Leaving Fishers (2 page)

“A small town you’ve never heard of,” Dorry said, a little nervously. She remembered her dad saying, more than once, that you should never talk about religion or politics with people you didn’t know.

“Ah, a mystery woman,” Brad said in a fake French accent. “She won’t reveal her secrets.”

Dorry laughed with the others. Brad, she decided, was like Joey Van Camp back in Bryden. Everything was a joke to Joey, and he could make anything sound funny. He was a lot of fun if you remembered never to take him seriously. She decided the religious stuff didn’t mean anything to Brad. She relaxed in her chair and started pulling her lunch back out of her sack. Then she looked up and saw Brad grinning at her. He was a lot cuter than Joey Van Camp, she thought, with those blue eyes and straight black hair that fell perfectly across his forehead. Even if it was just a joke, Dorry liked him calling her a mystery woman. Nobody back in Bryden would have
even thought of putting her—plain old, dull, dumpy Dorry—in the same sentence as “mystery” or “secrets.” Maybe moving wasn’t such a bad idea.

“And she still won’t talk,” Brad announced. “What will it take to get her to crack?”

“I’ll take my secrets to the grave,” Dorry said, imitating his tone of mock seriousness. She felt foolish and thrilled all at once.

“Oh, but you already told,” Angela said, with an odd laugh. “She’s from Bryden, Ohio, folks.”

Dorry felt a little hurt. Were Brad and Angela dating? Was Angela jealous of him clowning around with Dorry? Brad didn’t seem to notice.

“Ah, but you see, that is a mystery, too. Where is this Bryden?” Brad asked. His faux French accent was actually improving.

“Way over in eastern Ohio,” Dorry answered. “It’s really tiny. Pretty dull place, actually.” She got a familiar lump at the back of her throat thinking of Bryden: its tree-lined streets, its stately courthouse, and its four traffic lights, which you could whiz through one after the other if you caught the first one just turning green. Bryden didn’t even seem part of the same universe as Crest-wood, which was one apartment complex after another by the interstate exit ramps, then rich neighborhoods with security guards and gates
farther on. Crestwood didn’t have a downtown, just fast-food strips and the mall. And except for the signs that said, “Welcome to Crestwood” and “Leaving Crestwood,” Dorry would have no idea where Crestwood ended and Indianapolis began. All Dorry’s friends back in Bryden had been jealous that she was moving to the big city. “You’re going to come back so sophisticated we won’t know you,” Marissa had joked. And, in brave moments, at first Dorry had thought Crestwood would be exciting. She had imagined hanging out at the mall or going to downtown Indianapolis with friends. Maybe that was still possible.

“So what do you think of Indianapolis?” Angela asked now.

“Um—I guess I like it,” Dorry said.

“Such certainty,” Brad joked.

“It probably seems overwhelming to you, doesn’t it?” Lara said in a quiet voice.

Dorry nodded gratefully. She’d barely noticed Lara when Angela was introducing everyone. Lara had straight brown hair and a plain face. Beside Angela and Kim—both well dressed and carefully made up—Lara faded into the background. But Lara seemed to understand how awful the move had been for Dorry.

Angela gave her a perky smile. “Oh, it’s not that bad. You’ll fit in in no time.”

Dorry wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she took another bite of her sandwich and drained her milk carton. She wished the others would keep talking, but they were all grinning at her, expectantly. Dorry tried to think of something else to talk about.

“Do people go to the football games around here, or is this the kind of school where no one’s big on that?” she asked.

“Oh, none of us are really into football,” Angela said. “What about you?”

“Back in Bryden, everyone went to the football games, kindergarten on up. We made it to the state finals last year. Talk about exciting! We filled six buses for the trip to Columbus—” Dorry felt like she was babbling. But it was hard not to when all the others were looking at her and nodding so attentively How could it be, Dorry thought, that for three weeks nobody knows I exist, and then I suddenly find five people who act like I’m the most fascinating person in the world?

She went on telling about the state championships: the tied score with three minutes left, the other team’s last-minute touchdown, the disappointed Bryden crowd, and the long, sad ride home. “Lots of people said that was the worst moment of their lives,” Dorry said.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’ve got to go now,” Jay said. “It was very nice meeting you, Dorry.”

He stood up. Dorry wondered why he hadn’t said anything until now, if he really enjoyed meeting her. Maybe he was shy. Maybe he was just being polite. She smiled back, hoping he really meant it.

“Thanks. You too.”

The others began scraping back their chairs and gathering up crumpled napkins and empty milk cartons. The bell was going to ring in a few minutes. Dorry wanted to ask, “Can I eat with you guys tomorrow?” but she thought it would sound too childish, like a little kid on a playground begging, “Let me play with you.” All the others had a school lunch, so they had to go to the tray-return window while Dorry walked over to the trash can. She watched Brad and Angela whispering, their heads together. Were they talking about her? Were they making fun of her? She shouldn’t have talked so much about the state championship. What other stupid things had she said? Dorry felt lonelier than ever. She dropped her lunch sack into the garbage and turned around.

Suddenly Angela was by her side. “Oh, good, Dorry, I was afraid you might have gotten away. I
just wanted to say we’d love to have you eat with us again tomorrow. That is, if you don’t have other plans.”

“No, I don’t. That’d be great,” Dorry said.

“Okay!” Angela said, cheerleader peppy. “See you then!”

The bell rang, and Dorry watched her new friends disappear in the rush of kids stampeding out of the cafeteria.

Her new friends. She liked the sound of that.

