Three Days Ago
I sat in the backseat of Theo’s Roadmaster, my hair twirling in a windstorm of split-ends. Up front, Theo drove and Sasha took the passenger seat. When we’d picked her up, she came running to the car, her head snapping back in surprise after seeing me. Once again, she seemed to weigh getting in or not. Then her face relaxed and she acted like nothing had ever happened between us. It reminded me why I’d liked her so much, her ability to just let things be.
“Hi, Ruthie.”
“Hi, Sasha.”
Theo’s eyes appeared in the rear-view mirror with a mischievous gleam. “You guys ready?” We nodded and he turned up the stereo, bass blaring so hard I could feel my eardrums vibrating, and he pulled out of her driveway, the sheriff’s driveway. Theo rocketed from zero to fast and then really fast and we were a blur of motion, a thrill ride on four wheels. The suspension was tight and I felt every bump in the road. Once or twice, we got air and it felt like flying, my own personal rollercoaster.
Speed and danger obliterated all thought, and that’s exactly what I needed. It was a great distraction from the previous day’s miseries: the Solomon family and Miss Lauer and her missing niece and nephew, as well as my own family dysfunction. Mom had left the house that morning without saying a word, and I dreaded seeing Mr. Scronce in class.
Still, this car was magic. I was finally in it, along with Sasha; I was on speaking terms with my brother. That was a definite addition in the Good Things column.
We pulled into the school parking lot. The entire ride was less than five minutes, and it had felt like even less. Yes, it was a gas-guzzler. Yes, it was conspicuous consumption in a town of use-only-what-you-need. But it was fun. Freaking amazing fun. I realized how much I had missed it.
“Thanks, Theo,” I said, squeezing out of the back seat.
“Sure.”
Only a few words spoken, but so much was said. I could translate those monosyllabic utterances. They meant: we’re cool; maybe I’ll see you later. It made me realize the drama that played out in my head wasn’t always entirely true.
Theo and Sasha walked inside while I waited outside for the buses to pull up. I’d definitely return to taking the bus, but it felt good to experience how the other half lived. After a few minutes, Max stepped off. He looked like a lost puppy.
He saw me and we peeled off together toward the double doors. “What are you all smiles about?” he asked.
“Finally got a ride.” I nodded toward Theo’s car.
“Really? Was Sasha there?”
“Yep.”
“You guys besties again?”
“Nope.”
“You’re a strange girl, Ruthie Stroud.” He paused and added, “Am I going solo on the bus from now on?”
“I think it’s only an every-once-in-a-while thing.”
We entered the building and headed toward our lockers. His lips were a straight line, emoting nothing. I asked, “You’re not mad at me, are you?” I couldn’t handle it if he was. I didn’t have many allies in my life, and I needed him.
“Just got a lot on my mind.”
I bopped him on the forehead. “Anything good going on up there?”
“Something happened last night.”
“I was going to tell you.” I’d meant to tell him about Miss Lauer and the fight with my family. I just hadn’t had the chance.
Max squinted, trying to read me. “You’re not listening. Something happened last night. With me.”
“Oh.” I waited for him to explain.
“My parents. They’re moving.” I tilted my head, confused. He added, “They’re selling the house.”
I asked dumbly, “Why?”
“The murders, it was too much. They said the island’s only been bad luck.”
He could’ve punched me in the head and I wouldn’t have been more surprised. “How soon?”
“They’re putting it on the market this week.”
“But you’re a junior. That’s like, cruel and unusual. They’re gonna make you transfer now?”
“As soon as the house sells, yeah.”
I held onto this shred of hope. “Well, that could take months.”
“They’re, what do you call it, pricing it to sell. And even if it doesn’t, they’re leaving at the end of the school year, no matter what.”
I shattered into a million pieces. It wasn’t just Max who would have to start senior year over; so would I. I’d wanted to live with my dad in Seattle; at least that would’ve been an escape. Staying on Hemlock Island without Max? Impossible. “Did you try and talk ’em out of it?”
He said with sarcasm, “They said I was being ‘listened to’.”
