You Are Here (4 page)

Chapter 9

Twenty-Eight Days Before

T
wo days later, we were unpacking our lives into a new place.

Mom, Jack and I were officially the newest residents with A New Start and living in a two-bedroom apartment with freshly painted red-and-white walls, wooden floors, and framed artwork. Even though it was smaller than our three-car garage at home, we all had to admit that it was way better than what we’d expected and a million times better than the shelter. Each bedroom had twin beds, an armoire and a nightstand. A box of toiletries and bedding waited for us on each bed.

I was enrolled in a new high school and Jack decided to start at a new middle school a few blocks away. Both of us couldn’t get past the taxicab-delivery drop-off scenario and taking the bus was out of the question for Mom.

Our apartment complex was west of downtown Phoenix with a courtyard in the center of about twenty apartments. The courtyard had patchy grass wide enough for a swing set, a yellow picnic table and two terracotta planters where somebody had started an herb garden. Seed packets that said Mint and Cilantro were planted in the dirt. Red-and-pink geraniums were growing in window boxes sprinkled about the community.

After two crazy hectic days spent settling into our new place—Mom and I shared one bedroom; Jack got the other—I sat by myself on a swing in the empty courtyard. The swing set had two swings and an attached yellow slide held up by wooden beams. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat on a swing but I was pretty sure that it had been Dad who’d pushed me when I did. I pushed my feet into the dirt and began to swing, my face pointed toward the sun, conjuring up that memory of Dad, one where he and Mom took me to a park. I listened to the mostly unfamiliar sounds around me—the squeak from the swing, dishes clanking from a nearby opened window, a motorcycle revving somewhere in the front of our street—wishing desperately that I could go back home, touch something that reminded me of home.

“Hey,” said a voice.

My eyes popped open. My legs dropped to the dirt, slowing the swing. “Hey?”

A girl with a round face and shiny black hair that dipped past her shoulders slipped into the swing beside me. She wore a white T-shirt and brown shorts that stretched just above her knees. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” I said.

“We saw you move in. I think my mom is bringing you over some dinner tonight.”

“Thank you,” I said, a little surprised by the kindness. We’d been eating cheese sandwiches for the past two nights.

“That happens a lot around here, people making dinner for other people.”

“That’s nice,” I said, even though the girl said it as if it was no big deal.

“Hope you like tacos.”

“Kidding? I love them.”

The girl smiled at me but it was a sad sort of smile. Her smile did that tight-lipped thing that lips do when they’re not sure if they should smile or feel sorry for you. “Where are you from?”

I turned away and started swinging again. “Around.” I really didn’t want to say Paradise Valley. It sounded so...snobby.

“Your eyes were closed for the longest time,” she said, surprising me again. I hadn’t realized that I’d been watched. “I wasn’t sure if I should bother you. What were you thinking about?” The girl started swinging. The ends of her hair almost brushed the ground as she pushed higher. She looked about my age.

I hesitated for a moment. Why should I tell her? A perfect stranger. Two weeks ago I wouldn’t have shared a word. But today was different. Everything was different. So I took a chance. “Lots of stuff. My Dad. My horse—” My throat closed.
Honey.
I hadn’t thought about my horse all week. On purpose. That was because when I thought about Honey, I thought about Finn, and then I had to remember all over again about how he was practically smothering Nobody right in front of my face. But then reality returned and I had to wonder how much longer the Finnigans would keep Honey without receiving boarding fees. I hesitated to remind Mom. It would just be one more hurdle that she didn’t need.

“You have a horse?” The girl’s black eyes bulged at me in midswing. Her feet dropped to the ground.

I moaned inside. Why had I said that? I might as well have said I had a limousine, too. Now the girl probably thought I was a pretentious freak. “Had,” I answered quickly.

“Yeah,” she said. “I totally get it. Everyone around here had a lot of things, once.” Then her eyes narrowed, assessing me, until she smiled again. “Got a name?” She started to swing again.

