came to our door. Behind her was a pretty little girl with green eyes and red hair. She was shy, sweet. Although I was drawn to her, I hung back behind my mother’s legs.
The woman said something about her daughter wanting to play with me. Just the words made me feel excited. I was always alone. Me and Mom.
“I’m sorry,” Mom said, “but my little girl is sick. She’s got the chicken pox. Very contagious.”
I didn’t know I was sick.
After the lady and the girl left, Mom must have noticed my confusion.
“We can’t trust anyone, honey. No one. Do you understand?”
I didn’t understand of course. All I knew was that I wanted to play with that girl, but Mom said I couldn’t. Later, not long after, I’d learn that we were never to get close to anyone. I never did. Not until I was named Rylee. I met a boy at South Kitsap. If I’d been a normal girl, with a normal family, I think things might have gone further. We never really went out. I couldn’t do that. We talked in the cafeteria or on the track. He was a runner too. He has the most beautiful eyes and a way of making me feel special. Just with a look.
I know that I can never call Caleb. I can never see him again. I wonder what he’s thinking right now. If I’m on his mind the same way he’s on mine?
I think about that time we really talked for the first time.
The time his hand touched mine.
CALEB HUNTER WAS WEARING A T-shirt with a mangled cross that stretched across his chest. I wondered if he was being ironic or if I should say I was a Christian too. I’ve been Catholic and even Jewish, but only in name. I’m not sure what I am when it comes to the category of faith. But I was sure that I liked Caleb Hunter.
“This school sucks,” he said, his eyes looking right into mine. It was a searing look, and for some reason, I turned away.
Even with the most innocuous statements or questions, Caleb seemed to have that kind of effect on me. Like he was reading me. I allow myself the fantasy that he liked what he was reading, but I’m not a good judge of what others really think. I assume most are as deceptive as I’ve been.
“Yeah,” I said, agreeing with him. Actually, I was glad to be there. It beat my prison sentence of sitting at the kitchen table-classroom with Mom and Hayden.
It was the first time we had really talked. It started with the trivial, about how we didn’t like someone—the poseurs that make up most of the upper class—and how we couldn’t wait to get a driver’s license. He said he was getting his any time now.
“I’m jealous,” I said.
“Yeah. I can get out of here and leave this town and my dad and his girlfriend and never, ever come back.”
I know that his mother had died that summer. I could see the despair in the way he hung his shoulders as he sat in front of me in Washington State History.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” I said, allowing my eyes to look into his for as long as I could manage, without being weird.
“Thanks. Dad doesn’t want to talk about it and, of course, that bitch he’s about to marry doesn’t either.”
I didn’t know what else to say, so his words hung in the air.
“Rylee, have you ever just wanted to disappear?” he finally asked.
I had to lie again. The truth is that I’ve been disappearing all of my life. I was finally beginning to feel like I had a home. Part of that was the boy I was sitting with now.
“Totally,” I said.
He looked toward the window and out to the parking lot. “Sometimes I just want to fill up my backpack and leave. For good.” He hesitated a little, looking at me. Measuring my response to his words.
I merely nodded.
“If you could go anywhere,” he said, “do you know where it would be?”
I’ve been a lot of places, but nowhere that I wanted to be.
“Paris,” I said. “But not the one in Texas. The one in France.”
He broke out in a big smile. “I figured that out.”
The bell rang and we both got up. As we parted in the
The woman said something about her daughter wanting to play with me. Just the words made me feel excited. I was always alone. Me and Mom.
“I’m sorry,” Mom said, “but my little girl is sick. She’s got the chicken pox. Very contagious.”
I didn’t know I was sick.
After the lady and the girl left, Mom must have noticed my confusion.
“We can’t trust anyone, honey. No one. Do you understand?”
I didn’t understand of course. All I knew was that I wanted to play with that girl, but Mom said I couldn’t. Later, not long after, I’d learn that we were never to get close to anyone. I never did. Not until I was named Rylee. I met a boy at South Kitsap. If I’d been a normal girl, with a normal family, I think things might have gone further. We never really went out. I couldn’t do that. We talked in the cafeteria or on the track. He was a runner too. He has the most beautiful eyes and a way of making me feel special. Just with a look.
I know that I can never call Caleb. I can never see him again. I wonder what he’s thinking right now. If I’m on his mind the same way he’s on mine?
I think about that time we really talked for the first time.
The time his hand touched mine.
CALEB HUNTER WAS WEARING A T-shirt with a mangled cross that stretched across his chest. I wondered if he was being ironic or if I should say I was a Christian too. I’ve been Catholic and even Jewish, but only in name. I’m not sure what I am when it comes to the category of faith. But I was sure that I liked Caleb Hunter.
“This school sucks,” he said, his eyes looking right into mine. It was a searing look, and for some reason, I turned away.
Even with the most innocuous statements or questions, Caleb seemed to have that kind of effect on me. Like he was reading me. I allow myself the fantasy that he liked what he was reading, but I’m not a good judge of what others really think. I assume most are as deceptive as I’ve been.
“Yeah,” I said, agreeing with him. Actually, I was glad to be there. It beat my prison sentence of sitting at the kitchen table-classroom with Mom and Hayden.
It was the first time we had really talked. It started with the trivial, about how we didn’t like someone—the poseurs that make up most of the upper class—and how we couldn’t wait to get a driver’s license. He said he was getting his any time now.
“I’m jealous,” I said.
“Yeah. I can get out of here and leave this town and my dad and his girlfriend and never, ever come back.”
I know that his mother had died that summer. I could see the despair in the way he hung his shoulders as he sat in front of me in Washington State History.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” I said, allowing my eyes to look into his for as long as I could manage, without being weird.
“Thanks. Dad doesn’t want to talk about it and, of course, that bitch he’s about to marry doesn’t either.”
I didn’t know what else to say, so his words hung in the air.
“Rylee, have you ever just wanted to disappear?” he finally asked.
I had to lie again. The truth is that I’ve been disappearing all of my life. I was finally beginning to feel like I had a home. Part of that was the boy I was sitting with now.
“Totally,” I said.
He looked toward the window and out to the parking lot. “Sometimes I just want to fill up my backpack and leave. For good.” He hesitated a little, looking at me. Measuring my response to his words.
I merely nodded.
“If you could go anywhere,” he said, “do you know where it would be?”
I’ve been a lot of places, but nowhere that I wanted to be.
“Paris,” I said. “But not the one in Texas. The one in France.”
He broke out in a big smile. “I figured that out.”
The bell rang and we both got up. As we parted in the
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