RULES FOR DISAPPEARING
BY WITNESS PROTECTION PRISONER #18A7R04M:
Only use public transportation. It’s the one true way to look completely uninteresting. That is, unless, you have a hideous wood-paneled station wagon. That’ll work, too.
I wake up in a cold sweat. The room is dark, but I can make out Teeny’s sleeping form in the twin bed next to me. My T-shirt is wet and my hair is plastered to my face. I can’t catch my breath. It was a dream, I repeat in my head. It’s the same dream that has haunted me for months, where I’m stuck in a room and I’m scared to death. There are people in the room, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. It’s been weeks since I’ve had this dream, but that doesn’t make it any better when it shows up.
My legs get tangled in the sheets and I end up falling out of bed. I grab the journal from my bag and start to write, squinting in the dark.
Flashing lights. I’m trapped. I’m scared. I can’t breathe. It’s like I’m drowning.
I’m hoping this will help me make some sense out of the nightmares, but all I can pull out of them are the flashing lights and the feeling of being trapped, which isn’t surprising since that’s exactly what Witness Protection feels like. As soon as I wake up, the images evaporate.
My throat’s on fire. I run to the kitchen for some water and drink a glassful in seconds. It isn’t until I fill the glass for the second time that a movement catches my attention.
The glass slips and shatters on the floor. Mom is hunched over the kitchen table. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Her words are slurred.
“Mom, what are you doing up?” I glance at the clock on the oven. “It’s two in the morning.” Tiptoeing around the shards of glass, I get the broom and dustpan from the small closet.
“Can’t sleep. Miss my bed at home. Not the same here.”
No kidding. “Mom, you need to get to bed.”
“I have failed you girls. I can’t even remember the names they gave you.” She puts her head on the table and sobs.
How many times have we sat in the dark like this? I want to feel sorry for her, but I’m tapped out. I run my hand through her messy hair, trying to untangle a few of the knots. If her face didn’t show the damage from all the alcohol, she would be beautiful. The darker hair looks so much better than the fake blond did.
“It’s Meg and Mary. I’m Meg. Meg Jones. You are Emily Jones. Dad is Bill Jones. We’re in Louisiana.” Hearing all the basic facts of our new life seems to calm her down, just as it did for Teeny this morning. “C’mon, Mom.”
Mom gets up from the table, and I put an arm around her waist. She’s leaning against me, and it’s a struggle to get her down the hall.
She points a finger back toward the kitchen as we leave. “We don’t even have food here. I never would have had an empty refrigerator.”
“I know, Mom. I’ll go to the store tomorrow. Keep walking, we’re almost there.”
We stumble into her room. I’m sure Dad’s aware of what’s happening, but he doesn’t move or say a word. I should’ve turned the lights on and made him deal with this. Mom snores softly before I even get the covers over her.
Mom made an appearance this morning, eyes red and puffy, but didn’t mention our earlier conversation. Dad put an envelope in my room with money for food before he left. I’m sure he didn’t trust Mom with it. Let me add find a way to get to the grocery store before work and do all the shopping to my to-do list. Then again, there’s always pizza.
I step off the bus in front of school. It’s humiliating to show up your senior year on a bus. My old friends back home, especially Elle and Laura, would have a field day if they could see me now. As soon as the thought seeps into my brain, I push it back out. Just thinking about them makes my stomach hurt. How can I want to go back home more than anything, and at the same time never want to see my two best friends ever again?
I can’t think about them right now.
I join the sea of people wandering through the front doors, and head to my locker. I’m so nervous, and it’s totally Ethan’s fault. I took extra time with my hair this morning in the hopes that I won’t look like a boy by the end of the day. This goes totally against The Plan, I know. There’s no reason to look cute for a boy you’re desperately trying to ignore. His locker is close to mine, so I peek past the metal door to spy on him. He’s easy to spot, leaning against the wall near the bathrooms, talking to a small group of people. I grab my books and sneak into homeroom.
My seat in the back is available, so I slide in. Before I can start my music, the guy in front of me turns around. It’s the jock that fought with Ethan. His eye is an array of disgusting colors and almost swollen shut.
“I didn’t catch your name yesterday, new girl.”
“Meg Jones.”
“Well, hey, Meg. I’m Ben Dufrene.”
I don’t answer, just crank the volume up.
Ben takes the hint and doesn’t try to talk to me again.
After sitting through my first two classes, I’ve decided it takes a lot of effort to be a loner. In the other schools I worked hard to fit in, but a few hours into my second day here and I’m physically exhausted from not making eye contact or initiating conversation.
Third period begins, and my teacher turns the class into a study hall and runs out of the room in tears. Bits of gossip throughout the room suggest that she was having an affair with one of the coaches and he broke it off with her this morning. Classy.
But it’s fine by me. One less class I have to worry about. The room is broken up into little groups, everyone enjoying this unexpected hour of freedom, but I sit all alone. Busy doesn’t look as pathetic, so I pull out the journal and put in my earbuds. About halfway through the hour, a girl drops down in the desk in front of mine. Her eyes peek to the page I’m writing on, so I close the book.
I recognize her as the cheerleader that was front and center for Teeny’s meltdown yesterday. A group of her minions watch and giggle from across the room.
From the expressions on their faces, this probably won’t be good. Elle used to do this same crap to Nicole Payne. That girl made Elle look stupid during a mock debate in speech, and Elle never let it go. I’d sit back and watch, just like this cheerleader’s friends are doing now, and I can still remember that feeling of nervousness mixed with excitement when I saw Elle move in. I pop the earbuds out and try to prepare for what’s coming.
“Okay, so my friends and I have a question.”
I don’t take the bait. I’m going to make her work for this.
