Lock and Key(58)

Inside, there were girls at the sinks checking their makeup and talking on the phone, but the stalls were all empty as I walked past them, sliding into the one by the wall and locking the door. Then I leaned against it, closing my eyes.

All those years I’d given up Cora for lost, hated her for leaving me. What if I had been wrong? What if, somehow, my mother had managed to keep her away, the only other person I’d ever had? And if she had, why?

She left you, Cora had said, and it was these three words, then and now, that I heard most clearly of all, slicing through the roaring in my head like someone speaking right into my ear. I didn’t want this to make sense, for her to be right in any way. But even I could not deny the logic of it. My mother had been abandoned by a husband and one daughter; she’d had enough of being left. So she’d done what she had to do to make sure it didn’t happen again. And this, above all else, I could understand. It was the same thing I’d been planning to do myself.

The bell rang overhead, and the bathroom slowly cleared out, the door banging open and shut as people headed off to class. Then, finally, it was quiet, the hallways empty, the only sound the flapping of the flag out on the green, which I could hear from the high half-open windows that ran along the nearby wall.

When I was sure I was alone, I left the stall and walked over to the sinks, dropping my bag at my feet. In the mirror overhead, I realized Gervais had been right: I looked terrible, my face blotchy and red. I reached down, watching my fingers as they picked up the key at my neck, then closed themselves tightly around it.

“I told you, I had to get a pass and sign out,” I heard a voice say suddenly from outside. “Because this place is like a prison, okay? Look, just hold tight. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I looked outside, just in time to see Olivia passing by, phone to her ear, walking down the breezeway to the parking lot. As soon as I saw her take her keys out of her backpack, I grabbed my bag and bolted.

I caught up with her by a row of lockers just as she was folding her phone into her back pocket. “Hey,” I called out, my voice bouncing off the empty corridor all around us. “Where are you going?”

When she turned around and saw me, her expression was wary, at best. Then again, with my blotchy face, not to mention being completely out of breath, I couldn’t exactly blame her. “I have to go pick up my cousin. Why?”

I came closer, taking a breath. “I need a ride.”

“Where? ”

“Anywhere.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m going to Jackson, then home. Nowhere else. I have to be back here by third.”

“That’s fine,” I told her. “Perfect, in fact.”

“You have a pass?”

I shook my head.

“So you want me to just take you off campus anyway, risking my ass, even though it’s totally against the rules.”

“Yes,” I said.

She shook her head, no deal.

“But we’ll be square,” I added. “You won’t owe me anymore. ”

“This is way more than what I owe you,” she said. She studied my face for a moment, and I stood there, waiting for her verdict. She was right, this was probably stupid of me. But I was tired of playing it smart. Tired of everything.

“All right,” she said finally. “But I’m not taking you from here. Get yourself to the Quik Zip, and I’ll pick you up.”

“Done,” I told her, pulling my bag over my shoulder. “See you there.”





Chapter Eight


When I slid into Olivia’s front seat ten minutes later, my foot immediately hit something, then crunched it flat. Looking down, I saw it was a popcorn tub, the kind you buy at the movies, and it wasn’t alone: there were at least four more rolling across the floorboards.

“I work at the Vista Ten,” she explained, her engine puttering as she switched into reverse. “It pays crap, but we get all the free popcorn we can eat.”

“Right,” I said. Now that I thought of it, that did explain the butter smell.

We pulled out onto the main road, then merged into traffic and headed for the highway. I’d spent so much time riding with Jamie and Nate that I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be in a regular car, i.e., one that was not new and loaded with every possible gadget and extra. Olivia’s Toyota was battered, the fabric of the seats nubby, with several stains visible, and there was one of those prisms hanging on a cord dangling from the rearview. It reminded me of my mother’s Subaru, the thought of which gave me a pang I quickly pushed away, focusing instead on the entrance to the highway, rising up in the distance.

“So what’s the deal?” Olivia asked as we merged into traffic, her muffler rattling.

“With what?”

“You.”

“No deal,” I said, sitting back and propping my feet on the dashboard.

She eyed my feet pointedly. I dropped them back down again. “So you just decided to cut school for the hell of it,” she said.

“Pretty much.”

We were getting closer, passing another exit. The one to Jackson was next. “You know,” she said, “you can’t just show up and hang out on campus. They’re not as organized as Perkins, but they will kick you off.”

“I’m not going to campus,” I told her.