“Yeah,” I said, although I considered it for an extra second. Everything else in my life had changed. Why not me? “Abigail,” I blurted, which was partly true. At least it was my middle name. “My name is Abigail, but most people call me Abby.” I paused to let the sound of it, the idea of it, mix with the air. I decided that I liked it. “You?”

The girl dropped her red shoelaceless Converse sneakers to the ground again and the dirt lifted in little puffs all around her feet. “Marisela,” she said, with a slight accent. She looked at me as her swing came to a complete stop. “But most people call me Marisela.” She grinned big.

I snort-laughed. It was my first real laugh in over a week and sounded strange. But then Marisela started to laugh, too, an olive-sized dimple lighting her right cheek, and suddenly laughter sounded okay. As if it had a right to be there. “We live in Apartment Six, right over there.” She nodded to an apartment with its back door wide open. “My mom and two little brothers.”

“We live in Apartment Ten.” I back-nodded behind us. “My mom and little brother.”

“Your hair is pretty,” Marisela said, eyes narrowing, assessing again. But this time she only had eyes for my hair, which I was certain looked pretty lifeless. I’d been washing my hair with soap, trying to conserve my shampoo for as long as I could.

“Thank you,” I said. It was pulled back in a rubber band. I hadn’t combed it since yesterday.

“I like styling hair,” she said. “I’d be happy to help you with yours, if you want?”

“You mean cut it?”

“Uh-huh. And other things. If you want.”

“Needs help, doesn’t it?”

Her nose wrinkled with sympathy. “A little.”

At least she was honest. “What do you have in mind?”

Her eyes swept my face. “Something...shorter. You have the perfect face for short hair.” She reached over and examined a strand between her fingers. “But a trim, definitely.”

“I’m sure that’s not all it needs.”

“I’m going to be a hairstylist someday. Own my own salon and everything. My friends tell me I’m pretty good.” Her hands pressed together. “Let me do something with yours. Please? You can come to my house tonight after dinner.”

I thought about it. I nodded. Now that Mom and I had organized our apartment to where it was at least functional, I had plenty of time. But then reality set in. “Will it cost me anything?”

“Not a penny.”

I exhaled with relief. “That’s good. ’Cause I’m broke.”

“Join the club.”

I grinned at my new friend.

“Then it’s settled.” Marisela flashed a satisfied grin. “Besides, I really need the practice.”

My smile froze.

That revelation should have scared me more than it did.

Chapter 10

Twenty-Seven Days and Sixteen Hours Before

A
t five o’clock Mrs. Santiago, Marisela’s mom, carried over a platter of chicken-and-vegetable tacos and homemade salsa beneath a green plaid cloth, with all three of her kids in tow. Spices and hot chilies scented the kitchen, watering my mouth, making our apartment feel cozy and, well, normal. The tacos oozed with steaming meat and cheese, and Jack and I declared them the best we’d ever eaten.

The dining table that came with the apartment sat four people. Our mothers sat at the table, talking in hushed voices. When I looked over at them at one point, Mrs. Santiago’s hand covered Mom’s and Mom’s lips were pressed together, as if she was trying to hold back tears. Her plate remained untouched, even though I knew Mom had to be famished. None of us had eaten anything since cereal this morning. All of us kids sat in the living room on beige couches, our plates balanced on our knees, Marisela and I on one side and all of the boys squeezed together on the other. The front window was open and a cool breeze lifted the pleated brown curtain as the sun began to set.

Marisela’s two brothers were named Ramon and Luiz. Ramon went to middle school and Luiz was still in grade school. Within five minutes of entering the front door, the boys talked as though they’d known each other their whole lives and were already planning skateboard races after dinner except that Jack’s skateboard was twenty-five miles away in a storage facility. “No problem,” said Ramon about the lack of wheels. “You can borrow mine.” And that was that. Problem solved. I envied the boys’ easy banter and the effortless way they could size up a problem, cope and move on. You’d think from watching him that Jack had been A New Start resident his whole life.

“Do you go to South?” Marisela said. “I haven’t seen you in school before.”

