Leaving Paradise

This should be about the time I tell the cop the truth: that I'm in Hampton by the order of the Illinois Juvenile Department of Corrections. But I won't.



"Got it," Vic says.



The officer gets back in his squad car and orders Vic and his friends to move on. He follows Vic's car. I watch until both cars are out of sight.



When I look around for my backpack, I quickly realize it's gone. One of Vic's friends probably snatched it. But that's the least of my worries.



My jaw is starting to protest Vic's punch, and I put my hand up to my face to feel if it's bleeding. When I do, Maggie reveals herself.



Our eyes lock.



The bus to Paradise comes rumbling down the street and we both get on it. I sit at my usual spot in back and she follows, sitting right next to me. I'm surprised until I notice her fingers shaking.



She's scared.



It's demented and strange after all that's happened, but she feels safe with me right now. I don't dare touch her, 'cause that would mean this is something more than it is. And I know this ... this feeling of friendship is a fleeting, temporary thing. What scares me to fucking death is that some part of my brain has decided this insignificant act of Maggie sitting next to me is the first step in fixing all that's gone wrong in my life.



Which makes it all the more significant.



TWENTY-FOUR



Maggie



I saw Caleb today at school. Rumors are running rampant about the bruises on his face. None of the rumors are true.



After school I get on the bus to go to Mrs. Reynolds' house. I walk down the aisle to where Caleb is sitting. He doesn't look up. I take the seat next to him like I did yesterday.



This time he doesn't walk behind me after we're dropped off at the bus stop by Mrs. Reynolds' house. We walk side by side, as if there's an unspoken understanding between the two of us. I'm the only one (besides Vic and his thug friends) who knows how Caleb got his bruises. The fight yesterday scared me. Did Caleb get caught up in the fight because Vic insulted me? Whatever the reasons were, it was us against them. Caleb and I were on the same team and we didn't have a chance of winning.



That's why I ran behind a tree and called 911 from my cell, to protect him/us, because he would never be able to fight off three guys by himself, and God knows my cheap book bag couldn't take much more. I've never been able to stomach a fight anyway. The fight is over, but its aftereffects have lingered.



So now it's another day at Mrs. Reynolds' house working together, but not.



Caleb still follows my conditions: he doesn't talk to me as he works on the gazebo and I plant more daffodils.



I hum songs as I work. Sometimes Mrs. Reynolds hums along with me, until she starts belting out words to the songs so loud that I stop working and blink my eyes at this old lady who doesn't care what people think about her. It's really mind-boggling.



When Mrs. Reynolds starts nodding off, I walk inside the house and pour myself a glass of water. Before I leave the kitchen, I pour one for Caleb too. Quietly, I set it down on one of the wooden planks beside him.



Heading back inside to prepare a small snack, I remember I forgot to bring the cookie plate down from the attic last week. I go up the two flights of stairs to the attic and pick up the plate.



The door closes and I shriek. Caleb is standing in the attic with me, the glass of water in his hand. "Oh my God!"



"I'm not going to hurt you, Maggie. I just wanted to say thanks for the water and ... well, and I know it's not easy working together, but I do appreciate you not kicking me out."



"You can't leave," I say.



"Why not?"



"Because that door locks automatically."



Caleb eyes the door stopper he just kicked out of the way. "You're joking, right?"



I shake my head slowly. I'm trying not to panic at the reality of being stuck with Caleb Becker in an attic. Breathe, Maggie. In. Out. In. Out.



Caleb tries turning the knob, then tries a turn-door-knob-while-pushing-on-door action. "Shit." He turns to me. "You and me. In the same room. This is not supposed to happen."



"I know," I say.



"We could yell for Mrs. Reynolds. She's sleeping outside, but--"



"She'll never hear us all the way out there. Her hearing is marginal if you're ten feet away. When she wakes up we'll hear her and then yell our heads off."



"So you're saying we're stuck here?"



I nod again.



"Shit."



"You already said that," I inform him. Caleb starts pacing while running his hands over his buzz cut. "Yeah, well, this sucks. Being locked up is getting to be the theme of my life," he mumbles. "How long before she usually wakes up?"



I shrug. "It could be a half hour, but sometimes she sleeps for an hour or more, like yesterday."



Taking a deep breath, he sits in the middle of the floor and leans against Mrs. Reynolds' trunk. "You might as well take a seat," he says.



"I'm kind of afraid of spiders."



"Still?"



"You remember that about me?"



"How could I forget? You and Leah used to make me your personal spider killer," he says. I look at him strangely.



"Sit," he orders. "I'm giving the old lady two hours to free us and then I'm breaking that door down."



Neither of us say anything for a long time. The only sound is our breathing and the eerie bangs and creaks of the old house.



"Was it scary in jail?" I ask, breaking the silence.



"Sometimes."



"Like when? What did they do to you?"



I turn and look at him. His expression is wary. "You know, you're the first one who's asked for details."



"I'll admit I've heard the rumors. I suspect most of them aren't true."



"What'd you hear?"



