Lock and Key(22)

“Well,” she said, “it’s all anyone is talking about, just so you know. You should hear the rumors.”

“Yeah? ”

“It’s terrible!” she said, sounding truly aghast. “They have you doing everything from committing murder to teen prostitution.”

“I’ve been gone for two days,” I said.

“Of course, I’ve been sticking up for you,” she added quickly. “I told them there was no way you’d ever sleep with guys for money. I mean, come on.”

This was typical Peyton. Defending my honor vigorously, while not realizing that she was implying that I might be capable of murder. “Well,” I said, “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” I could hear voices behind her; from the sound of it, she was at the clearing a ways down from school, where we always hung out after final bell. “So, like, what’s the real story, though? Is it your mom?”

“Something like that,” I told her. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal.”

Peyton was my closest friend at Jackson, but like everyone else, she had no idea my mom had taken off. She’d actually never even met her, which was no accident; as a rule, I preferred to keep my private life just that, private. This was especially important with someone like Peyton, whose family was pretty much perfect. Rich and functional, they lived in a big house in the Arbors, where up until the year before, she’d been the ideal daughter, pulling straight As and lettering in field hockey. During the summer, though, she’d started dating my friend Aaron, who was a harmless but dedicated pothead. In the fall, she’d gotten busted with a joint at school and was asked to leave St. Micheline’s, the Catholic school she’d been attending. Her parents, of course, were none too pleased, and hoped Peyton’s new-found rebellion was a just a phase that would end when she and Aaron broke up. After a few weeks, they did, but by that point, she and I were already friends.

Peyton was, in a word, cute. Short and curvy, she was also incredibly naive, which was alternately annoying and endearing. Sometimes I felt more like a big sister to her than a friend—I was always having to rescue her from weird guys at parties, or hold her head when she puked, or explain again how to work the various expensive electronics her parents were always buying her—but she was fun to hang out with, had a car, and never complained about having to come all the way out to pick me up, even though it was on the way to nowhere. Or back.

“So the thing is,” I said to her now, “I need a favor.”

“Name it,” she replied.

“I’m over here by Perkins Day, and I need a ride,” I told her. “Can you come get me?”

“At Perkins Day?”

“Near there. Just down the street.”

There was a pause, during which time I heard laughter behind her. “God, Ruby . . . I wish I could. But I’m supposed to be home in an hour.”

“It’s not that far,” I said.

“I know. But you know how my mom’s been lately.” Since the last time Peyton had come home smelling like beer, her parents had instituted a strict accountability program involving constant tracking, elaborate sniff tests, and surprise room searches. “Hey, did you try Marshall? I bet he can—”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. Peyton had never quite gotten Marshall’s and my arrangement; an incurable romantic, to her, every story was a love story. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

There was another pause, and again, I could hear what was happening around her: laughter, someone’s radio playing, a car engine starting up. It was true what I’d said: it wasn’t that far from there to here, only fifteen miles or so. But at that moment, it suddenly seemed like a long way.

“You sure?” she asked. “Because I could ask someone here.”

I swallowed, leaning back against the side of the booth. On the opposite side, above the phone, someone had written WHERE DO YOU SLEEP? in thick black marker. Scratched underneath, less legibly, was a reply: WITH YOUR MAMA. I reached up, rubbing my face with my hand. It wasn’t like I’d expected anyone to come rescue me, anyway. “Nah,” I said. “That’s all right. I’ll figure out something.”

“All right,” she said. A car horn beeped in the background. “Give me your sister’s number, though. I’ll call you tonight, we can catch up.”

“I’m still getting settled,” I told her. “I’ll give you a call in a few days.”

“Okay,” she said easily. “And hey, Ruby.”

“What? ”

“I’m glad you’re not a hooker or a murderer.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”

I hung up the phone, then stepped out of the booth to finish off my Coke and contemplate my next move. The parking lot, which had been mostly empty when I first got there, had filled up with Perkins Day students. Clearly, this was some sort of off-site hangout, with people sitting on the hoods and bumpers of their expensive cars, slumming at the Quick Zip. Scanning the crowd, I spotted Nate off to the right, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the driver’s-side door of a black SUV. A dark-haired girl in a ponytail and a cropped blue jacket was with him, telling some story and gesturing wildly, the Zip Coke in her hand waving back and forth as she spoke. Nate, of course, was smiling as he listened, the epitome of the Nicest Guy in the World.