That’s when I learned that hate is a funny thing. It can manifest out of nothing in an instant. It can jump from there to here. Like how Dylan taught me in chemistry, electrons jumping from cloud to cloud, never passing through empty space. It doesn’t take time to grow. It’s just not there. And then it is. Effortless.
So I backed into my bedroom, bubbling with hate, and turned my own lock.
After the paint on the back door was dry and my mother shut and locked it, she settled into her lifeless state. She was perched on the edge of the white sofa, staring through a crack in the lace curtains. Every time a car drove by, she’d suck in a breath and stare out the window even harder. I tried to see what she saw, but everything was muted by the white curtains. Filtered somehow. A little more abstract, a little less real.
There’s nothing ominous about white. White walls, white tiles, white furniture. It’s clean, pure, innocent. Nothing hides in white. Except sometimes when the sun is directly overhead, nothing casts a shadow. And it’s hard to tell where the wall ends and the floor begins. Like there’s just this expanse stretching outward, curving back around. Like there’s no depth perception. It feels like the opposite of claustrophobia.
“She’ll stop when I leave,” I said, standing behind her.
“I don’t . . .” No smile. No laugh. No declaration. Just this uncertainty. Half a sentence. I hated her for it. And suddenly I couldn’t stand the thought of seven hours in the car together. Of Mom staring out the window or maybe fidgeting with the lock, and Dad telling all these stories about his time at Monroe, hearing about so-and-so’s son or daughter, or so-and-so’s second cousin twice removed. Of saying these formal good-byes—all fake smiles and fake words and fake everything.
“I’m ready to go now.” But the words came out quiet and unsure.
She shook her head. “We’ll drive up together tomorrow.”
“I’ve taken the train before, you know.”
“Not that far. You’d have to switch lines in Boston and you’d be all alone . . .” Her voice trailed off at the word. I’d be alone for the entire school year.
“Your father’s at work,” she said.
I tried to think of how to appeal to her senses. “I’m scared,” I said, which, as it turned out, was the most honest thing I’d said to my mother in weeks.
She stayed silent, doing the staring-off-into-space thing. Then she snapped to attention, nodded vigorously, and grabbed the keys off the holder next to the front door.
We left.
I didn’t call Colleen. I didn’t leave a note for my father. I didn’t lean my head out the door and scream, “I’m leaving!” at Brian’s mom, wherever she was. I didn’t tell anyone. I just grabbed my bags and walked out the front door into the stifling heat. One last glance toward the kitchen, to the white spot on the floor.
Good-bye.
At the train station, Mom handed me several twenties. Then she leaned across the center console, a halfhearted attempt at a halfhearted hug. “Be good, Mallory love,” she whispered into my ear.
It was the type of thing she’d never said to me before. It was the type of thing she never felt the need to remind me of before.
I felt the hate again, flashing from nowhere. Light off. Light on.
And then I walked away from the car.
My hands shook as I handed the money to the cashier. I didn’t know why. Colleen and I used to take this train into the city several times a year. And, really, I was glad to leave. Brian’s mom was always waiting, two hundred yards away. And there was that thing in my house, waiting for me. Coming for me.
I should’ve felt relieved as I boarded the train. Free. I was free. I whispered it to myself, like this whole thing was my idea, and by the time I reached Boston, I almost believed it.
I transferred to a bus, dragging my luggage behind me. There were so many people, and nobody paused to give me a second look. Most people here never even gave me a first look. As I boarded the bus for the middle of nowhere, New Hampshire, I thought that maybe my parents were right. Maybe a fresh start was all I needed.
Maybe next time I went home the grout between the tiles would be dirty and I wouldn’t see the outline of Brian’s body. Maybe my parents wouldn’t flinch when I reached for a steak knife. Maybe Colleen would be allowed to see me. Maybe Brian’s mom would move away.
I was downright saturated with the hope of the Maybes when the bus screeched to a halt in the middle of the road a few hours later.
The doors opened and the light flickered on inside, making the dusk outside seem even darker. “Monroe,” the driver announced, with his finger extended down a fork in the road. “This is as close as I get.”
I walked down the steps, and he pulled my bags out from the storage area underneath. “Quarter mile down the road, honey.”
The bus shifted into gear and rumbled away. I couldn’t see anything past the curve in the road ahead of me.
Maybe.
An engine idled nearby, and though I couldn’t see the car, a horrible chill ran down my neck and across my shoulders. I was convinced it was pine green. I was convinced it was waiting for me.
I walked along the shoulder of the road, which wasn’t really a shoulder at all, just the cracked, uneven edge where pavement ended and the woods began. I walked against traffic like I was taught, but it probably wouldn’t make a difference. The road was too narrow and the curve too sudden for a car to maneuver around me in time. So I walked fast, listening for the sound of oncoming cars. But the only sound I heard was the idling engine. Waiting.
I reached the corner and rounded it quickly and the car took off, a blur of red taillights and nothing else. The only thing waiting for me was the gate ahead, the ivy creeping upward, gripping the iron bars.
The scarlet M looming over top, just for me.
Chapter 3
Dusk was darker in the woods than on the coast. Too many trees to see the horizon. Light filtered through at odd angles, stretching and distorting the shadows. There were two archways carved into the gate, which made the whole gate thing kind of pointless.
I walked through the one on the left, which was narrower than I’d thought, and I felt myself shrinking down as I passed through it. In front of me, the brick walkway diverged into three paths snaking through the trees and the buildings. I couldn’t see where anything led, so I rested my luggage against the iron bars, took out my cell phone, and held it toward the sky.
“Come on, come on,” I mumbled. I probably should’ve cleared this with Dad after all. I’d been so preoccupied with the getting away part that I hadn’t thought about what to do when I actually arrived. I paced to the other end of the gate, walked back through it, around it, and finally stood on a stone bench. Still no signal.
The wind blew strongly and I nearly lost my footing on the edge of the bench. Leaves rustled and a flag whipped around on the top of the building to my right. And then a vision came waltzing down the middle path. Brown hair, bouncing. Hips swaying. My heart skipped a beat and I thought, Colleen.
But it wasn’t Colleen. This girl had a splattering of freckles across her nose and overarched eyebrows, and when the shadows shifted and the light hit her hair, I could tell it was more red than brown. I hopped off the bench. And then another girl came skipping after her. Skinny and blond and all frail boned. Just a wisp of a person.
“It’s a dead zone. Because of the mountains,” said the girl with the curls. “That’s what they tell us anyway. Seems awfully convenient.” Then she extended a short, manicured finger in the direction of the bus stop. “About a mile that way I can get some signal. At the gas station.”
The blond girl shuddered. “Not worth the risk. The locals are inbred.” She opened her eyes wide and leaned forward, like a warning.
“They just don’t have dental insurance,” Curls said, waving her off.
I smiled at Curls, but neither smiled back. Blond Girl had a fine white scar running across her chin, and she raised her hand to touch it, like she knew I was looking.