I’ve never had a job before, unless you consider Mom’s brief stint stocking newspaper boxes. We’d drive to the loading dock, fill up the trunk of the car—I think it was an old Ford Escort that time—with string-tied bundles of newspapers, and drive around town, swapping out yesterday’s edition with the current one. She had a hard time getting up before dawn, so most of the time I did the deliveries by myself, even though I didn’t have a driver’s license.
I don’t intend on staying in Tarpon Springs, but a job would be a better alternative to high school. Something to do. Something to occupy my brain until it’s time to leave. “I’ll think about it.”
“Phoebe can take you shopping for school clothes,” Greg says later, as we walk home from the cell-phone store. One of the things he’s shared about himself is that he’s an eco-friendly type who subscribes to the philosophy that if your destination is less than a mile away, you should walk. Something about reducing his carbon footprint, he said, but I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy trying to figure out how to tell him I have no intention of going to school. “Cell phones I can handle, but I am clueless when it comes to clothes.”
“I, um—I’m not going to school.”
I wasn’t anticipating the direct approach, and he looks at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head. I found his high school yearbook in the bookcase when I got home from the sponge docks. Greg played varsity football, captained the baseball team, and was the student-council treasurer. There’s also a plaque on the living-room wall that commemorates the year he was the Epiphany cross retriever. I have no idea what that means, but clearly Greg is the type of guy who loved high school. He’s a participator. I’m not surprised that my refusal doesn’t even make a blip on his radar screen. “I know it would be intimidating at fir—”
“I’m not intimidated.” I am annoyed that another person today presumes to know what I’m feeling. “I just don’t want to be a freak show.”
“You’re not a freak show.”
“Kat told me about the newspaper articles,” I say. “You don’t think everyone is going to want to come see the amazing kidnapped girl? ‘Can she talk? Can she read? Can she eat with utensils?’”
He smiles. “It won’t be that bad.”
“I don’t see the point,” I say. “I’m nearly eighteen and I’ve never had dreams of going to college.”
“But that’s the thing, Callie. You can dream about college now if you want.”
“Now?” I don’t care for the implication that being with Mom somehow limited my dreams—even though it did. Or that I now have his permission to start dreaming. “I could have dreamed about college at any time, but I didn’t.” My words have bite and his smile fades to a frown. His disappointment makes me uncomfortable and I hate feeling like I should say something to make him happy. “I mean, maybe someday I’ll change my mind, but right now …”
He doesn’t answer right away, but he works his lower lip between his teeth, so I can tell he’s going over all the angles the same way I do.
“I, um—Kat said Theo was looking for someone at the shop,” I say. “I could do that.”
“I don’t know, Callie,” Greg says. “I think high school is important, not only academically, but for getting involved and being social. I’m not saying no, but I’ll need to think about it.”
“I’m not going.”
He sighs at the stalemate, and we don’t talk again the rest of the way home.
Chapter 5
“Callie?” Kat’s voice drifts into the Airstream as I sit on the couch, staring at my suitcase. It’s been four days since I got here, but unpacking it would feel permanent. Settled. And that unsettles me. “We’re coming in.”
Before I can answer, the screen door swings open and my space is filled with Kat and unfamiliar boys. Two of them. One has a wide smile and black hair that curls up at the edge of his baseball cap. The other boy reminds me of a retriever—floppy and golden, with dark, happy eyes and a frame that’s a size too large for the trailer. He has to stoop to keep his head from touching the ceiling.
“This place is amazing!” Kat flops down beside me and squeezes a silky pink-and-gold throw pillow to her chest. “You are so lucky! I would kill to have my own room, but instead I have to share it with an annoying nine-year-old.”
Even though the cabinets are a little shabby, the trailer is nicer than most places I’ve lived. It’s clean and all the homey touches—curtains, throw pillows, a couple of hanging houseplants, and a multicolored woven rug—make it clear that Phoebe put some thought into decorating it. She couldn’t have guessed purple is my favorite color. Unless it’s always been my favorite color and Greg remembered. With him it seems entirely possible.
“Anyway,” Kat goes on. “Callie, this is Nick Adamidis, my baseball-playing physics nerd.” The dark-haired one waves at me. “And this is his brother by another mother, Connor Madsen. He’s our token non-Greek friend.”
“Hey.” His voice is surprisingly deep for someone with such a boyish face.
“So, Callie,” Kat says. “The three of us are going to watch the original Star Wars trilogy back-to-back at Nick’s house tonight and Greg already gave his permission for you to join us. Wanna come?”
“I, um—” I glance at the suitcase. What’s one more day? “Sure.”
“Perfect.” Kat stands up and pushes Nick toward the door. “You two go outside and play catch or something while I help Callie get ready. I’m pretty sure I saw a football out there.”
I look down at my red shirt. I’ve worn it every day because Phoebe has not had time to take me shopping and the only other one I own is a faded green T-shirt that bears the Girl Scouts logo with the words Got cookies? printed beneath it. Ancilla threw away the holey thermal I was wearing the night my mom was arrested. My red shirt has a small toothpaste stain near the hem, but maybe no one will notice if we’re watching movies. “Can’t I—”
Kat shuts the door. “We’re not really going to Nick’s house for movies. We’re going to a party. So where do you keep your clothes?”
She reaches for my brown suitcase. As she lifts it, the handle breaks, and when the case hits the floor, the latch opens, scattering my books, journal, and the green Girl Scouts T-shirt. “Oh my God, Callie, I’m so sorry.” She squats down and starts picking up the books, but my feet are rooted to the trailer floor and I want to cry.
My suitcase is broken.
“I’ll buy you a new one or fix this one or find another one on eBay,” she babbles. “Whatever you want.”
“It’s okay,” I say, even though it’s not remotely okay. That stupid old brown suitcase—the one I didn’t even want—was a link to Mom. My way back to her.
“Are you sure?” Kat is gentle with the books as she stacks them in a neat pile, with my journal on the top.
I nod and hope the stretch of my lips seems like a real smile. “I’m sure.”
“Okay, so where do you keep your clothes?” she asks, as she folds the T-shirt. I point to the red shirt I’m wearing and the green one in her hands.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow, um—we really need to go shopping.” Kat pulls at her lower lip. “Okay, I have an idea. Take off your jeans.” She unbuttons the red plaid schoolgirl-style skirt she’s wearing, shimmies out of it, and then hands it to me. Besides taking coffee from strangers and oversharing about her home life, she also seems perfectly at ease standing around in her underwear. “Swap me.”
It takes longer for me to get out of my jeans. I haven’t worn a skirt since I was a little girl and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with having so much of me exposed. Still, I make the exchange. It seems easier to do this than think about my broken suitcase. I’m taller, but we’re about the same size, so her skirt fits me, and my jeans—although a little too long—fit her. She rolls up the hems.
Kat gives me the green T-shirt. “Put this on,” she says, then opens the door a crack. I hear the thump of a football being passed. “Nick, I need your socks.”
“They’re kind of busy right now,” he says. “Being on my feet and all.”
She snaps her fingers. “Socks. Now.”