RULES FOR DISAPPEARING
BY WITNESS PROTECTION PRISONER #18A7R04M:
Remember your old life is dead and gone. Better it than you.
IT’S been a little less than two weeks in this placement, and it already feels like I’ve been here forever. The nightmare last night has left me exhausted, but I throw on my hoodie and run to the laundry room before anyone else gets up. I want my journal back.
When I yank open the door, every light in the room is blazing. My chair is overturned in the corner, but there’s no journal anywhere.
It’s gone.
I search the laundry room three times, including emptying out the trash cans.
Nothing.
“No! No, no, no!” I yell to the ceiling, pounding my fists in the air. I sink to the floor and want to cry.
This is a devastating loss. My neck hairs are standing up again, and I jump up from the floor. What if it was a person out there last night? What if they cut the power on purpose? Did they take my journal?
I run to the dryer and open the lid. All our clothes are still there, so I pull them out and run from the room.
Mom’s up, sitting on the couch drinking coffee, when I rush through the door.
“Where’ve you been?” she asks.
“I had to grab our stuff from the laundry room.” I drop everything on the table and start folding.
“You shouldn’t leave things in there all night. It may not be there the next morning.”
Gee, thanks, Mom, for the great advice. Maybe if you would step up and do the laundry for a change, I might not have lost the only possession I still cared about. Just thinking about all the personal things I wrote floating around out there for the world to see brings tears to my eyes.
Mom helps me fold the clothes, and it’s hard to watch the train wreck she’s turned into. The high this morning will fall around lunch, and she’ll be stinking drunk again by the time I get home.
When it’s finally time to leave for school, Teeny and I wait outside for either Ethan or the bus—whichever shows up first. Teeny can barely contain her excitement when his truck pulls into the driveway. She gets in the front seat, sitting between the two of us again. She’s definitely got a crush on him.
She talks nonstop until we roll up to her school.
“He won’t be able to pick you up. You get out a lot earlier than us,” I say.
Teeny’s face falls, and I see small hints of that sad girl again, but she nods and runs toward the school.
“Man, I feel bad. Are the kids on her bus really mean to her?” Ethan asks as he pulls away.
“I don’t think it’s that bad. She’s exaggerating so you’ll come get her. Riding the bus is fine. You really don’t have to pick us up.”
Ethan lets out a sharp laugh. The bruise on his cheek has mostly faded, but there’s still a tint of yellow. His hair is slightly damp, and he’s entirely too cute this early in the morning.
“You’re gonna sit there and tell me you’re happy riding the bus with a bunch of freshmen?” His grin will be my undoing.
“I didn’t say I was happy about it. I just said it was fine.”
“It’s not that out of the way to pick y’all up. I don’t live far from Pearl’s; just a few blocks.”
We pull into school and go our separate ways once we make it inside.
I trudge down the hall, dreading the day. Barely getting by in class, cleaning up Mom after school, and then working all evening at Pearl’s, just to go to sleep and be assaulted by my dreams. The only bright spot will be my ride home with Ethan. I’m as bad as Teeny.
I get to my locker, and Emma is waiting nearby. She’s alone, which is odd since she’s one of those girls who travel in a pack. Before I get my locker opened, she’s right next to me.
She doesn’t look happy. Her eyes are squinted and her upper lip is curled.
“Do you need something?” I hope she hears the boredom in my voice. Whatever her problem is with me is so at the bottom of my list of things to worry about.
“What’s the deal with you and my brother? I saw you get out of his truck.”
I roll my eyes and get my books out of my locker. “Really?” I wait a few seconds then shift back toward her. “You’re hanging around waiting for me this morning to ask me that?”
“Just answer my question.”
I finish getting what I need for first period and slam my locker shut, spinning the dial on the lock. “Why do you care? You’re with Ben. It’s not like you’re showing a lot of sisterly concern for Ethan by staying with the guy who beat the crap out of him.”
“That is none of your business.” Emma folds her arms across her chest and taps her foot incessantly.
“Whatever.” I walk away.
When I get to homeroom, Ben is there waving me over.
Great.
I take a seat near him, but not right next to him. One of the minions is in my homeroom, too, and I have no doubt she’ll report back everything she sees.
“Meg, we need to get together and work on that thing for Knighton.”
Minion’s head pops up. She’s not even shy about eavesdropping on our conversation.
“Yeah, well, I have to work every day after school. Maybe we could work on it at lunch?”
Ben shakes his head. “No, no good. Can’t do it. What’s your number? I’ll call you tonight and we’ll figure something out.”
Minion’s phone is in her lap and she’s furiously typing. I’m sure Emma is getting a real-time play-by-play.
“Call me at Pearl’s. I’m there every day from four to eight.” I’m sure this is gonna bite me in the ass somehow, but I don’t know what Emma expects us to do.
The bell rings and the announcements play. I put my head down on my desk and resist the urge to cover my face with my hoodie. This is going to be a long day.
It took both Ethan and Catherine to convince me to cut out with them for lunch. I know they must think I’m some freak—I mean, who puts up a fight to stay at school—but they finally talked me into it. We pull up to Subway and everyone piles out, and I’m expecting Agent Thomas to jump out from behind the bushes at any moment.
