A List of Cages(52)

No. He probably won’t just out of spite. “I’ll make him.”

She looks worried and amused at the same time. “I’m going with you.”

“No.” I don’t want her anywhere near that guy. “I’ll be fine.”




I remember having a toothache once, the world reduced to one inch of pain. Nothing else existed outside of it. It was the sort of pain that defined you, and you knew you could be free of it, if only you could rip it out of your skull and toss it away.

I feel that now, on the right side of my back under the rib cage. Everything hurts, but it all seems to converge there.

Slowly, slowly, the points of pain multiply so I don’t know which one is worse. For just a second there’s a thought outside the pain, but then it’s gone. It’s like a song stuck in your head, but one without lyrics. A steady percussion, drumming beat, painpainpain. You can’t turn it off. You can’t pull it out.

Russell opens the trunk. “Shower,” he says. “You stink.”

I hurt too much to move.

“Now.”

I unlock my limbs. I don’t have the strength to scream, but I hear it anyway, ricocheting inside my head.

Tears streaming, I pull off my pants and crawl into the tub, but actually turning the knobs is impossible. Russell sets a razor on the ledge beside me, then leaves. I can’t pick it up. It hurts just to sit. So I let myself fall over.

I’m lying on my side against the cold porcelain when I hear the doorbell chime.





IMPATIENT, I RING the bell again. Russell’s flashy car is in the driveway, so I know he’s home. Finally, the door swings open. Julian’s uncle looks like he’s seen better days. His clothes are wrinkled, he’s got several days of stubble, and dark, sweaty hair hangs into his eyes.

“Yes?” he asks with a strained smile.

This is the man who hit Julian, this grown man who’s big enough to make Charlie look puny. I bite down on the fury boiling up inside me and open my mouth to ask for the phone number, but this comes out instead: “Can I grab something from Julian’s room? I loaned him a book, and I need to get it back.”

He laughs like that’s a huge joke. “You loaned Julian a book.”

“Yeah.”

“He took all of his things.”

“He told me he forgot to pack that. He said he left it in his room.”

“He told you?” His dark eyes narrow. “When was that?”

“Uh…a couple of days ago,” I say. He glares like he knows I’m lying. “I think I’ll just check.” I try brushing past him, which is stupid. It’s not like the number’s going to be taped to the wall or something.

Russell muscles me outside and slams the door behind him. “I said”—he gets right into my face, baring a row of tiny white teeth—“it’s not here.” I’m really glad Julian isn’t living with him anymore, because he’s pretty freakin terrifying, and he’s got to be even scarier to Julian.

I take a step back, holding up my hands. “Okay, I get it. I lost his aunt’s number. Just give me that, and I’ll go.”

“You lost her number.” He has this way of repeating everything you say like it’s so unbelievable that you start questioning yourself.

“Yes?”

“He has your number, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m sure if he wanted to talk with you, he’d call you.” And just like before, he slams the door in my face.




I thought I heard Russell talking to someone, but now there’s only silence.

“What are you doing?” he yells when he comes into the bathroom. “You’re just laying there!”

I try to answer him, but I can’t. I hear the knobs twist, then water pours down on me, ice-cold like the time Charlie picked me up in the rain. Russell continues to yell, telling me to bathe, to shave, to wash my hair. I try to lift my arms, but they hurt and I start to cry.

“If you’re not going to wash yourself, you can just get out.”

Every movement is slow and painful. Pulling on pajama pants is excruciating. So is climbing back into the trunk. When it closes, darkness surrounds me.

Think good thoughts.

Elian. I’m on his ship. I can go anywhere.

But the image breaks.

The trunk shrinks, and it’s as if I’m shrinking too, then fading to somewhere else. The place between worlds. The split second before Elian gets from where he is to where he’s going. The long stretch of ocean that Inuit sailors fear between shores.

It’s the place you disappear.





MY LAMP, THE one with a pedestal shaped like a crescent moon, must be broken or the bulb must have blown, because my room is completely dark. My father is sitting on the edge of my bed; he must have heard me crying. He pushes back my sweaty hair. It’s too hot. Why is it so hot?

It’s summer….We saw the fireworks today. We walked on the beach. I found the biggest seashell I’d ever seen. Mom called it a conch. She said, Put it to your ear. Listen. Air echoes through its chambers, and it sounds like the ocean.

But it’s too hot. I feel sick. I have a headache. I want a cold cloth. I want my TV on. I want Mom. I try to tell Dad all of this, but he says, “It’s time for sleep now.”