Chapter

Two

DORRY CLIMBED OFF THE BUS SEVERAL steps behind the other four kids who lived in her apartment complex. The bus driver snapped the door shut so fast it almost scraped her leg. She sighed, then started coughing from the heavy exhaust fumes. Six lanes of traffic whizzed behind her. Next door, a power station buzzed behind ominous high gates and warning signs. Electric wires crisscrossed over her head. Ahead, despite the bright September sunshine, the Northview buildings looked as dreary as ever. All the buildings were exactly alike: dull, ugly brown brick, with cheap-looking shutters and poorly fitting doors. Dorry thought her family’s door was the only one in the whole complex that shut tight, and that was just because her father had fixed it the very first day. Her mother had set out a ceramic pot of bright yellow chrysanthemums, too, but they had been knocked over and crushed the first night. Her mother didn’t bother replacing them.

Dorry watched the other kids race past the Northview complex manager’s office. She heard
one of them yell a string of expletives, but she wasn’t sure if he was mad or just talking. She turned down her street. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a bright blue sports car turn off the main street into the entrance to the apartment complex. Gleaming in the sunlight, the car slowed, then stopped. Dorry squinted into the sun, watching. Why would someone drive a car like that into a place like Northview? The driver had long blond hair, dark sunglasses, and a purple shirt like Angela had been wearing. Wait a minute. That was Angela. Did she live at Northview, too? Were they neighbors?

Dorry turned to wave, imagining in that split second inviting Angela in for some sort of after-school snack—would there be enough chocolate cake left over from dinner last night? Or would Angela be more into Pepsi and potato chips? And beyond that, she could see the two of them becoming really good friends if they lived close. They’d drop by at each other’s apartment, do homework together, drive to school together. Dorry would be free of the hated bus. She’d always have a friend around.

The driver of the blue car ducked down out of sight. Dorry’s arm froze, mid-wave. Then, embarrassed, she let it fall back to her side. She watched the car. That had been Angela, hadn’t it?
Maybe she was getting something out of her glove compartment. Maybe she’d dropped a contact. Dorry waited, uncertain, but no blond head reappeared. She took two steps back toward the car, ready to ask Angela if she needed any help. Then she stopped. What if it wasn’t Angela? What if it was someone coming to Northview to buy drugs? She’d overheard people talking on the bus. There were drug dealers around.

Dorry turned around, shivering as though she had just barely saved herself from being killed in a drug-war shootout. She hurried on to her family’s apartment.

“Dorry? That you?” Her mother called from the bedroom.

Dorry was still blinking at the door, trying once again to adjust to the sight of her family’s familiar furniture crammed into the still-unfamiliar apartment. The overstuffed couch, with its pattern of brown and red autumn leaves, just didn’t look right without the matching love seat, the scarred end tables on either side, or the pine paneling behind it. But the couch, the coffee table, the recliner, and the TV completely filled the living room. Getting from the front door to the kitchen was like running an obstacle course.

Dorry’s mother came out from her bedroom.
Her gray pin curls were uncharacteristically mussed, and the left side of her face had strange indentations, like the chenille pattern of her bedspread.

“Mom? Were you sleeping?” Dorry dropped her books on the floor and sank onto the couch.

“No, I just lay down for a few minutes. Don’t know why 1 can’t get my get-up-and-go back from this move. Guess it got up and went.” Dorry’s mother shoved her thick fingers behind her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She sat down in the recliner. “How was school?”

“Okay.” Dorry tried to forget about the blue car. She thought about lunch. Afterward, she’d felt as victorious as the Revolutionary War soldiers her boring American History teacher had lectured about sixth period. Angela and the others liked me, she told herself over and over. Of course they liked me. They asked me to eat with them tomorrow.

“I met some new friends,” she told her mother. But because of the blue car her voice came out sounding uncertain.

Her mother let her glasses slip back into place on her nose. She peered at Dorry. “I knew you’d make friends soon,” she said. “I almost forgot—I got good news today, too. I got a job!”

“Oh, good!” Dorry said. Back in Bryden her
mother had worked as a nurse at the county health department. But she’d had trouble finding a job here. “At that nursing home?”

“Yes. I’ll have a crazy schedule for a while—lots of evenings, lots of weekends. But I’m hoping that won’t last long.”

“Good,” Dorry said again. If her mother was going to pretend to be happy, she would, too. She’d heard her parents talking about how awful the nursing-home job was. But Dorry knew they needed the money. They hadn’t been able to rent out their house back in Bryden because, with the factory closed, there was no one to rent to. And her parents hadn’t exactly told her, but she’d figured out that her dad wasn’t making as much as he used to. They wouldn’t live at Northview Apartments if they didn’t have to.

“Between your dad’s work schedule and mine, you’ll have to be on your own a lot more,” Dorry’s mother continued. “But we know we can trust you. And you have friends now, so you won’t be lonely.”

“Uh-huh.” Dorry didn’t remind her mother they were very, very new friends, not lifelong buddies like Marissa and her other friends back home. Once, years ago, Dorry had overheard her mother telling a neighbor, “You know, I thought I was much too old to deal with another child
when Dorry was born. But she slept through the night her first week home from the hospital. She didn’t throw a single tantrum as a two-year-old. She’s quiet, she cleans up her messes—I don’t think there could be an easier child on the face of the earth.” From that moment, Dorry had known what her parents expected of her: don’t make trouble. Don’t bother us with your problems. And, mostly, she hadn’t. But they’d always been there when she needed them. What would it be like if they were both working evening shifts?