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“Have a great day, sweetheart. Don’t forget, come right home after school,” Mom says, giving me a tight hug and a kiss onthe cheek. I’m thirteen. I should be able to do what I want after school like all the other kids.
“I will. Love you, Mom.” I readjust my backpack over my shoulder and scoot out the front door, jogging down the steps before the school bus peeks over the hill.
“Freak,” a voice hollers. I glance over my shoulder, finding Larissa Hoyt sitting on a white plastic picnic chair smoking a cigarette beneath the upper deck of the duplex. Her thick, mascara-coated lashes squint over her heart-shaped beauty mark. She’s surrounded by her usual group of friends, girls who pencil matching beauty marks onto their faces so they can look like she does. I knew them before they had beauty marks, but Larissa has always had hers. When we make eye contact, she and the other girls laugh.
Ignore her. She’s just a jerk,I tell myself.
Larissa is eighteen and gets a ride to the high school every morning. Sometimes her ride shows up before the middle school bus but she’s often still here after I leave.
I always try my best to ignore her. Mom said it’s the only way to not give her the satisfaction she’s looking for.
I turn back toward the basketball court where the bus stops and take in a deep breath to keep moving. “I love the time of day when my mommy lets me out of my freak cage too.”
“Yeah, me too,” another girl says.
“Oh wait…we don’t live in cages. That’s just Haley Vaughn-Trapped.” Larissa laughs again. “Don’t worry. There’s only seven more hours before you’re locked back inside with the other trolls.”
Her words and voice fade into the background as I cross the street, but everything replays in my head while I try to push it away.
Dad is their landlord and has to beg them to pay their rent every month. He’s given eviction warnings, but he doesn’thave the heart to ever kick anyone out. Because of that, Mom and Dad said Mr. and Mrs. Hoyt might feel comfortable saying rude things behind our backs, but it’s most likely due to embarrassment about the rent, and them not wanting their children to know about their financial troubles.
By the time I get to the bus stop, tears fill my eyes. I sniffle and wipe them away as quickly as I can with the sound of the bus’s engine rumbling up the hill. I know better than to listen to Larissa but with how popular she seems to be, I’m always wondering how many others must think I’m a freak too.
“Yes, I knew her when I was thirteen. And I’m sure her family still hates mine just as much as they did back then, or whoever is left of them, that is.”
“For what? What could any of you do to make anyone dislike you?” Willa laughs thinking this is a joke. I wish it was.
I look around the library, finding it still empty, but I don’t want to be here anymore. My stomach hurts, coming to realize whose house I was in last night. If I knew…I never would have taken the job. “I don’t want to talk about it here.” I clear the browsing history and log out of the guest dashboard before standing up with the stack of papers.
“Haley, I’ve known you for…forever and you’re kind of freaking me out right now.”
“I’ll explain everything, just not here.”
Willa follows me out of the library, the wind blowing hard against us as we head toward our apartment. I hug the stack of papers to my chest, making sure I don’t lose any.
“Do you think she remembers you too?” Willa asks as we step out of the library.
“I would think so.”
“Then why would she hire you if her family hates yours?” Willa continues. Her questions are the same questions I have, and there are no answers percolating yet.
“I don’t know,” I answer, picking up my pace as the pit in my stomach grows larger by the minute.
“Slow down, Haley. I can’t keep up with you,” Willa says, grabbing my shoulder.
“I just want to get home.” I might be better off leaving the state, but I’m not allowed to do so until after the hearing—whenever that might be.
The only sounds between Willa and me are huffs as we trudge up the stairs and make our way into the apartment. “Why did her family dislike yours?” she asks again, placing her hands down on my shoulders. “Let me help you.”
“She and her family lived in the duplex my parents owned when I was thirteen.”
“So?” Willa questions, pushing for an explanation.
She’s dredging up memories I have buried, ones I’ve kept locked away in the back of my mind. I stare at her for so long, silently pleading with her not to make me tell her the story. My parents still talk about that day. They say talking about it is a form of therapy and I can’t argue, because if anyone knows that therapy comes in different forms for everyone, it’s me.
“Oh my God,” she says, her voice croaking. “Just tell me. What happened?”
“There was a fire in our town house complex. Lara’s twin sister, Libby, didn’t make it out of the building.”
