You Are Here (6 page)

Chapter 14

Nine Days Before

T
onight was my first Friday-night Girlz First meeting, and I went with Marisela. I was required to attend now that we were part of the A New Start community, but I didn’t mind. It wasn’t as though staying in the apartment and doing homework or laundry—yes, my pink underwear was proof that you shouldn’t mix colors with whites—were a great alternative. It also kept me from going to dark places in my mind that involved Finn and Nobody.

I knew most of the girls at the meeting—Angela, Raquel, Karol and, of course, Marisela. Plus Marisela said there would be a bunch more girls to meet who lived in the other apartments, some younger, some older than us. Marisela seemed to be the self-appointed president of this group or club or whatever we were. She said it was really about all of us girls getting together and “bonding.” Bonding was the most important part. I had to admit that I didn’t have a lot of experience in the Girlfriend Bonding Department. It had always been easier for me to bond with horses. They were more predictable.

The Girlz First meeting was held in the same shared space where Mom met with other moms on Monday nights and took a weekly computer class to brush up on her word-processing skills. I swear it was all I could do
not
to stare at the yellow community wall phone and wonder if I should pick up the receiver and dial Finnigan Boarding Stables.

Instead of twin beds, a couch and a kitchen table like ours, this converted studio apartment had plastic folding chairs, card tables, bookcases stocked with Disney videos and books, a flat-screen, and a metal desk that the two teen counselors, Amy and Rebecca, shared. The camp counselors—that was what Marisela coined them—weren’t teenagers but they didn’t look much older than any of us and dressed like us, too. Amy was old enough to have gotten a rose tattoo on her right forearm and Rebecca wore a gold wedding band on her left ring finger and a silver stud in her nose.

Amy and Rebecca sat us in a circle, kneecap to kneecap, after we stacked all of the folding chairs against the wall in what would have been a living room. There were eleven of us including the camp counselors. Amy passed around a plate of brownies and Rebecca tossed everyone a chilled can of 7Up.

I was definitely feeling a “tell us a little about yourself, Abby” moment brewing in the air, the kind that always made me want to throw up from nerves.

Rebecca raised her hand and the circle quieted. “You know everyone now, don’t you, Abby?” she said.

I nodded. Besides Marisela, Angela, Raquel and Karol, I recognized the other girls in the room, even if I didn’t know their names. I knew that two of them were sisters because they looked like twins and lived on the opposite side of the apartment complex. There was an older girl with brown hair so short that it looked shaved. I’d seen her reading a book while lying upside down on the slide in the courtyard. And then there was a skinny girl with red hair and tons of freckles who looked about Jack’s age. She never made eye contact with anybody. She was probably more uncomfortable to be in the circle than I was. I hesitated to say that I didn’t know their names, because I was afraid that Rebecca would suggest some kind of name game activity. I couldn’t put them through that, especially the quiet little redheaded girl.

Rebecca pulled the tab on her soda can and took a long sip. “And you know this is pretty casual, right? We just like to get everyone together and touch base each week. See how school’s going, life in general, that kind of thing. Nothing to stress about here. Right, girls?”

Eight heads around the circle nodded.

“So how’s life in general treating you this week?” She directed her question at me.

Life in general?
I didn’t know how to answer that, exactly. Life was life. And life lately kind of sucked, but I didn’t know whether I’d earned the right to complain.

Rebecca gathered in her long legs and then twisted her long black hair in a knot behind her neck. When I didn’t answer—couldn’t answer—she prodded me again. “Everything okay at South so far?”

“Yep,” I said, except it came out almost like a squeak. “It’s not much different than my old school.” Which was a half-truth.

“You’ve met plenty of new friends, I see,” she added, and I looked across the circle at Marisela and Angela and flashed a cautious smile. I hoped I’d earned their friendship. I couldn’t have imagined starting at a brand-new high school completely alone. They’d become my lifesavers, showing me around the campus. Waiting for me after school at my locker every day. Explaining the mysteries of the school cafeteria.