I hugged him before I knew I was hugging him. “I’m sorry, Max.”
He wasn’t expecting it and awkwardly put his arms around me. Students passed us, throwing us odd glances. Some taunted, “Get a room!”
Suddenly, it hit me. “I got it. I got it!” I rolled the thought in my head, more excited with each passing second. “My brother is going to college next year. You could live with us. In his room.”
“You mean with Mr. Scronce?”
“Yes! You’re an A-student. You’re like, the best role model. He might think you’d be a good influence on me.”
“Ruthie,” he said. “Hug me again. You’re going to need it.”
I did.
He whispered in my ear. “It’s not going to happen. My parents are taking me with.”
“But all the things you said. The way they treat you. How they see your brother’s face every time they see yours? Wouldn’t they want you to stay with me?”
“It’s happening, Ruthie.”
The bell rang, and here I was, still hugging my friend. My friend who could’ve been more than a friend, a guy who grounded me and kept me sane. My life preserver. I stayed hugging him until the hallways were clear, and it seemed as if we were the only two students left in the whole world.
By the time Mr. Scronce’s class rolled around, I was totally checked out. The class, my life—everything—had a surreal quality to it. There was a glitch in the Matrix; I was certain of it. Someone had hacked into my life, the iCloud in the sky that determined our destinies had for funsies decided to scramble mine.
Mr. Scronce taught class and I thought we’d come to some kind of unspoken I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me agreement until he said, “Ruthie, how would you solve this?”
There was an equation on the board filled with squiggles and slashes. It was as foreign to me as Japanese or Arabic. “I don’t know.”
Normally, he’d move onto a new student. Not today. “It was your homework. You did your homework, didn’t you?”
It’s like the whole class turned their heads in unison to look at me.
“Actually, Mr. Scronce. I didn’t, as you might be aware, because there was a bit of a kerfuffle at my house last night. My room was not in a state that was conducive to learning. You might know something about that.”
There was definitely a glitch because his faced literally twitched and then bloomed fire-engine red. He pointed to the door. “The principal’s office. Now.”
I was happy to get out of there. I picked up my books and on my way out I said, “See you later, Greg.”
I’d never been to the principal’s office. I’d seen him in the halls, of course, and at assemblies, and sometimes in town getting groceries, throwing Twizzlers in his cart at the last minute. He seemed like a nice enough guy, easily forgotten in a crowd, if not a little lonely. Then again, he could’ve been a big Internet troll for all I knew.
I had pushed things too far with Mr. Scronce. There’s that thing in my head where you want to say something, and think it’ll sound cool, but you never get the chance? I got the chance with Mr. Scronce, only to find out I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
I waited outside the principal’s office, along with, to the surprise of no one, Dirk. He sat next to another one of his degenerate pals. Jose had a face that looked like it was squished at birth by forceps, giving him a bit of Frankenstein meets meth-head. His lone positive attribute was he could actually drive when he borrowed his dad’s truck, which is probably the only reason Dirk was friends with him.
Jose saw me sit down and said, “Well, well, well. Miss Teacher’s Pet is here.” He turned to Dirk. “Wonder what she did?”
Dirk said, “Maybe Mr. S. got tired of banging her mom. He tried going for the juicy peach instead.”
Jose said, “Ever catch him looking at you when you get out of the shower? I betcha he does. Betcha he thinks of you when he’s plowing your mom.”
Sitting here made me feel stupid, as if my IQ was lowering just being around them. I thought of other comebacks and then got mad at myself for even caring what they thought.
“Unless,” Jose continued, “she initiated it.”
“I can see it,” Dirk said.
This is how they were only feet from authority, so you can imagine how they were when off-leash. Luckily, a secretary poked her head outside and said, “Jose Diaz?”
Jose got up and leered over his shoulder, “Call me.”
I flipped him off.
“Anytime. Anywhere.” He crossed into the office.
It was just me and Dirk. He didn’t say a word, sitting quietly like a church boy. Guess he wasn’t so talkative without an audience. Funny how that happens.
