After Zero Page 13

  When I get to be with my brothers, we’ll never fight, ever.

  “If she somehow wasn’t stealing,” Fin says, “though clearly she was, she’d deny it. She’d have said something by now.”

  Conn rubs the back of his neck. Everyone in the kitchen has gone quiet. He looks at the tile floor and nods. “You have a point.”

  Why is he saying that? There’s a look on his face—the same look Mel had that last day I sat at her lunch table, when she’d grown tired of defending me.

  “Well?” Fin turns back to me. “No one’s going to make excuses for you now. Care to explain why you stole from Dónal? And pointed that gun at him?”

  “Gun?” Mrs. Karney gasps. “She pointed a gun at my son?” She looks at Dónal. “Is this true?”

  Dónal runs a hand over his stubble for effect. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it…” He’s enjoying this, just like he enjoyed stealing my stuff in the woods.

  I sway, knowing every word I don’t say is working against me, thickening the wall between me and Conn, the one whose trust lasted the longest. This couldn’t have been what Granny P had in mind. Maybe a word or two won’t matter. Maybe Granny P didn’t mean what she said. Maybe I even misheard her. Can I chance it? If I do, will the truth come out right? Nothing ever comes out right. But if I don’t try…

  “See,” Fin says. “She’s not even denying it.”

  Everyone is watching me, waiting, and words keep rising up my throat and then sliding back down. I didn’t… It wasn’t… I can feel the bubble pressing in on me, blocking me, choking me. Before I or anyone else can blink, I drop the money and the gum on the counter and fly out the kitchen’s side door, shooting through the living room and up the stairs. I run as if the gun just went off at a track meet. In the spare room, I shut the door and take big gulps of air, my heart racing. The bubble’s never been that strong before, and I don’t know what to think.

  All I know is that running away didn’t look good. But even if I could have spoken, would it have mattered? If I told the truth, who would they have believed: me, the guest, the stranger, the quiet one? Or Dónal, the loving son and brother? They’d think I was lying, and I’d have broken my promise to Granny P in the process. I shouldn’t have tried to risk it all now, when I’m so close to my birthday, so close to the finish line. I’ve come this far; I’ve been through the woods and back. I’ve let my grades slip. I’ve lost Mel. I’ve lost Fin. And now Conn. And for what?

  Not for nothing. I won’t let it be for nothing.

  Maybe there’s still a way to tell Conn. I stumble over beach and ski gear as I grab my notebook. I scribble words: Dónal’s lying. The money and gum are mine. He stole them.

  I rip out the page and look at the note. It’s barely legible and sounds like a lie even to me. I hear footsteps coming down the hall. Who am I kidding? I have to face it: a note isn’t going to help me this time.

  I crush the note in my fist and chuck it in the trash bin. I’m wearing pajamas, but there’s no time to change. I pull on my sneakers without tying them, stuff some clothes in my school bag, and open the window. It’s lucky that I’m on the first floor. I jump, tumbling into a flower bed and the chill of the night air. I consider my options as I run. If it were a lifetime ago, I could go to Mel’s house. But a different Mel lives there now. And how can I go home before I’ve gotten the answers I left for in the first place? Home to boyish echoes and dirty dishes and purplish rings around my mother’s eyes?

  Twenty minutes later, I find myself huddling on a bench outside Green Pasture, blinking under a security light. I pull my school planner out of my bag and look at the date. April 12th.

  Tomorrow is the thirteenth. My birthday.

  I breathe in.

  Tomorrow.

  I breathe out.

  Tomorrow, Granny P will bring me my birthday present. I’ll get to see my brothers, and everything will be put right.

  Tomorrow.

  Chapter 20

  I jerk to attention as a bus screeches in front of the school. I stand and smooth out my hair, hoping no one saw me dozing in my pajamas.

  Inside, Green Pasture is so still that my footsteps echo. I’m the early bird. I like the halls this way, without all the students, but maybe I should walk back outside before they start swarming in and anyone knows I’m here. Maybe I should skip school today and forever.