“And you’ve changed your hair from the first day we met,” Amy said, tilting her head, studying me, as she talked. “I like.” Her head bobbed up and down with approval. “I mean, I really, really like. Totally rad. Especially the purple.” She motioned to the highlights in my hair.

“Marisela is a genius,” I said, wishing to deflect the attention off of me. Even the redheaded girl raised her head to check me out. My armpits started to sweat as my throat turned dry despite the soda.

“It helps when you start with perfection,” Marisela said, and I felt my face flush hot. I looked down at the brown carpet and my untouched brownie. Sensing my unease, she added, “And it didn’t hurt that Abby was so open-minded.”

“Yes,” Rebecca said, her head nodding, “but, seriously, Abby. You’ve changed everything about you. I almost didn’t recognize you from the day we met you and your mom.” She paused. “Why’d you go so drastic? Don’t get me wrong—it suits you. But why?”

My shoulders shrugged as I considered how to answer. Finally I said, “Everything else about my life had changed so drastically. Why not me?”

The room fell silent except for the hum from the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Rebecca broke the silence. “What was wrong with the old you?”

Another shoulder shrug. I swallowed back dryness. “Sometimes things just need to change.”

“Why?”

I paused as every face in the circle leaned forward a fraction, waiting for me to answer. Why did I have to go so deep? Why couldn’t I have just said something easy like,
It’s the New Year.
I
felt like a new hairstyle?
End of story. “So you can find new confidence, move forward, I guess.”

Rebecca and Amy smiled a knowing smile at each other, so I assumed I’d answered correctly. “Anybody you miss at your old school?”

“No,” I lied. I picked at the carpet. Which really wasn’t a lie. Finn was homeschooled and had been his whole life. And to think at one time I wished we went to the same high school. To think that we had even talked around the edges of applying to the same colleges. I must have been delusional back then, falling for a boy with dreamy eyes and empty promises. So cliché. Jenn Whitman was obviously a crazy naive chick. And stupid. I was glad I’d erased her.

“You’re sure about that?”

I pushed out confidence. “Positive.”

“Well, anything about your old neighborhood that you miss?”

“Everything.” I mean, seriously? Of course we were beyond grateful for our nice apartment and for not living in Mom’s car but who wouldn’t want to go back home if given the chance?

“I didn’t mean to imply that you wouldn’t miss your old neighborhood, your home. I’m just trying to understand you better.” She paused to inhale. “Can you be more specific about what you miss?”

My leg twitched. I was really beginning to feel uncomfortable. I wanted to tell them that sometimes I wished I could go back and touch my old life, touch a part of it, touch the best part of it. Would they understand that?

“Abby?” Rebecca prodded, softer this time. “Anything you miss?”

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes lowered. The room grew smaller and I blinked once to fight off the building tears. “My horse. I miss her a lot.”

“You have a horse?!” Raquel about face-planted into the center of the circle, kind of the way Marisela had the first time I confessed to Honey’s existence.

“Yeah,” I said again, irritated at myself for pretending she was some kind of figment of my imagination. Why was I keeping her a secret? More important, why wasn’t I doing anything to make sure she was okay? What kind of a friend was I? I glimpsed at the yellow phone over Raquel’s shoulder. It taunted me.

“Wow,” Marisela chimed in, equally as wide-eyed. “When you mentioned it that first day, I thought maybe you were joking.” She paused. “So you got, like, a pony?”

I laughed at the question but it was a nervous laugh, the high-pitched uncomfortable kind. “No, I mean, like, a quarter horse.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who’s had a horse before,” Angela said. “But that’s cool.”

“You miss it?” Rebecca said.

“It’s a
she.
Her name is Honey. And I miss her every day.”

“Why Honey?” Marisela said.

“’Cause her coat looks yellow-brown and silky like honey. Her mane is black, though. As black as my hair is now.” I slipped my fingers through my short hair. “I miss brushing her.”

“Where is she now?” Karol said.

“She might as well be on the moon.”

“Another state?” Amy said.

“Paradise Valley.”

Marisela grimaced. “Oops. Might as well be another state.” She paused. “Who’s taking care of her?” She paused again. “I mean, is she...okay?”