I wanted to push his buttons, so I asked, “You really believe Max’ll kill you if you talk about his brother?”
He thought a moment, and then nodded. “Nerds are like pimples. Watch out when they pop.”
“Maybe they wouldn’t pop, if you left them alone.”
You always hear that everyone is the same deep down. No matter the color of skin, religious upbringing, or class status. I call BS. Dirk is not like me and never will be.
He didn’t respond, so we sat in silence. I noticed his fingernails were chewed down to the cuticles and wondered what made him do that. He rested his head against the wall, and then he turned to me. For a moment, I saw the guy he was, or who he could be, when not acting like an asshole. “You notice anything…weird?”
“Like what?”
“Like everything. You being here, for one. Gotta admit, that’s friggin’ weird.”
I couldn’t argue. “Yeah. What else?”
“Take Mr. Amram. He’s got it out for me. He’s why I’m here.”
“The gym teacher?”
“Yeah. He used to let me do my own thing, you know? Didn’t care what I did, as long as I stayed out of his way. But he’s been up my ass the last few days.”
“Yeah, ’cause gym class is so hard.”
“Serious, Ruthie. Guy’s on the verge of a breakdown. And he’s not the only one. Can’t you see it? It’s like they’re all in on a secret and they’re just waiting. But I don’t know what they’re waiting for.”
“Who?”
“Them.” He pointed at the school. “Adults.”
“You ever think,” and I leaned forward conspiratorially, “they’re just treating you the way you deserve to be treated?”
Before I could reply, the secretary popped her head out. “Sorry, you two. Principal Johnson’s not feeling well. He’ll have to reschedule.”
Dirk and I looked at each other.
She made it crystal clear. “You can go now.”
“You’ll see,” he said as he got up and walked out. I thought of Miss Lauer. I was going to ask Dirk more, but as I stood up, I realized he must’ve been more scared than I thought, for he disappeared back into his class.
Unlike Dirk, I decided to ditch. School would be done soon and as it wasn’t raining, I figured the walk home would do me good.
Down the way was the dock, the ferry still tied, tilting slightly in the waves. The dock was pretty much the only flat part of the island that met the sea. Everything else was cliffs; some higher than others, but all rocky, which is what kept tourists away. They made for picturesque views, but sooner or later people want a beach. No watersports, either. The current was too strong, sending waves against the walls of volcanic rock and sedimentary stone. And the sea? It was white-capped most of the time, rarely the polished blue that reflected light like a thousand stars.
I started down the road. About halfway home, I heard the rumble of Jose’s truck. I guessed he had ditched, too. The sound grew closer and closer, louder and louder, until he was right behind me and then with a whoosh, passed by me, kicking up dirt. The asshat nearly ran me off the road. I stood from the safety of the reeds wondering where he was going to in such a hurry and thought somebody better be dying or giving birth.
The sheriff’s siren soon followed and answered my question. The cruiser appeared down the road, lights flashing, and then he, too, passed me. How stupid, to run from the police, especially in a place like Hemlock Island.
I walked on. The siren faded in the distance and then went silent. After a few minutes, I heard the sheriff, “Put your hands up! Put your hands up!”
I ran to see what was going on.
I got there just as I heard the shots. One, two, three, little firecrackers echoing into the air. The sheriff had parked behind the truck. I’d always heard there was a distinct smell after gunfire, and it was true. Something acrid, something warm, like burned cupcakes. The sheriff’s gun was drawn. Jose was on the ground, face down, several feet from the cruiser. I looked closer and saw something I didn’t want to. The sheriff had shot him in the head. Three times. His skull had given way to soft tissue, now spread in a bloody pattern along the road. The sheriff holstered his weapon and moved to the corpse that had once been Jose Diaz. He nudged the body with his foot.
Nauseous, I stepped backward and nearly tripped.
That’s when the sheriff’s head snapped toward me. He had a bloody nose. He looked like Miss Lauer had, with that same sorrow and rage, the same sense of not being who he was.
