crib with the other crazy kiddies.
“Two years.”
“Me, it’s been three years, plus change,” Sugar says. “I’ve been underground for four, but three’s about how long I’ve lived in the closet.”
“Security!” Peanuts says. “We gotta tell him.”
Security—that will have to wait. I turn away, to the wall, and close my eyes. Thorazine, take me away! I drift, back to my favorite destination of choice:
Bliss, Death, Sleep.
Chapter 26
“A hh!”
The shriek wakes me. My body’s tense. Rigid. Cold. Sweat covers my skin. Animal instincts: Trapped and facing a predator, you (a) run or (b) play dead.
Please choose “B” and proceed to survival.
“
Shit!
That hurts like a motherfuck!”
“What about his ID?”
“Ahhhh!!!!!”
“Hold still, or”—a boy scolds—“I’ll cut your wrist.”
“Ahhh!” Another shriek. “
Heartless
motherfucker!”
“We should skip this and get a dead baby name from City Hall.”
“Or, the Internet?” asks a girl.
Who
are
these people? Gay Teen Terrorists?
“I like the DMV,” deep-voiced boy says. “Cops look once and it’s like, ‘Okay, you can go.’”
“Ahhhh!” A third shriek. “This feels like circumcision.”
“Like she’d know anything about that!”
“Don’t start with that fucking—
AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
” A yelp. “—'girl’ crap.”
“Why are you talkin’ shit? You got foreskin for
days.
”
They’re talking about dick.
Arguing
about it. So long as it’s someone else’s dick that’s being cut, I don’t care, roll over and go back to—
Chapter 27
“W hat?!”
I sit up. My sleeping frenzy ends. Done. Over. Eyes wide awake. I sit. Up.
Run—
I—
“Where am I?”
Am totally freaked out.
“Hello?”
Not at home, that’s for sure. Serenity Ridge, bus station, youth shelter. I talk myself down. Look.
Clothes at the end of the bed. Cargo pants, shirt and safari hat. Outfit Number Three, the one I wore in the truck that drove me to the bus station in downtown Vegas and—
Write it down, make notes, map it out. My story. So when I leave, I’ll know what I left. Unlike before when I shut my eyes and jumped.
I feel for the blue notebook. I find it where I left it: tucked in the folded-up pants. I didn’t take off those pants. Someone else must have. I sniff the pants. They smell fresh. I wonder if they read my journal. I reach under the bed and pull it out. The pen’s tucked inside, right where I left it.
I write:
i am cast out
so far a-way
from a home
that is no longer
home but just
a memory
My good mood blooms and wilts in nineteen words. I close ’n clip the pen, shut the notebook and fall back. Dead or asleep, I can’t tell the difference. I stare at the ceiling. Listen to the snores. And try not to choke on the nasty-smelling farts. I hate this. It’s almost worse than boot camp. At least Serenity Ridge smelled clean.
The ceiling. I stare at it. I try to will my body to fall asleep or die. How can I? Float away without ever having to jump.
Chapter 28
“W hat!”
There’s a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t!”
I sit up, finger in electric socket shocked.
“Here,” she says. “Put this on.”
She sits on the bunk, next to my shoulder. A nurse, she’s here to give me a dose. I’m back in Serenity Ridge. My escape—the whole thing was a hallucination.
Cold sweat (who needs air conditioning when you have fear on tap) panic attack. I remember Marci’s words, “Long-term safe house.” I want to know, what part of the house is “safe.” There’s zero privacy, same as Serenity Ridge.
“I—”
She smiles. Yes, I’m dreaming. Nobody looks like this in the hospital. A princess. Or, an angel. I put the pieces together. Face, voice, touch. The girl who brought me the steaming cup of coffee, no cream, one blue is—
“Sugar?”
“Yes,” she says. “There’s a good-bye barbecue up on the roof.”
That smile is definitely
not
an angel. She’s
all
fairy. She reminds me of a life-sized
“Two years.”
