his wife Wendy and two unnamed kids, according to his website. That was part of his shtick; he claimed that hard work on the farm would teach responsibility, weekly attendance at the local Baptist church would teach morals, and continuous therapy sessions with him would give kids a chance to talk through their issues. On top of that, the Marshalls would provide a comfortable and stable family environment to nurture the growth and change of their new member. And, in my case: they could make sure I actually attended school during my reformation.

It all just sounded like a load of bullshit to me, and I stayed up for most of that night, dreading my flight in the morning.

Chapter Two

Caitlyn came with me to the airport the next day. It was crowded, just as I’d been told Hartsfield-Jackson in Atlanta would be. I was also told that David would be waiting for me. I knew what he looked like, so I didn’t expect it to be hard to find him, although a part of me wanted to ditch him and find a place to hide out for five months. But I didn’t have the money for that. Only enough for one meal during a layover in Phoenix.

An older man appointed by the court to escort me drove us to the airport and came inside with us. My dad was there too, and for the brief time that we spent in the airport together, I finally sensed that he was somewhat sad to see me go. Or maybe it was guilt I was sensing. Either way, I made Caitlyn promise to check in on him now that he’d be alone for so long, and then I made her promise again that she’d come get me on my birthday.

“I’ll be there,” she assured me, and shook her purse for emphasis. The ring of keys I’d given her jingled inside, my car key amongst them. “And I’ll bring my brother with me so I don’t have to come alone. Zeke said he’d come.”

“Good idea,” I agreed, and pulled her in for a hug. We lingered, pressed together, and it struck me how intimate this gesture felt. It was an unfortunate after-effect of sexual contact with someone I actually cared about.

She laughed nervously after a few seconds and mumbled, “Okay,” pulling away sooner than I wanted her to.

My dad hugged me goodbye next. It was brief and a little awkward, and I only stood with him for a moment before the court official made it clear that I needed to get ready to go through security. So I did. And just like that, I was on my own.

I made my way through the crowd without too much difficulty, and a short while later, I was on my flight.

The whole trip was very uneventful. I got lunch while I was waiting to switch flights in Phoenix, I listened to music on the plane in an effort to drown out crying babies, and by six o’clock in the evening eastern time, I was in Atlanta.

I brought one big suitcase that I had to retrieve from baggage claim, and between that, my carry-on, and my purse, my arms were full as I weaved in and out of the crowds at Hartsfield-Jackson airport. As I walked, I thought about what the next few months would bring. I planned to be difficult and uncooperative as often as I possibly could. Perhaps there was a chance I’d be too much for the Marshalls, and they’d send me back to California. Of course, that’d mean I’d have to take some other form of punishment instead, but it had to be better than being shipped across the continent to live with a bunch of country bumpkins. I was a rich girl from the city, for God’s sake. The mountains were no place for a girl like me.

Yes, my best bet was absolutely to resist them as much as humanly possible. I’d refuse to do farm work, refuse to attend church, and refuse to reveal anything about myself to David Marshall. Maybe I’d even refuse school, if I really wanted to push their buttons. The opportunities were endless.

As much as the thought of defying David Marshall lifted my mood, reaching him at the airport dampened it far more. I caught sight of him just past security and took him in before he saw me.

The man hadn’t looked intimidating on the paper I’d had, but I’d attributed that to the fact that it was an ad for his services. Now I had to admit that he genuinely looked like a nice guy. And also like a pushover. Maybe he’d cooperate with some of my demands after all. Like to not have to touch any farm animals. Or maybe he’d send me home early on good behavior if I promised to love Jesus instead of weed.

I finally gathered my courage and headed towards him, taking in the visible signs of age in his face as I approached. He had a lot of crease lines and wrinkles, which I figured had to be stress-related. It couldn’t be easy repeatedly taking in troubled teens and shaping them up. I wondered briefly what his success rate was. Were there any who’d come out unchanged and unscathed?

