68. Train Wreck

I’m heading down to the car to climb in and wait for Mom. She’s running slow this morning. Guess she had a rough day yesterday too.

I open the side door and see an envelope on the seat.

We never lock the doors because nobody is ever going to steal our car. I glance around to see if anybody is watching, to see if I can see tracks or any trace of someone. As usual, nobody is around for me to see.

I climb in and close the door and then wait for a minute, listening for Mom’s footsteps on the wooden stairs. When I don’t hear anything, I open the envelope.

A small sheet of paper is inside. On it is a handwritten address: 49 McKinney Gap.

No town or state or zip, though I doubt I need it.

I fold the envelope and sheet of paper in half and tuck it in my pocket by the time Mom opens the car door.

“Ready?” she asks.

I nod and look out the windows and wonder if someone’s watching us.

If they are, I wish they’d just come out of the shadows.

For several days I try to find out where McKinney Gap is. I spend time in the computer lab looking on Google Maps, which I thought showed every single street and road in the world. But many of the roads around Solitary aren’t even on the map. Even my street isn’t on there.

If our address isn’t on Google, does that mean we don’t even exist?

Poe doesn’t know. She reminds me that she doesn’t technically live in Solitary and doesn’t know the place extremely well. I tell her where I got the address, and she says she’ll do some investigating herself.

Next I ask Newt. We don’t talk very much, even though we usually are around each other at our lockers or at lunch. Sometimes I think the less he knows about me and my life, the better. He doesn’t recognize the street either.

I shouldn’t be surprised when he comes to my locker Wednesday morning and hands me a sheet with something drawn on it in black ink.

“There you go,” he says. “Your own treasure map.”

“You found it?”

He nods, acting like he’s about to say something else … then nothing.

“Thanks.”

“It should be obvious where you need to go,” he says, in a way that makes it seem like he’s also saying so don’t ask me to show you.

Mom is working tonight, so I know what I’ll be doing after track practice.

If someone will drive me, that is.

“So what exactly is your deal?”

I’m standing at my locker and am not exactly sure if Georgia is talking to me.

“What?”

“Yeah, you. Hello? Anybody there?”

I put up my hands. “What?”

“So, like, are you going to ask her out again, or was that something you just said to make yourself feel better?”

For a brief moment I honestly don’t know who she’s talking about.

Then I remember. Kelsey.

“Because, you know, there are a lot of other guys she can spend her days and nights thinking about instead of weirdos like you.”

I’ve woken up to what she’s talking about. And now I’m fully aware, fully functioning, and fully irate.

“Georgia. It is Georgia, right? I keep confusing it with some other state like Florida or Oklahoma. But Georgia, right, because here’s the thing—and shut up for a second and let me talk—whatever happens between me and Kelsey or me and anybody in this school is totally not your business and never will be. So please get out of my face and get out of this space and leave me alone.”

She curses in my face. I’m guessing she’s never been told off by a guy before.

First time for you, too.

I’m expecting her to spit on my face.

“I told her you’re a jerk,” she says before walking off.

I still have art class today.

Like I need any extra drama in my life.

I stand for a second and just look into the sliver of space in my locker and wonder if I can lock myself inside.

When I first see Kelsey, it’s obvious to me that Georgia’s spoken with her. Maybe in another world I’d make small talk and not get to the point, but this is not that wonderful world.

“Hey, look, can I—can we talk out in the hall for a second?”

Kids are getting their stuff ready and coming and going. Mr. Chestle is oblivious, and half the time lets kids come and go as they please. Kelsey nods and walks out, and I follow her.

We stand by a door to the outside that leads to the parking lot and the track field below.

“Look—Kelsey—this is the thing. My life is sorta—no, not sorta, it really is a train wreck. And I couldn’t—there’s really no way I could begin to tell you why. Or how. And the thing is, you’re a really neat girl. Sorry—I mean, that sounded stupid. It’s just—it’s not that I don’t want to hang out, because I’d like that. But the way things are now—I just—it’s not really the best time.”

“Would you like to have dinner at my house sometime?”

There are many responses I might have imagined from this shy blond hiding behind the glasses and braces. An invitation to meet her parents is not one of them.

“What?” I honestly laugh out loud, it’s so unexpected.

“I know,” she says, understanding my surprise. “It’s just—I’ve been talking to my parents, especially my father, about you. He’s been on me to invite you over. You don’t have to, but I told him I’d ask.”

Did you not hear everything I just said?

I start to shake my head, but then I look into those sweet blue eyes that look away and then sneak a peek at mine.

“Yeah, sure,” I say.

Kelsey is not the only one of us who is saying surprising things.

“Just ignore Georgia. She likes to think that she’s my protector or something.”

“Tell her I’m sorry.”

“Maybe you should.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ll ask my parents—but maybe this Sunday.”

I wonder if she’s going to invite me to church, but she doesn’t.

We go back into art class, and for the next forty minutes I manage to forget about the train wreck. It’s still there, the embers of the fire still hot and burning, but I’m able to ignore it for a while.

It’s a cool thing.