The only people in the group I halfway know besides Ethan are Catherine and Julie. Although, I don’t think Julie and I have actually spoken to each other yet. The guys with us, Trey and Will, I recognize from the Frisbee game by the river.
I’m standing in line to order when Catherine asks, “What’s with the bag?”
No one else brought anything with them inside, but of course I have the go-bag on my back. “Just my stuff.”
Catherine tests the weight by picking it up slightly off my back. “That’s a lot of stuff.”
Ethan nudges Catherine and says, “I’ve seen that monster bag you carry around. No telling how much junk you have in there.” Catherine spins and begins justifying the contents of her purse. She’s forgotten all about my bag.
Thankfully, the girl behind the counter asks what I want, so I move down the line picking toppings for my sandwich.
We take the two biggest tables in the back.
“So where are you from, Meg?” Will asks.
All eyes on me. “Arkansas.”
“Really, what part?” Trey asks.
Coming to lunch was a bad idea. “Uh, Lewisville.”
Will’s head pops up. “Really? I have cousins who live up there. You probably went to school with them. Jack and James Horton?”
What the… Why couldn’t he at least ask me about the Fouke Monster? Those questions I could answer now. I scrunch up my brow like I’m thinking about it. “Um, that sounds kinda familiar.”
“I’m sure you know them. That school’s not that big. They both play football,” Will says before taking a huge bite of his sandwich.
Ethan pops a chip into his mouth and asks, “What positions do they play?”
“Jack is the quarterback and James is a running back.” Will launches into their greatest plays and which college scouts have already come to watch them.
No one’s worried about whether or not I know them. For the second time, Ethan has saved my ass.
Catherine and I stop in the bathroom before we head back to school.
I hesitate whether to ask this, but I’m dying to know. “So, what’s the deal between Ethan and Ben?”
Catherine rolls her eyes. “Boys are so stupid. They used to be best friends and their dads were partners—the farm, the cows, all of it, but they split ways a few years ago, and Ethan’s dad is now partners with Will’s. I don’t know what happened between Ethan and Ben, but they try to kill each other every chance they get.”
“Then why does Emma still date Ben?”
Catherine puts her finger in her mouth and acts like she’s gagging. “They’ve been dating off and on since freshman year. They’re nothing but drama queens, both of them. It’s like they try to see who can make the biggest scene in public.”
On the way to the truck, Ethan hangs back, tugging on the go-bag for me to do the same.
“What?” I ask.
“You didn’t know those guys, did you? The brothers at your old school.”
Need some quick thinking here. “I do. They’re just not that nice, so I didn’t know what to say since that guy is related to them.”
Ethan nods, but I can tell he thinks I’m full of it.
This is getting so old.
I drag myself up each small step to my house. It’s time to pump my mother for information. I couldn’t concentrate on anything today, and I’m still freaked out about what happened last night, so I’m throwing The Plan into high gear. It won’t be pretty, but it’s necessary. I hate talking to her when she’s drunk, and I hate that it takes her being out of her mind to get any truth out of her.
Mom’s on the floor in the kitchen—cleaning. Scrubbing it, actually. Just my luck: the one day I get up the nerve to work on her, she’s sober. Or mostly sober.
My bag drops on the table with a loud thump, and Mom spins around. “Sissy! You’re home.” She hauls herself off the floor.
“Hey, Mom.” I want to ask why she’s sober today of all days, but I resist.
“You want a snack?” This is the first time since we’ve been here that she’s worried about my dietary needs. She turns to the kitchen and starts looking for food. Dad went to the grocery store last weekend but only got a handful of things. She slams cabinet doors open and closed. She’s just now noticing how bare they are.
“Well, there’s soup. I can fix soup,” she offers.
“I’m fine. I’ll eat at Pearl’s later.” I sit down at the table. “Mom, can we talk?”
She takes the seat across from me. Her eyes are clearer than they’ve been in days, but her hands are shaky. “What is it?”
“I know I’ve asked this before, but I really need an answer this time. Why are we in Witness Protection?”
“Uh, that’s, uh, not something… You need to talk to Dad.” She gets up from the table and starts washing the dishes. I move to the counter next to her.
“He won’t tell me. I’ve asked him a hundred times. I’ve asked you a hundred times. I have a right to know.”
She scrubs a plate that has nothing on it. “I can’t, Sissy.”
“What did he do? Did he steal money? Sell drugs?”
Mom keeps scrubbing.
“I did some research in the school library. You’re either in the program voluntarily because you witnessed something or because you did something wrong and agreed to be a witness against someone else. And it’s mostly to do with drugs or money.”
Scrub, scrub, scrub. I wait for her to say something—anything—but she’s ignoring me.
“I think he did something wrong. If we’re here voluntarily, why the big secret?” I ask.
Still nothing. I want to make her turn around and look at me, make her answer me.
“What did he do—sell drugs, launder money, what? I bet it’s both, or these suits wouldn’t be up our ass this bad.”
Mom drops the plate in the sink, spins around, and slaps me. Hard. We stand there, face-to-face, both of us stunned. Mom looks at her hand like she doesn’t recognize it, and then runs out of the kitchen to her room. The last sound I hear is the lock clicking into place.