He didn’t see me until I was just a few feet away from him, but when he did, he offered me a smile and stepped toward me, folding up the paper in his hand with my name written on it in bold, black letters and tucking it into his pocket. “Lauren. It’s good to meet you.”

“Hey,” I grunted, not meeting his eyes. He seemed unsurprised by my attitude, which was frustrating.

“Here, let me take your suitcase,” he offered, and took the bigger one from me, leaving me with my carry-on and my purse. “I trust your flight went well?”

I didn’t reply. Instead, I took note of his lack of a Southern accent. So he wasn’t from the South: at least not originally. That made sense. He went to college with the judge that sentenced me to this whole bullshit reform trip, so at some point he must’ve chosen to live where he did now. I couldn’t fathom why anyone would choose a location in the middle of nowhere though.

David kept talking when I remained silent. “We should have about a two-hour drive back up to the farm, provided we don’t hit too much traffic. I’m not sure how much you were told before you came here, but you’ll be living there with myself, my wife, and my two children. We live in a very small, rural area, but the people there are nice and I think you’ll find you enjoy it soon enough, even if it’s not what you’re used to.”

I let out a short, dry laugh at that, but he reacted strangely, smiling at me as though my laugh had been a genuine, friendly one. “I know you don’t believe me,” he said, “but it’s got a very homey feel to it, our town. There’s only one high school, so you’ll become very acquainted with everyone in town much quicker than you would back in California. It may be a little bit of a culture shock at first, but after the initial adjustment, it’s a nice place to live. Both of my children love it there.”

We reached his car a moment later, and he loaded my bags inside. I held back a sarcastic comment about the lack of a pickup truck, trying to stick to my plan. I’d tell him as little as I could about who I was or what my thoughts were on any of the events in my life. He could guess for five months for all I cared.

We got into his car and he kept talking. “As I said before, I have two children. My eldest is Scott; he’s twenty years old but thankfully, he’s decided to stay home and help us out on the farm while he attends the local college. And I think you’ll get along with Cameron, considering you two are the same age and in the same grade.”

He pulled out of the parking deck and I stared out of the passenger’s side window, hiding my disappointment. The next five months would’ve been a little easier to get through if I’d had some eye candy around the ol’ Marshall family farm, even if I’d have hated the girl as a person. Now it looked like I’d be dealing with two sons, which was far worse.

“You’ll be sharing a room with Cam,” David continued, and as I looked over at him, alarmed, I finally couldn’t keep silent.

“Isn’t that inappropriate?”

David looked both surprised that I’d spoken and confused by what I’d said. “Well… I can’t imagine why it would be, unless you’re referring to the influence you may have while you two are in such close proximity for so long, but I trust both of my children and I’m confident that they’ll be the ones to have a positive influence on you. We’ve already rearranged the beds to put a spare in Cameron’s room, so don’t worry about not having your own space.”

“Oh, so we’re not sharing a bed?” I asked rhetorically, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Okay, cool.
Now
it’s okay for me to share a room with a teenage boy.”

David laughed loudly and abruptly, his voice booming through the air and making me jump. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “I always forget; I like to use her full name a lot when I’m not addressing her directly, but you should know that most of her friends and family call her Cam or Cammie. My daughter.”

I took that in for a moment. “…You named your daughter Cameron.”

“I consider it a unisex name,” he replied calmly, not taking his eyes off of the road. “You’ve never met a female Cameron?”

“No.”

“Well… looks like you’ll have yet another first here in Georgia,” he told me happily, and I resisted the urge to grind my teeth together. My eyes went back to the window and I thought about taking out my mp3 player. Maybe he’d take the hint and stop talking.

As it was, he kept going. “So, given that it doesn’t seem like you’re in any mood to tell me what you know about me, how about I go first and tell you what I’ve heard about you?”

I remained silent. I had a feeling that I was going to end up hearing more from him regardless of what my answer was.