  But my ghazal for Miss Looping is due today. Presentations aren’t until Monday, and I’ll be in the bathroom stall that period if I come to school at all. But the poem itself must be handed in this afternoon, or I’ll fail the assignment. I can’t afford that.

  I go to the bathroom, fish a T-shirt and jeans out of my backpack, and change into them. Then I read in the stall until the first bell rings. After that, I keep my head down. The first three periods consist of ignoring other kids’ stares and whispers. And expecting the police to burst in at any moment and arrest me, even though I did nothing wrong. Even though I left the money behind and I’m out of the Karneys’ house and I’m just being paranoid. There’s no reason they’d call the police now. Is there?

  When the lunch bell finally sounds, I head for the track. I won’t be able to hog a bathroom stall for the whole lunch hour without people knocking, and I can’t go to the library in case Conn’s there. Or maybe he’ll be avoiding it today too because he thinks I’ll be there. Either way, the track is the next best choice. At least there I can get some fresh air.

  I set my bag down in the top right corner of the bleachers, the very last row, and make myself comfortable. A lot of people don’t sit this high up because they’re scared of heights, but it doesn’t bother me. The closer to the sky and the farther from school, the better.

  A few pages into my book, I notice bright colors approaching, coming up the steps from the bottom of the bleachers.

  Why did I think anywhere at Green Pasture might be safe?

  “Look who we found.”

  I’m reading. Unavailable. Otherwise engaged.

  “Anyone got a nail clipper?” Sylvia says. “I have a hangnail.”

  I don’t look up, but I can feel the Flock gathering in front of me. This is going to make it hard to read.

  “Here’s mine.” Theresa’s voice.

  I ought to turn the page and make this reading thing more convincing. But my body is acting like a brick, refusing to move.

  Snip. “We heard about what you did.” Snip. Snip. Sylvia stands in the row below me, flicking the pink nail clippings at me one at a time. They bounce off my chest and forehead and land in my book. “Pointing a gun at Fin’s brother. And stealing. Fin sent us the video. That’s pretty twisted.”

  My palms start to sweat. Who else has the video gotten around to? Is that why everyone was whispering and staring at me today? I shouldn’t have come to school. Who cares about my ghazal? Miss Looping probably won’t like it anyway.

  “She doesn’t even look sorry,” Nellie says.

  “Her heart must be made of ice.” Theresa grunts.

  Sylvia hands the nail clipper back to Theresa. “So, why’d you do those things?” She snatches the feather out of my hair and tickles my face with it. She runs it under my chin and down my neck.

  I try to grab the feather back.

  The Flock laughs in the row behind Sylvia. Fin, Nellie, Theresa… I don’t see Mel.

  Sylvia tosses the feather aside. I watch the wind carry it away, the only hint of my brothers and Granny P that I had left. “You know, Elise…when you do one of our friends wrong, when you do her family wrong, you do us all wrong. We take it personally.”

  I stare at my book, at words I can’t make sense of.

  Fin steps over a seat board and stands next to Sylvia. “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for,” she says, the same way Mrs. Karney did. Maybe she has more in common with her mother than she thinks. “You thought
you could threaten and steal from my family? And still keep Conn trailing after you? Well, guess what. You can’t.” She spits the word can’t. “Conn wants nothing to do with you. He stays with me. I’m his sister. Best friend. Nothing’s bigger than that, not even your pretty eyebrows.”

  An eyebrow remark. She must have learned that one from Sylvia.

  “Got it?” She puts one foot on the seat board between us and rests her elbow on it, leaning forward. Something glints in her other hand at her side. A memory comes to me: Fin at the Karney dinner table on my first night, filing her nails with her Swiss Army knife. She wouldn’t… She couldn’t…

  My body snaps into action—snaps my book shut. I stand up and turn to move toward the aisle, but Fin leaps over the seat board and steps in my way, knocking my book out of my hands. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  If I could get by, I could run fast. I’m faster than any of them. But now Sylvia, Nellie, and Theresa are moving in, cornering me, ready to snatch and scratch me with their neon claws. I’m outnumbered, just like in the woods with Dónal and his pals.

  A bird could fly away.