“I do now,” I said, wondering whether I could eat the third chicken taco on my plate. Fortunately, Mom and I had already met with my new guidance counselor on Monday and had even gotten a tour at the end of the day after most of the students had gone home, thank God. South High was at least twice as big as Valley High. Missing were the well-manicured football fields and classrooms filled with outside light. I’d never seen school windows with iron bars on them before. But I was determined to make the best of it. One more thing I needed to get used to.

“Year?”

“Junior.”

“Seriously?” Marisela said. “Figured you for a sophomore.” Her face crumped with an apology when I felt my mouth droop. “Sorry. But you have a young face.” Her fingers waved around her own face and I knew she meant because I wasn’t wearing any makeup. I rarely did. I’d have shrunk from embarrassment if she’d pegged me for a freshman. “What year are you?”

Marisela smiled. “Senior. I can’t wait to graduate. Only five more months. Then I’m enrolling in cosmetology school.”

“That’s great,” I said, but I died a little inside. Senior graduation meant five more months till summer vacation. What would summer look like this year? Certainly nothing like I’d planned—my days spent at the stables with Finn and our horses and stolen kisses. Maybe even traveling with him and his dad to rodeos if I could have talked my mother into the idea. I quickly pushed my Finn fantasies to the back of my mind. Then I remembered Marisela was still talking to me.

“I think we should go drastic.”

“About what?” I absently poked a fork in my taco.

She pointed at me. “Your hair. What else? Hello? Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

“Oh, yeah. Awesome,” I said, without really knowing what I was agreeing to now. My hand lifted to the loose strands on the side of my face. I brushed them back with my fingers.

“I think you’d look fab with black hair.”

My hand stopped in midair. “Black hair?” She had my complete attention now. Marisela nodded. “I could even add a few purple peekaboo strands....”

“Humph.” I pondered that. That would be totally different. Then I remembered back to the shelter and Ann’s spiky black hair. She looked so cool and confident. And hip. Could I pull off cool and hip? “What do you think about short and spiky?” I tried to mime what I wanted with my hands. “Could I go short? I mean, really short?” Jeez, I’d love to do away with all of the weight on my head.

Marisela leaned closer, studying my face as if she were already a cosmetology school—trained hairstylist expert. “With the oval shape of your face and your high cheekbones...” she paused to reach for my chin, tilting my head from side to side “...I’d definitely say yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I will make you look awesome—well, awesomer. Trust me?”

“Yes,” I said a half second later.

Everything else had changed in my life—why not a new hairstyle? “It’s just hair. If I don’t like it, it’ll grow out, right?”

“Not like it?” Marisela feigned outrage, dropping her taco to the plate and pressing both hands against the red butterfly on her T-shirt. “I give you the Marisela Santiago Guarantee of Approval that my haircut will rock your world.” She paused and then whispered, “Your boyfriend will love it, too.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I whispered back, glancing at our mothers. Their foreheads were an inch apart as they continued to talk in hushed voices about something called Section 8 housing and eighteen months. I’d never gotten around to telling Mom about Finn, although she may have suspected something. Or maybe not. She’d been so distant since Grandma died.

“Well, you will have a boyfriend within forty-eight hours by the time I’m done with you.”

I smirked at her. “Doubtful.” Then I added, “And it will have nothing to do with your hairstyling skills, I’m sure.”

“Don’t doubt me. I’ve been known to perform miracles.”

I chuckled. “As you can see, I need one. So let’s do this thing.”

Chapter 11

Twenty-Five Days Before

M
arisela cut and colored my hair before I could weasel out and say something desperate like “My Mom will totally freak,” which Mom totally did. The three purple strands, which I thought were nicely hidden in my new black hair, put her over the edge. But according to Marisela, it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission—a piece of wisdom that I decided to save for future use. Marisela was completely right. It worked. Mom stewed about it for only a half hour before she threw up her hands and sighed.

Confident from my makeover but still more nervous than a kindergartner on her first day, I walked to school down Baseline Road with Marisela on Monday morning. Marisela lent me a short-waisted cobalt-blue jacket and a suede belt that paired nicely with my jeans. I lent her my sterling-silver bracelet. Styling my hair, sharing clothes, trading bracelets—it was like having the sister I’d always wanted.