“Ruthie, wait!” He stepped toward me. “You don’t understand.”
I’d seen him kill an unarmed teenager. Of course I didn’t understand.
If I hadn’t heard about Mr. Solomon’s family…
If Miss Lauer’s niece and nephew hadn’t mysteriously disappeared…
I might have stayed, curiosity and social conditioning rooting me to the spot. But this was wrong. Everything about it told me it was wrong.
I stumbled and ran.
He took off after me. “Ruthie!”
I ran straight into the forest. I didn’t think about direction, I didn’t think at all. I ran, my body moving independent of thought. I ran past ferns and scrub, deeper and deeper. I ran until there were no paths, only raw nature.
My feet trampled grass. I was in my own first-person shooter video game, zigzagging past trees, over logs, darting up an incline and then down, catching my balance, running, running, running.
The farther I ran, the darker it got, a canopy of leaves blocking out the sunlight.
I stopped, realizing how winded I was, my heart exploding. I was totally scratched up from the branches I’d run past. I hadn’t felt them at all.
Instinctively, I grabbed my phone. For a dumb second, I thought of calling the police. But the sheriff was the police. My mind went hopeless and then—
My father!
I dialed. No signal. Not even close.
I wanted to crush the phone, so furious was my anger.
I thought of Jose. I never liked him, he was a bully, but he didn’t deserve to get shot. He didn’t deserve to die.
Behind me, I heard branches being broken. Someone approaching.
I couldn’t keep running.
I needed to hide.
The trees. The trees were all around me. I picked the tallest one and climbed, something I’d done as a girl, grabbing a branch, hauling myself up, one branch at a time and then another, higher and higher, higher than I’d ever been before. I didn’t want to look down. I had to reach the top. I had to be out of his view.
I shimmied up, a human caterpillar. My hands were slathered with tree sap. More branches, more pulling. I was so tired. I nearly reached into a wasp’s nest settled in between a fork of branches. With an exhale, I carefully pulled myself up past it. I held onto a branch, grabbing above me, and then I slipped.
My feet dangled beneath me. The ground was so far away. I couldn’t hold my body weight much longer.
That’s when I heard movement.
It was the sheriff. He’d followed me. I must’ve left a trail of broken branches or scattered leaves in my wake. Below me, his hat was a small dot and he was winded, hands on his hips as he gulped pockets of air.
I needed to find balance or I would fall. I prayed the branch wouldn’t creak. I swung my legs and found purchase near the center of the tree, but they slipped toward the wasp’s nest.
The sheriff looked around, deciding which direction to take.
“Ruthie!” he called out. “I can explain! Do you think I wanted to do that?”
Then he sneezed.
Though I tried to stop, my feet slipped closer and closer, millimeter-by-millimeter, to the wasps’ nest until I knew the outcome before it happened, trying to stop but unable to, and I slid right into it, puncturing it like paper mache.
There was a Before-and-After, and the After was fierce.
The wasps stormed out of the nest, insistent, a cyclone of yellow and wings. They circled my feet, stinging uselessly at my leather shoes. Others found my socks and I felt the first sting, a dab of fire on my ankle. Others drifted to my face and hands.
The air was filled with buzzing.
They stung. Over and over.
I clenched my teeth, so wanting to scream, so wanting to fall. Anything other than the injections of acid. I shut my eyes. There was darkness and pain, more pain than I’d ever felt, a universe that kept expanding, sensation upon sensation, a reservoir of pain I’d only begun to explore.
My hands grew numb, the stings making them feel like bloated boxing gloves.
I willed myself to hold on. I pictured my hands as wire, wrapped tightly around the branch, encrusted in Superglue. Even in my mind, the wires loosened, fraying under pressure, finally snapping off.
I could hold no more.
My eyes opened.
Below me, the sheriff was gone. I released my grip, my hands covered in welts, hands that didn’t look like hands, hands that certainly didn’t feel like my hands. They were appendages, odd things at the end of my arms. I don’t know how I descended from the tree, but when my feet touched the ground, I did the only thing I could think of.
I ran.