  I look up, finding the sky. I want to be the sun, out of reach up there with the clouds.

  “Hello-o-o?” Fin raps her knuckles on my forehead. “Anyone home?” The others laugh.

  “Wait.”

  The Flock turns in unison toward the bottom of the bleachers. Mel’s green-lidded eyes meet mine, and for a second I think she’s going to come take my hand and lead me away, and we’ll go to her house and make one of our “movies.” For a second I think she’s the person I knew—and I’m the person she knew—before all this.

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “You don’t have to, Mel,” Fin says. I don’t like the way she says Mel, as if she’s known Mel since she was five. None of these girls have known Mel as long as I have. She has a history with me that none of them, not even Sylvia, can ever have with her.

  “I want to.” Mel comes up the steps.

  Fin nods, and as she moves out of Mel’s way, I realize the glint I saw was just a bracelet she’s wearing.

  Mel stands in front of me, her fists clenching at her sides. “So, is it true?” she says. “Did you really point a gun at Fin’s brother? Did you really try to steal from the Karneys? From people who were helping you?” The disgust in her voice makes my insides shrivel. “I don’t even know you anymore. If you didn’t do it, you’d say so. You’d say something.” Mel lowers her voice now, whispering. “Why won’t you say something? Not even to me?” I catch a hint of pleading in her tone. Desperation. It surprises me. She’s giving me one more chance.

  Oh, Mel. Pretty Mel, patient Mel…

  But she doesn’t understand. She’s never understood, as much as I’ve wanted her to. I can’t give in now after coming this far, not when I’m so close to getting my brothers back. I’m sorry, Mel.

  She straightens. I glance up in time to spot a droplet of water on her cheek before she turns away. I feel one on mine too. Sylvia looks at Mel, and her usual smirk vanishes. Now there’s a flicker of something as she glances from Mel to me. I’ve seen it a few times before, when Mel would stick up for me at lunch, but maybe I never understood what it was.

  Remember, she’s just jealous, my mother said that afternoon after Patsy’s Pastries. A passing comment, but…

  No, no one could be jealous of me.

  “I give up.” Mel’s voice reverts to a volume the others can hear. “She’s a lost cause. Let’s go.” She moves past Fin and Sylvia and starts walking back down the bleachers, each step she takes sending a pang through my chest.

  “No,” Sylvia says. “No way. She thinks she can just ignore us? She thinks she’s better than us, even after the things she did? Well, I came here to hear her talk, and I’m not leaving till she does.” She skirts by Fin and comes toward me, whipping a nail file out of her pocket. “Come on, open up.” She prods my lips with the file. “Say ahhh.”

  The Flock laughs, except for Mel, who keeps moving down the bleachers without looking back.

  I reach up to bat Sylvia’s hand away. She grabs my wrist and twists it behind my back so fast and hard that I almost cry out.

  The laughter dies.

  “Hey, we made our point.” Fin’s voice squeaks behind Sylvia. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  “What’s wrong with it, huh?” Sylvia hisses, ignoring Fin. “Your tongue… There must be a reason you don’t use it. Is it too long? Too fat? Do you need me to file it down?” Her patience has run out. I, on the other hand, know better than anyone about patience. I press my lips together and try to pull my wrist free. She shoves me against the guardrail, the only thing keeping me from falling off the top of the bleachers.

  At the impact my lungs shudder, forcing my lips to part. Sylvia raises the nail file toward my mouth, and I can see up close the scratchy, sandpapery surface. My heart thuds as I imagine how it would feel sliding across my tongue—rubbing, scraping, burning… Before she can make contact, I grab her arm with my free hand and try to kick her, but my pinkie toe smacks a seat board. Water streams from the corners of my eyes.

  She pushes me against the guardrail again, and it rattles as if it were built fifty years ago—which it probably was. And as I see the shape of Sylvia’s file coming toward me again, as I feel the top of the guardrail pressing into my back, a thought courses through me: What if Sylvia destroys my tongue or I fall from these bleachers—smash into pieces—without anyone having heard my voice?

  What if no one will ever know what’s inside me?

  Stop. Leave me alone.