“I talked to your father briefly, but most of my information comes from my good friend Judge Jacobs and your high school principal, so please excuse me if anything’s not entirely accurate, and feel free to jump in and correct me at any time.” He paused. “It’s my understanding that you haven’t been attending class at your high school since the start of your senior year, which is why you’ve been sent here. So my primary concern while you’re here is going to simply be that you go to school. Easy enough, right?”

I didn’t answer.

“Beyond that, I’d like to touch on some of the behavioral problems I’ve heard about, mostly from your principal. He mentioned a suspension and a fine you received junior year after alcohol was found in your locker, and although your father himself didn’t say much on the subject, both Judge Jacobs and your principal seemed to feel that he was unfit to be your guardian due to a problem with alcohol abuse.” I clenched my fists. He was getting very close to hitting a nerve. “But you argued very emphatically in his favor, from what I’ve heard. You didn’t want a different guardian.”

“And yet here I am,” I said through gritted teeth, but he didn’t acknowledge my comment.

“Judge Jacobs also mentioned your father being a single parent.”

I wanted so badly for him to stop talking. “My mom’s dead,” I bit out, hoping it’d shut him up.

It worked, but only for a moment. There was a long silence, and then he said, “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“Whatever.”

He was silent for so long after that that I almost thought I’d be able to enjoy some peace and quiet for the duration of the ride, but it didn’t last. As we edged our way through Atlanta traffic and finally began to head out toward the suburbs, he proposed, “Why don’t I tell you a little about myself, to even things out? I have a Master’s in Psychology from the University of Illinois…”

“I read your website,” I cut him off, hoping he’d shut up again.

“Oh, did you? Well, then you know the basics: that I live on a farm and that you’ll be attending a Baptist church every Sunday.” If he noticed my eye-roll, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Your responsibilities will start out small around the house, but they’ll increase as you continue to live with us. When we have boys stay with us, Scott serves as their guide and helps them get acclimated, and Cameron does the same for the girls, so you two should get to know each other well. My wife Wendy spends her days at home, so she’s quite an expert on everything you’ll need to know, as well.

“But anyway: about myself. I’ll be working as a counselor at the high school you’ll be attending. So if you ever need anything during school hours, I’m just a few hallways away. Most days, I’ll be giving you and Cameron a ride to school, but if I’m ever unavailable for some reason, Scott will pick up the slack.”

“When do I get phone calls?” I asked abruptly, thinking of Caitlyn, and even my dad. I needed someone at least partially sane to talk to throughout all of this.

“Whenever you want, provided someone else is around,” David informed me. “Which should be the case; I don’t expect you to ever be home alone. But we’ll have to have someone there to listen to your end of the conversation.”

“So I can’t even speak honestly,” I realized.

“No, you’re welcome to say what you want. Believe me, whatever you say, we’ve probably heard worse. I’ve been doing this for ten years. We only have someone listen to make sure you aren’t getting into anything you aren’t supposed to be involved with.”

“Ten years,” I echoed, and then finally asked the question that’d been in my mind from the moment I’d caught sight of him at the airport. “So does this always work, then? Does everyone come out zombiefied?”

“They come out with a greater understanding of themselves, and, generally, more well-behaved, yes. Zombification might be a bit of an extreme word for what I do, but I suppose it might seem like that to you right now.” He glanced at me. “I’m not out to change who you are at your core, Lauren. I’m only here to help.”

“If you were here to help, you’d send me home,” I countered.

“You may not agree with me, but your home wasn’t a healthy environment,” David said. “You had minimal to no parental supervision there, your school attendance was not enforced, and you’ve been engaging in substance abuse.”

“I’ve had sex before marriage too,” I told him gravely, feigning disappointment. “Tons, actually.”

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “I know you may think I’d take offense to that, but sexual activity is somewhat normal for someone your age. Just don’t tell my children I said that. Or my wife.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him, alarmed, and he glanced at me quickly, shooting me a small smile.