I curl my lip, nervous to be the one to tell him. "Let's see ... you had a boyfriend in jail... you joined a gang... you attempted to escape and got solitary confinement ... you beat up a guy who afterward needed to be hospitalized ... should I continue?"



"You believe any of it?"



"No. Why? Are they true?"



He leans his head back against the trunk and lets out a long breath. "I was in a fight and got thrown in solitary for it." He puts his palms over his eyes. "I was in solitary for thirty-six hours. God, I can't believe I'm talking to you, of all people, about this."



"Did they give you food and water?"



He laughs. "Yeah, you still get meals. But you're sleeping on a slab of cement and a one-inch foam mattress on top of that. A stainless steel toilet is your only companion."



"At least you were alone," I say. "I had to wait for someone to bring a plastic bowl for me to go to the bathroom while I was in the hospital. Then I had to lay there while they wiped me. It was so degrading."



"Do the doctors say you'll ever walk without a limp?"



"They don't know. I have to go to physical therapy twice a week until I go to Spain."



"Spain?"



I explain why I'm working at Mrs. Reynolds' house every day and about my dream of leaving Paradise so I can get away from the past.



"I couldn't wait to get back home," he admits. "Coming back here meant I was free of being locked up."



"That's because you're Caleb Becker. People will always accept you. The only thing that kept me from being a loser before was tennis and Leah. Now that I've lost both, I have nothing except humiliating stares and comments people say but don't think I hear."



Caleb stands and paces the attic again. "Coming home has sucked. But leaving Paradise would be a copout."



"To me," I tell him, "leaving Paradise means freedom. I feel locked up just living in this town where everybody reminds me what a loser I am now."



Caleb crouches down, his face right in front of mine. "You are not a loser. Hell, Maggie, you always knew what you wanted and went for it."



I tell him the honest truth. "Not anymore. When you hit me, a part of me died."



TWENTY-FIVE



Caleb



"Caleb, phone!" Mom yells from the kitchen.



I've been in my room, trying to figure out these mixed-up thoughts I've been having since Tuesday, when Maggie and I got locked in the attic. We sat there for maybe forty minutes. In that short amount of time I probably shared more with her than I have with Kendra. Ever.



I'm in serious trouble here.



I pick up the cordless and head to my room. "Hello?"



"Hey, CB. It's Brian."



"What's up?"



"It's Sunday," Brian says in a way-too-cheery tone.



"And?" I say.



"Come on, dude, don't tell me you forgot our ritual. You, me, Drew, and Tristan ..."



I remember. Sunday afternoons watching football-- me, Brian, Tristan, and Drew. No chicks allowed was our motto.



"I'm leaving for Tristan's in ten. Be ready," Brian says, then the line goes dead.



I'm in my briefs. I'd sworn to myself I'd sleep all day. But if I want to get back into a normal routine, Sunday football can't be ignored.



I take a quick shower--believe me I'm used to them. And when I'm pulling on some old sweats and a t-shirt, I hear Mom downstairs fawning over Brian.



I'm so glad you called Caleb. You're such a good friend. Here's some leftover Chinese food from last night. I swear she's like an out-of-control machine.



When I get downstairs, Brian says to me, "Your mom rocks, CB. Check out all the stuff she packed for us."



I glance into the large grocery bag. Mom must have put half of the food from our refrigerator in it. I'm about to hug her, but she picks up a dish rag and starts wiping off the kitchen table when I come close. "Go on," she says, "and have a good time."



At Tristan's house we have to wait for the game to come on. It's the Packers against the Bears. Before I got arrested, I could have told you every date of every game and every Bears' opponent playing in those games.



I park myself on the couch in his basement and lean back. I can hardly wait to watch. The other guys have no clue how much I missed this.



Hell, I didn't even realize how much I missed this.



I got Kendra back, I got my friends back. I've got to forget about Maggie. I'm sure I'm just thinking about her so much because we're working together. I came back to Paradise with a mission to get my life back to normal. Sitting back and watching the game makes me realize that the status quo isn't all that bad.



Until Tristan starts tossing cans of Michelob to each of us.



"Where'd you get the brew?" Drew asks.



"From the Fourth of July. I snatched a case from my parents' party and hid it. My mom didn't even know it was missing."



"Way to go, man," Brian says. "Toss one of those puppies over here."



Brian and Drew catch theirs and open them right away. I catch the one thrown to me. Tristan holds his can up. "To a new season of Bears ball."



"To a quarterback who can actually throw the ball," Brian says.



"And a running back that can actually run the ball," Drew offers.



They all turn to me, waiting for my dumb football wisdom.



I'm holding the can, the coldness against my palm sending a chill up my arm. "And a punter who could kick the ball," I add, wondering if they realize I haven't flipped the top and opened it yet.



They all take a swig. Except me. I may have jeopardized going back to jail when I got in a fight with Vic when he insulted Maggie, but that was worth the risk. I haven't even been near alcohol since the night of the accident. I'm not about to jeopardize going back for a stupid can of beer.