My voice got smaller, to where I could hear my beating temples. “I don’t know.”

Marisela placed her hand over mine, probably because I was picking at the carpet as if I wanted to lift it off the floor. Her hand calmed mine. “We’ll help you figure it out. Won’t we?” Her gaze swept around the circle.

“But why? Why would you do that?”

Marisela’s shoulders shrugged. “Because it’s what friends do.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, although I wasn’t sure anybody knew how to make that happen, least of all me. It was nice to feel the support but unless someone had a winning lottery ticket to share, I was at a loss.

I worried needlessly.

By the time we’d finished the whole platter of brownies and before I was able to bore a hole in the brown shag carpet with my forefinger, a plan had been hatched for getting me to Paradise Valley to see Honey.

Someone produced a bus schedule. Marisela said she’d ask her cousin if we could borrow his car. Rebecca and Amy offered me the use of their bus passes. Angela said she could chip in for some gas money. The little redheaded girl wanted to give me a dollar, which I refused, but I hugged her anyway. Raquel asked if I’d give her riding lessons. But the biggest problem, what to do about the unpaid boarding fees when we reached Finnigan Boarding Stables, remained the giant elephant—er, horse—in the room. I didn’t know how much Mom had been paying for the monthly boarding fees, Honey’s oats, the vet bills, hoof trimming, but it was certainly more than the $2.30 in loose change that I had squirreled away in my wallet. Could I show up to the Finnigans’ empty-handed? It wasn’t as though five girls could show up at a stable in the desert, practically in the middle of nowhere, and not be noticed. Part of me was hopeful that we could come up with a viable plan but the realistic part of me, the part that usually won out, said that our plan was doomed before it started. Besides, what if the Finnigans had already auctioned off Honey? Just as people did to our house? That thought alone prickled every hair on my body.

Marisela wouldn’t listen to my nay-saying. It was decided. Next Saturday Marisela and I would see Honey. I was thrilled, scared, nervous, anxious and a little nauseous all at the same time. I closed my eyes and could smell the hay in Honey’s stall. I could feel her cold nose pressed against my palm and that smooth part between her eyes that was as silky and delicate as a butterfly’s wings. But when I opened my eyes, I could see Finn, too. He was always lurking in the back of my mind, leaning against Honey’s stall, his cowboy hat nudged just above the top of his forehead, his arm draped casually above Nobody’s slender, perfect body. The giggling and hushed voices. Their secrets mixing in the air with the silver dust. Yet I couldn’t wait to get back.

How would I survive till then?

Chapter 15

Three Hours Before

S
aturday morning arrived as if through wet cement. I’d barely slept Friday night due to the gymnastics inside my stomach.

I couldn’t tell Mom that I was going back to our old neighborhood. Despite a few interviews and a few hundred job applications, she still hadn’t found a job, although she had a second interview at one place next week. She’d even mentioned that she was considering signing up for a medical research experiment, something about being part of a test group of women over forty who had had hysterectomies. I’d begged her not to do it.

“I can’t
not
work,” she’d said to me. “I have to provide for you and Jack. Besides, the car needs new brakes.”

It had made for a stressful morning for the both of us all the way around. We never used to talk about money and jobs and car repairs. Now our lack of it consumed us and we weren’t very good at discussing it. Which was probably why Mom signed up for a financial-management seminar offered next week through A New Start, too.

After five minutes of tense, temple-pounding silence around our kitchen table, Mom finally broke it. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” she said as our spoons clunked around our cereal bowls. Jack was still sleeping.

“Marisela and I are going to hang out at the mall.” Not a total lie but definitely a partial one. Obviously there would be no shopping.

Mom winced.

“Please, Mom? I haven’t been to the mall in forever. You have to let me go.”

“Abby, the car—” Mom stopped herself. “Well, you know I hesitate to lend you the car because of the brakes and because I’ve only got a quarter tank left. That’s got to last me through till next week. My second interview is Wednesday. I can’t miss it.”

