And the same way we all know Claire and JJ are meant to be, we know the only place I’ll be going is Manchester United—or whatever pro league wants me—so long as my knee holds out.
The last thing I need is some girl ripping my heart out like the last one did, or a family waiting for me back home. That’s just not my style.
I just need a ball at my feet, and I’m happy.
4
You Again?
Molly
September, 2007
ITHINK ATsome point in their life, everyone’s had a day where they don’twant to go to school.
For weeks after Mom left, I didn’t even want to leave my bedroom, much less sit in a classroom. Dad was at home, in a tizzy and not knowing what to do as a newly minted single parent. Lorraine kept trying to get me to play Barbies, but the whole time I just felt so utterly lost and empty.
That’s how I feel right now watching my little sister take the steps of her All-Girls Primary School, in a green and gold pinafore. My own school uniform feels all wrong. It’s a tweed plaid mini-skirt and a pull-over sweater in a matching navy color that I only loathe because I don’t want to go to school.
When I was little, I always wanted to wear a school uniform, but I’d always gone to public school. Kamaria, our friend Carson (who lives in Texas now), and I all shared this sentiment, so the summer before sixth grade we bought all sorts of preppy clothes that we would coordinate and wear to school every day.
With the giggly, middle-school joy stripped away, school uniforms really suck.
I make it around the corner from St. Brigets’ to the bus stop on Blackenridge road. After a minute, I check the time on my phone. I was supposed to be here at 7:50, and it’s only a minute past. I don’t even see a bus, or hardly anyone for that matter.
I check left and right.
Come on.
Nothing.
No, no, no.
The familiar mixture of fear and failure that accompanies me wherever I go, ready to rear its ugly head, begins to claw at me, begging me to lose my composure and lay down in the street and let someone run me over or something.Just put me out of my misery.
I dig my nails into my palms, trying to stave off a full-blown meltdown. If I miss the 7:50, the next one isn't until 8:30, and I'll be late for my meeting with the Welcome Buddy the school is setting me up with to show me around.
As I am debating whether to just lay down in the gutter and give up, a gray truck comes roaring around the bend. It speeds past, sending a spray of muddy rainwater toward the curb. I jump back just in time, though a few brown speckles claim the white toe of my red Converse.
The truck screeches to a halt a few feet up, reversing until it is idling right in front of me. A familiar face pops out of the passenger window, with white-blonde hair and a super toothy smile.
My brain stalls, trying to search for any reason someone in this foreign country would be familiar to me. The only people I’ve met are—
“Well, well, well,” the boy drawls, his accent thick and melodic, but all the same as it was the day we “met.” “If it isn't the Yank from the shops. We meet again. Fate’s a fickle mistress, eh?”
Ohgreat,it’s my kidnapper.
“Hi... again,” I say, social gears grinding as I try to search the street for... what? A cop? Lorraine was right, any nearest adult would also be a stranger.God-dammit.
“So you remember me then?”
“I remember you trying to kill me and my little sister in the grocery store, yes.”
“JJ! I told you if we stopped you weren’t to be harassing the poor girl!” the driver snaps. It isn't the guy from the store. This guy has a warm, light brown complexion and hazel eyes. Both are wearing the same kind of school sweater I’m wearing, just—you know—bigger. They’re both fairly broad shouldered.
Good kidnapper size.
“I’m notharassing, Fitz,” JJ says, glaring at his friend. “I’m making conversation. God forbid I make conversation. I can’t do a damn thing without everyone making a fuss. Anyway— whatcha doin’ out here, yank? They send ya all the way to Mayville to look pretty at the bus stop?”