  Suddenly saying these words is all that matters. Surely Granny P will understand, if it means saving my life, saving my voice. This is the time to make an exception. The promise put me here in the first place. Granny P put me here. How could she put me here? But there’s no time to be mad at her, no energy to waste on anger right now. As Sylvia’s file prods my lips again, harder and harder, I will my vocal cords to vibrate and turn the thoughts in my head into sounds. Stop. Leave me alone. Four simple words.

  But my throat is tightening, resisting. Refusing. As if there’s some kind of gulf between my mind and my body. The bubble is thicker than ever. I thought I could trust it. Why can’t I break through? Why can’t I say something to save my own life?

  There’s a whirring sound overhead. Wind and flapping wings. Could that be…?

  “What the…” The file hesitates against my lips.

  I twist and try to push Sylvia out of the way so I can see the source of the sound, but beyond her blurred face I can only make out watery splotches of gray.

  Then a flash of black.

  Kraaa.

  “Ow!” Sylvia’s nail file ricochets off the bleacher seats. Shouts break out among the Flock. Whatever’s happening, now’s my chance. I draw up my leg and kick. Sylvia yelps and stumbles back onto the seat board behind her. I scramble down the row toward the aisle.

  But then Sylvia is grabbing my ankle, pulling it out from under me, and my stomach smacks the hard aluminum floor.

  “Out of the way, all of you.”

  I squint. Someone greenish is pushing through the Flock toward me—Mel. But she’s not the one speaking.

  “Let me through.” Miss Looping is right behind her, ushering the girls aside, finding me on the floor. She helps me to my feet. Sylvia stiffens next to me as the color drains from her face, leaving only her makeup and a fresh red scratch on her forehead.

  “Yes, I saw you trip her.” Miss Looping glares down at Sylvia. “And Mel here told me what you’ve been doing.” I’ve never heard her use that tone before, not even when students misbehaved in class. Not even when Beady went missing. “All of you to the principal’s. Now.” She picks up my backpack and book and touches the small of my back, leading me away. Everyone is yelling, and everything is wrong. I’ve done what
Granny P told me to do—I’ve waited until my birthday; I haven’t said a word to anyone—but still nothing makes sense. And something happened back there: I couldn’t speak, even when I tried. Have I lost my voice for good? Where are my brothers? I need to go home. They might be waiting for me there. This could all still be worth it in the end.

  As I emerge from the Flock’s cluster, with Miss Looping guiding me down off the bleachers, I see that a crowd has gathered to watch. It seems like the whole student body is here—or almost the whole student body. There’s one face I can’t find.

  Chapter 21

  Miss Looping walks me to her classroom and closes the door. I slump into a desk chair in the front row. Instead of going to her own desk, Miss Looping sits in the one next to me.

  “What happened out there, Elise?”

  I look down at my lap. Then my jeans blur because I’m crying. I wish I weren’t, but I am. Miss Looping reaches over and rubs my back. No one’s ever rubbed my back before that I can remember. After a minute she stands, and I wonder if she’s given up on me now too.

  Then she sets some blank paper and a pen in front of me and tells me to write. I don’t know what she means, and she doesn’t explain. She just goes to her desk and shuffles through a stack of papers.

  I pick up the pen. I’m not sure if the words that come make sense—the unsleep makes it hard to tell—but I write down everything: Mel’s seventh birthday party, the shed, the late-night encounter with my mother, the stealing in the woods, the cottage, my brothers, Granny P, the misunderstandings. I guess you can call it a letter, though I don’t address it to anyone. I write fast. My wrist hurts from where Sylvia twisted it, and my fingers ache, but the breeze from the window feels nice, so I keep writing.

  I don’t know how much time has passed. When I finally finish the letter—five pages front and back—I look up. Miss Looping is still at her desk, grading papers. Beady’s spot is empty. I was so engrossed in my letter that I hadn’t noticed.

  Miss Looping sees where I’m looking and sighs. “Yes, he’s gone again. Oh well.” She shrugs. “Guess he was needed elsewhere.” She lowers her eyes back to her papers. The corner of her mouth twitches once.