“Me, it’s been three years, plus change,” Sugar says. “I’ve been underground for four, but three’s about how long I’ve lived in the closet.”
“Security!” Peanuts says. “We gotta tell him.”
Security—that will have to wait. I turn away, to the wall, and close my eyes. Thorazine, take me away! I drift, back to my favorite destination of choice:
Bliss, Death, Sleep.
Chapter 26
“A hh!”
The shriek wakes me. My body’s tense. Rigid. Cold. Sweat covers my skin. Animal instincts: Trapped and facing a predator, you (a) run or (b) play dead.
Please choose “B” and proceed to survival.
“
Shit!
That hurts like a motherfuck!”
“What about his ID?”
“Ahhhh!!!!!”
“Hold still, or”—a boy scolds—“I’ll cut your wrist.”
“Ahhh!” Another shriek. “
Heartless
motherfucker!”
“We should skip this and get a dead baby name from City Hall.”
“Or, the Internet?” asks a girl.
Who
are
these people? Gay Teen Terrorists?
“I like the DMV,” deep-voiced boy says. “Cops look once and it’s like, ‘Okay, you can go.’”
“Ahhhh!” A third shriek. “This feels like circumcision.”
“Like she’d know anything about that!”
“Don’t start with that fucking—
AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
” A yelp. “—'girl’ crap.”
“Why are you talkin’ shit? You got foreskin for
days.
”
They’re talking about dick.
Arguing
about it. So long as it’s someone else’s dick that’s being cut, I don’t care, roll over and go back to—
Chapter 27
“W hat?!”
I sit up. My sleeping frenzy ends. Done. Over. Eyes wide awake. I sit. Up.
Run—
I—
“Where am I?”
Am totally freaked out.
“Hello?”
Not at home, that’s for sure. Serenity Ridge, bus station, youth shelter. I talk myself down. Look.
Clothes at the end of the bed. Cargo pants, shirt and safari hat. Outfit Number Three, the one I wore in the truck that drove me to the bus station in downtown Vegas and—
Write it down, make notes, map it out. My story. So when I leave, I’ll know what I left. Unlike before when I shut my eyes and jumped.
I feel for the blue notebook. I find it where I left it: tucked in the folded-up pants. I didn’t take off those pants. Someone else must have. I sniff the pants. They smell fresh. I wonder if they read my journal. I reach under the bed and pull it out. The pen’s tucked inside, right where I left it.
I write:
i am cast out
so far a-way
from a home
that is no longer
home but just
a memory
My good mood blooms and wilts in nineteen words. I close ’n clip the pen, shut the notebook and fall back. Dead or asleep, I can’t tell the difference. I stare at the ceiling. Listen to the snores. And try not to choke on the nasty-smelling farts. I hate this. It’s almost worse than boot camp. At least Serenity Ridge smelled clean.
The ceiling. I stare at it. I try to will my body to fall asleep or die. How can I? Float away without ever having to jump.
Chapter 28
“W hat!”
There’s a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t!”
I sit up, finger in electric socket shocked.
“Here,” she says. “Put this on.”
She sits on the bunk, next to my shoulder. A nurse, she’s here to give me a dose. I’m back in Serenity Ridge. My escape—the whole thing was a hallucination.
Cold sweat (who needs air conditioning when you have fear on tap) panic attack. I remember Marci’s words, “Long-term safe house.” I want to know, what part of the house is “safe.” There’s zero privacy, same as Serenity Ridge.
“I—”
She smiles. Yes, I’m dreaming. Nobody looks like this in the hospital. A princess. Or, an angel. I put the pieces together. Face, voice, touch. The girl who brought me the steaming cup of coffee, no cream, one blue is—
“Sugar?”
“Yes,” she says. “There’s a good-bye barbecue up on the roof.”
That smile is definitely
not
an angel. She’s
all
fairy. She reminds me of a life-sized
Similar Books