South High wasn’t far enough to need a bus and Mom was trying to conserve every drop of gas, so a car ride was out of the question. Baseline was already congested with early-morning rush-hour traffic, honking horns and distant sirens. In the middle of downtown Phoenix, you could easily forget that you lived in the desert. The sky looked different in the city, as though you were looking up through a fish tank. The air felt different, too, thicker and windless. We passed men on corners holding their handmade “Can you spare some change?” cardboard signs and empty Circle K plastic cups that had seen better days. I had new empathy for each of them and the lost look in their eyes. By the time we’d reached our fifth city block, I’d emptied my front jeans pocket of my two dollars in change. I couldn’t remember ever seeing so many people begging for change in my old neighborhood. In fact, I never saw any at all.

But even all that didn’t freeze me to the sidewalk.

On the back of a gray metal bus stop a block from school, it was impossible to miss a fluorescent-orange flyer. I approached the bus stop, Marisela talking nonstop beside me about classes and teachers and hot boys that I hadn’t met yet. I barely heard her as my eyeballs froze on the thick black letters: “If you see Jennifer, please contact Finn immediately. No questions asked. Reward offered.”

“Who’s Jennifer?” Marisela said, and I jumped a little. “You know her?” If Marisela realized the girl in the photo was me, she didn’t say. Good thing the photo was grainy.

I stammered. “No. Um. No. I don’t think so.”

“Too bad. There’s a reward. Wonder how much.” She pulled a round mirror from her shoulder purse and began to examine the eyeliner on her right eyelid. She blinked rapidly, as if she was fighting against a stray lash.

“We better get going.” I stole one last look at the flyer after considering ripping it down but figured that would raise suspicion. I started down the sidewalk again, at a faster clip than before. “I can’t be late on my first day.”

“Wait up!” Marisela reached me a few seconds later, her heels clicking against the sidewalk like typewriter keys. “We need to stop in the parking lot first. That’s where everyone hangs out before the first bell. Let’s let everyone get a good look at you.”

I stopped short and choked back a breath as if I’d just swallowed a fly. I really didn’t like the sound of that. I hated being the center of anything. Ever. “Could we just skip that part and go straight to homeroom?” My body filled with panic mixed with the confusion from seeing Finn’s flyer.

“No. Way.” Marisela pulled me forward by my elbow. “You’re the new girl. Besides, I want to show you off.” She looked up at my hair. “It’ll be good for future business.”

I pulled back. “Please, Marisela. I know you don’t know me very well but I should tell you that I hate attention. Seriously. It makes my neck get blotchy.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why put me through it?”

“’Cause I want you to meet my friends.”

I moaned.

“Oh, come on. It’ll just be for five minutes—ten, tops. Do it for me. I’ll be right beside you.” Her shiny lips pouted. “Loosen up, girl. You might even have fun.”

I exhaled in defeat. “Okay. No more than five minutes. I’m pretty sure I’d faint if it went beyond ten.”

“Done.”

I pulled my shoulders back and tried to channel my earlier newfound confidence. Then I pointed myself toward the school and the unknown, still somersaulting on the inside from Finn’s flyer. Why would he do that? Even more confusing, why was he in this part of town?

We started walking again, Marisela’s arm wrapped around mine. I hated to think that if it weren’t for Marisela, I’d be all alone. Hanging out in the parking lot was the least I could do for everything she and her family had done for us.

I was grateful that Jack had Ramon today, too. I hated to think of him walking through the front doors of his middle school all alone. Like me, he was quiet. Mom always said Jack had an “old soul.” Some of the boys in school had teased him. Wearing glasses and being smart didn’t help. Glasses usually didn’t help any kid in middle school. Before, when I had a cell phone, I used to text him after school every day just to make sure he was okay, especially after Dad died. Then one day, when he started sixth grade, he told me I had to stop treating him like a baby. And so I did.

All in all, Jack and I had lots to be grateful for this morning. I put that mantra on repeat in my head all the way to the South High parking lot, already sizzling beneath the sun.