5
“You Have to Make It Right”
I can’t believe you messed up like that!” Mary shouted at me. “I can’t believe you did that! Now you’re going to have to pay for it, and now I’m going to be in trouble with Chet.”
I stared at her, unable to figure out what I had done wrong.
“I’m going to have to pay for the mess you made, and I’ll be in so much trouble.” The venom in her eyes shocked me because Mary had never spoken that way to me before. “It’s all your fault!” She said those words several times and she sounded just like my dad.
I felt bad right then, asking myself, What did I do? How had I messed up? I couldn’t understand what was going on. Mary had promised me that it would be fun, but it didn’t feel like fun.
Because she had enticed me with her false friendship, I started denying my feelings; her love and acceptance were more important. At that age, I was willing to do whatever she wanted to make it better. And as a survivor of abuse, I grew up believing that my own thoughts and feelings didn’t matter and should be discounted.
“I won’t mess up again,” I said. “I promise. I’m sorry—”
“Okay then,” she said. “I’ll forgive you, but you have to make it right.”
“Please, just tell me what to do. I’ll do anything! I promise.” The tears began falling and I couldn’t stop them. It hurt so much that my best friend was angry because I had ruined things for her. “Just—just tell me what to do—”
“All right.” Although her voice softened, it still had an edge to it. “I’m going to give you a chance, and you’d better not mess up again.”
“I won’t! I promise!”
“Just remember that you owe me. Now you have to make it up to me.”
“I will, I’ll make it up—”
“I’m in trouble. A lot of trouble.” She didn’t add “because of you,” but I felt it.
I promised again, and just as I turned to walk away, she said in a strong, low voice, “I know where you live. I know who your mom is, so you’d better promise me that you’re not going to tell anyone.”
“Oh, I’m not going to tell,” I said. “I promise. I’m sorry for the way I behaved.”
Mary didn’t have to say much to manipulate me. She had my friendship and she had my loyalty. I was scared, but I was more concerned that she wouldn’t like me anymore. At age thirteen, I was still naïve. The money part confused me, and I wondered why Mary would want to sell me to that big-bellied man. I was afraid to ask.*
It didn’t occur to me that the sex traffickers wouldn’t let $550 slip past them.
Back in our room at the hotel, I didn’t tell my mom what happened. But like any good mother, she could see my eyes were red from crying.
“What happened?” she asked. “I thought you were with Mary.”
“I don’t know, Mom. We were just playing a game.”
“What happened?”
I shrugged as if to pass it off. “It’s no big deal. I messed up. I don’t know what I did wrong. Mary got mad at me—”
“I don’t have a good feeling about that girl anymore,” she said and embraced me. “I liked her at first, but lately—”
“No, it’s my fault. I messed up.”
“I don’t want you to hang around her again.” Her parenting instincts kicked in, even though she had no idea what had happened. It might have been too late, but at least she exerted authority. My mother’s protective love enabled me to sleep that night.
Whatever dumb thing I had done, I was sure I could make it up to Mary.
By late afternoon the next day, Mary hadn’t come, but other kids did. I’d met several of them and knew they were Mary and Chet’s friends. We hadn’t done anything together, but we knew each other.
One of them, Christina, was sixteen. I hadn’t become friendly with her, because most of the time she was on drugs. When we tried to talk, she was usually stoned—like some zombie. That day when Christina came around, she seemed about half awake, which was more than she usually was. “I heard you messed up.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
“You messed up with Mary. Big time.”
After I apologized—again—to her about my behavior, Christina said, “You have to make it up to Mary. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know,” I said, even though I had no idea what I was supposed to do.
“Get dressed. Come with me if you want to make it up to Mary. Right now! I’m going to take you out for some fun. A party, you know. You’ll have a good time.”
“Okay.”
“It’ll be fun, I promise you. Mary said you have to go with me if you want to make it better.”
“I’m not allowed to hang around her anymore, so I can’t go.”
“Oh, but you have to make it up to her. You know, because if not, you can’t show your face around here. And no one will like you. Just tell your mom you’re with me. It will be okay if you tell her that. I promise you, we’ll have a lot of fun. We’ll have you home before you know it.”
“Okay, I guess so.”
“See, you’re still a little girl and that’s why you messed up,” she said. “We want to help you so you won’t do it again. You need to learn a few things. Like a big girl.”
“Get dressed and I’ll tell you. Put on something nice. Just tell your mother that you’re with me and you won’t be gone long.”
I hurried inside and told my mom I was going to hang out for a little while with Christina, who was closer to my age. “She’s a nice girl who lives around here,” I said, even though I didn’t know where Christina lived and I didn’t know her very well.
“Is Mary going to be there?”
“Oh no, definitely not.”
“All right,” Mom said.
I didn’t mention that Christina was sixteen years old, that she was on drugs, or that she was a friend of Mary’s.