“No worries. Marisela’s cousin lent us his car for the day.” I continued to eat, hoping she’d stop analyzing my Saturday plans and return to her forms and job applications.

“Oh,” she squeaked. “Well, how nice.” Mom sat back, still considering. Then after the longest five seconds, she said, “Okay, then. You girls should have a good time.” She reached for her purse. It hung on the chair next to her. “Let me give you a few dollars for gas.”

I raised my palm. “Not necessary. Already covered.”

Mom’s eyes narrowed. “You got gas money? Where?” Mom hadn’t given me any allowance in over three months, and I’d already given her most of the babysitting money I’d saved the past year, which amounted to less than a hundred dollars.

“Marisela’s cousin filled up the tank. A birthday present for her.” Okay, now,
that
was a total lie because it occurred to me that I didn’t even know the date of Marisela’s birthday but it was the best lie I could make on the fly. I wasn’t about to tell Mom that the girls at Girlz First pooled their money and came up with seven dollars plus my two and another five that Marisela had. All together we had plenty to get us to Paradise Valley and back and then some. All that Marisela’s cousin asked was that we replenish the gas that we used and not crash the car. Watching Mom’s eyes process this information, I tried to anticipate her next questions.

“Well,” she said, drumming her fingers over a job application, “is the car...safe?” Of course she’d ask that.

“Yes.” I had no idea. But I assumed Marisela’s cousin wouldn’t let her drive anything that was unsafe. I mean, it wasn’t as if he were lending us a souped-up motorcycle or anything.

“Would you call—?” She stopped herself, pressing her lips together. “I mean, how will I know that you got there safely?” Six months ago I would have been able to call Mom or send her a text. That was what I’d always done when she wanted to make sure I arrived wherever it was I said I was going—Scottsdale Fashion Square, the stables, a guitar lesson.

I leaned forward, placing my hand over hers. “Mom. It’ll be okay. We’re just going to the mall and then we’ll come home. Everything will be fine.”

Mom nodded yes but her eyes still filled with worry and something else. “What is it?” I prodded.

Mom sighed, a long heavy one. “Oh, I don’t know.” She exhaled a sad chuckle. “I think that’s it. There’s so much lately that I am now officially worrying about what I don’t know. Your mother is a worrywart. You’ll have to forgive me.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. You’re doing your best.”

Mom lowered her head so I wouldn’t see the building tears, but I didn’t have to see them to know. Her shoulders drooped forward and a knot tightened in my chest, watching her.

“Mom?” I whispered. A lump formed in my throat. “Mom?” I said again.

But she didn’t look up. She laid her head on the table and wept, right on top of her job applications and that horrid research-study application that I wanted to shred into a million pieces.

Her muffled sobs filled the kitchen.

There was nothing I could do except hold her hand as the tears flowed. How I wished Dad were there to wrap his warm arms around us. I closed my eyes, picturing it. Feeling it. “Dad would say you were doing a pretty darn good job, Mom,” I said, opening my eyes. “I know he would.”

Mom brushed her hand beneath her nose.

“He’d be pretty proud of you.”

She sniffed, looking at me. “I don’t know about that.”

“Yeah.” My chin lifted. “He would.”

“He’d be pretty proud and amazed at the young woman you’ve become.” Her chin lifted like mine. “He’d probably even like your new hair color, too.”

I chuckled despite the lump in my throat. “Not sure if he would have been too crazy about the purple highlights.”

“Well, they’ve grown on me. I like them.” Mom opened up her arms and I reached for her. Her warm tears landed on my shoulder. I held her and together we cried.

Sometime later, Jack padded out of his bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he mouthed at me, blinking against the brightness of the kitchen light, pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

I shook my head, begging him with my eyes not to say a word.

Jack took the empty chair alongside Mom and placed his hand on her arm. Then he leaned forward and we formed a kid-pretzel hug around her.

Mom’s whole body heaved harder with the quiet sobbing cries that get garbled in your throat, her head still pressed into my shoulder. To be honest, I think letting her cry was a good thing, for all of us. It was the hardest she’d cried since the night Dad died.