“That girl who was with you yesterday, was that your sister? Is something wrong with her?” Her face crinkles into a fake sympathetic expression. “Is she special?”
So not what I was expecting. I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. This bitch is sitting here making fun of Teeny in front of all these people, when she has no idea what we’ve been through in the past eight months. But I refuse to give them what they want, which is some sort of scene.
“Hello?” The cheerleader giggles and glances back toward the group behind her. “I guess it runs in the family.”
She gets up from the seat in front of me, and I can’t resist—I stick my foot out just as she starts to walk away, and she goes flying across the floor. Her skirt comes up and her bare butt (except for the small strip her thong covers) is there for the world to see.
The entire room bursts out laughing, and for a moment I sit there stunned. Then I grab my go-bag and sprint into the hall toward the bathroom. I may have just started WWIII.
The bathroom door slams against the wall, and the noise echoes through the room. A girl jumps and grabs her purse protectively.
“You scared the shit out of me!” She jams something into the wall. The girl’s sketchy, dressed in black from head to toe with hot-pink stripes in her hair. She shoves a bunch of crap into her bag and races from the bathroom.
I walk to where she was standing and look at the brick wall. What did she do? I brush my hand against the bricks and feel around, but nothing. Leaning against the wall, I slide to the floor and pull my knees up to my chin.
How could I have lost control like that? It must have been too many thoughts of home and my old life this morning. Elle and Laura were my best friends, but they had a habit of finding their amusement at others’ expense. Now I know how bad it sucks to be on the receiving end of that.
The Plan is going to hell—I’m failing miserably at going unnoticed. I have to get back on track. Dad’s a dead end. He wasn’t much on talking in our old life, so I don’t know why I thought he’d open up now. Maybe I can Google something, but what? How to get out of Witness Protection? I’ve been terrified of the Internet ever since what happened the last time I surfed around. Trying that could be like a one-way ticket to the next placement. As much as this one sucks, the next one could be just as bad. Or worse.
I drop my head on my arms. There’s always Mom. Maybe I can get her talking while she’s drunk. My stomach turns as soon as I think this. It seems wrong, but I’m desperate.
A shrill ring vibrates through the bathroom, and I join the swarm of people in the hall.
Word must have gotten out about what just happened. Before, no one paid me much attention, but now I’m getting all kinds of looks. Most of them not good, but there are a couple of kids who looked pleased. I can’t be the only person who’s ever wanted to knock that girl on her ass.
It’s incredibly hard to act like none of this bothers me. There’s no protection when you’re a loner. I’m like that one little baby duck you see on those wildlife shows that gets separated from the group as the nasty alligator hovers just below the water’s surface. Chomp, chomp.
As soon as my next class is over, I make a break for it. After grabbing lunch from the cafeteria, I peek out the window into the courtyard, where I ate yesterday—hoping I can hide there again—but Ethan is there, lying on the stone picnic table. He’s got his backpack under his head and his earbuds in. It’s almost the same exact pose I was in yesterday, except I was on the ground.
I’m not going out there. I’ll have to find some other little hole to crawl in and wait out the lunch hour. It’s way too easy hanging out with Ethan, and it’s stupid to get too close. And yet I find myself walking outside.
The door makes a loud creaky noise, and Ethan’s head pops up. No sane argument in my head could have stopped my legs from walking out here. He smiles when he sees me but doesn’t get up.
He plucks his earbuds out and says, “So, I heard you’re fitting in nicely, making friends, warming up to the locals.”
“Ha-ha.” I drop my go-bag on the ground and use it as a cushion, then balance my lunch in my lap. “You’re funny. Those girls seriously hate me now—and they started it! I’ll need eyes in the back of my head.”
Ethan sits up and takes a deep swig of Coke. “That’s because you’re new. We’ve all been in school together since kindergarten, so there’s nothing left to get worked up about.”
“You and Ben don’t seem to have that problem.”
“That’s because Ben is a pain in my ass that won’t go away.”
“So, why are you out here and not hanging out with your friends? Or do you not have any of those?” I ask between bites of turkey sandwich. I know that’s not the case, since he’s surrounded by people every time I turn a corner, but it is strange that he hangs out here at lunch by himself.
“I thought you might be back. Wanted to see how you were handling what happened this morning.”
I stop chewing and look at him. That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time, but I can’t ruin The Plan over some sweet words. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Good. So, have you had a chance to check things out around town? You got here at the right time—Mardi Gras kicks off soon, and you can usually find a good party on parade nights.”
“I thought that was only in New Orleans.” My remark may make me seem stupid. I’m supposed to be from Arkansas, which is next to Louisiana, so I should probably know all this.
He shakes his head and doesn’t seem thrown off by my question. “No, there are lots of smaller parades all through the state. The best ones are down there, though.”
Ethan digs in his bag and pulls out a sheet of paper.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He shakes it a few times. “Read it.”
I take it but know instantly that this is not going to turn out well. It’s a Wikipedia article about the Fouke Monster, which is basically a Big Foot–type creature that is believed to be in, well, Fouke. The article says there was even a movie about it, and a little map shows that Fouke is near Lewisville. The town is crazy about the myth, and people come from all over to try to get a sight of the monster. My mouth gets dry. I’m so screwed.
Ethan takes a swig of Coke. “I don’t think you’re from Lewisville.”
And there it is. The suits explained what to do if someone questions your story, but he’s called me out.
“What? Of course I’m from Lewisville.” I try hard to look offended. Jumping up, I heave the go-bag to my chest. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”
I cringe at my choice of words, but beat it to the door anyway.
At this point, I’m sure he thinks I’m nuts. Multiple personalities or something. He doesn’t say anything, just watches me run back into school.