I believed we would be having fun like grown-ups or big girls, because that’s the way Christina made it sound. If I went with her, she promised she’d fix everything and make it up to Mary for whatever happened in the hotel room that had caused her to be mad at me.
I got dressed in my best dress and I wore my black pumps—my big-girl shoes with mini heels. I looked like I was going out to dinner or somewhere fancy.
I came out of the hotel, ready for our fun adventure, and Christina was waiting. She greeted me and said, “We’re going to go in a car.”
“Oh no, I can’t go anywhere in a car.” I was afraid to go and just as afraid to say no to Christina.
“If you want to make things right, come with me and I’ll fix things.” She pushed away any objections and kept assuring me that everything would be fine. “And we’ll have you back home in less than an hour.” Christina opened the door.
“If you want to make it right with Mary, you’d better come with us.”
“I don’t want to go in the car.”
“Just get in the car!” the driver said. “Now!”
“Either do this,” Christina said, “or you’re going to be in even more trouble with Mary.”
“I guess I have to go,” I said to myself. I got into the backseat of a Honda Civic. There was a male driver I didn’t know. Christina may have told me his name, but I wasn’t listening. Something about getting into that car didn’t feel right, but I didn’t know what it was or how to refuse.
I stared at the driver, who was at least eighteen years old. I didn’t like his voice or the way he stared at me.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out,” the driver said and laughed.
At first he drove around in circles. I know that because there’s a bridge from Miami Beach to the mainland in North Miami Beach. We went under the bridge twice.
“Why are you guys driving around like this? Where are we going? We’re going around in circles, and I’m feeling dizzy.”
“I’m looking for the place for our party.” He drove around another five minutes and asked if I recognized where we were.
“Yes,” I told him.
That also seemed strange. Didn’t they know where they were going? Why would they ask me such questions? He kept driving. Then he drove over the bridge and made several turns.
“I don’t know where I am now,” I said. It didn’t occur to me that they were trying to disorient me so I couldn’t find my way back.
Finally, Christina pointed to a convenience store up ahead and mumbled something. The driver pulled into the parking lot. I started to move, but Christina said, “He’s going to get directions.”
“Hey, Kat, do you like fruit drinks?” he asked as he started to get out.
“Yeah, sure I do.”
“I’m going to buy wine coolers,” he said, and this time his voice sounded friendly, sweet even. “Do you like wine coolers?”
“I don’t know. I never drank any.”
“I’ll buy you one. You’ll really like it.”
He got out of the car, went inside, and brought back a four-pack of wine coolers. I thought that was all part of the package of doing big-girl stuff to make things right with Mary.
A few minutes later, he pulled into a vacant parking lot and stopped the car. He leaned back toward me with a wine cooler in his right hand and a small, round, white pill in his left. “Here. Take this pill and wash it down with the wine cooler.”
“What kind of pill is it? I don’t want to take a pill.”
“If you don’t take it,” he said calmly and stared right at me, “you’re not going home.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Eight o’clock,” Christina said.
“It’s too late. I need to go home,” I said. “I have a curfew, and Mom will be really mad if I’m late.” I didn’t have a curfew, but it was the only thing I could think to say. “I can’t play this game anymore. I have to go home.”
“You’re not going home—not yet.”
“You take this pill or you’re never going home! And you’ll never see your mom again!”
“I don’t want to—”
“It’s okay, Kat. There’s nothing wrong with the pill,” Christina said. “It’ll make you feel better, that’s all.”
I shook my head.
“If you do this, it will show Mary that you really want to make it up to her.”
Still I hesitated. “I do want to make it up to Mary.”
Christina looked at the driver. “Do you think one is enough?”
“Yeah, she’s just a kid. One will do the trick.”
I didn’t understand what they meant, but no matter what I said, I knew I’d have to swallow the pill, because they would force me if I didn’t.
“Okay,” I said and took the pill from his hand, washing it down with the wine cooler. “Now take me home, please.”
“We’ll wait a few minutes,” the driver said.
I didn’t say anything, but I wondered why we needed to wait.
After perhaps five minutes, the driver opened my door. “Get out!”
“Why? I don’t know where I am and—”
“You’re going to feel a little sleepy,” Christina said, “but don’t worry. If you get too sleepy, just lie down. We’ll come back to get you.”
The pill had begun to take effect, and I was disoriented. I saw them get out and wondered if we were at the place for the party. I think they did that only so I wouldn’t be afraid to get out of the car. But as soon as I was outside the car and saw what a lonely, empty place it was, I said, “Are you going to leave me? How will I get home?”
“We’ll be back.”
Those were the last words I heard. They both got back inside the Civic, the door slammed shut, and the driver screeched away. As I watched, I tried to call out, but I couldn’t. I became dizzy. Weak.
Unable to stand up, I collapsed on the gravel. As I lay on the rough ground, I thought, I’m going to die here at age thirteen. I haven’t even lived yet and this is how I’m going to die.
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*Mary had probably been recruited as a young girl and eventually became a recruiter, which is a common practice in child sex trafficking.