Chapter Three
THREE
I sleep so soundly that when my alarm goes off at seven, I startle awake, looking around in confusion. Then I remember everything that’s happened, and I lie there, taking time to mentally shift from panic to resolve.
Focus on the good. It’s the first day in months that I’ve woken without worrying whether Child Services will knock on my door.
The first day I’ve woken without immediately calculating how much money I have and how much I need to get through another month.
Without wondering whether I can work more hours without my grades suffering.
Today I can eat a real breakfast, via room service. Mom always said room service is ridiculously overpriced. Dad would pick us up dinner instead, and we’d eat in bed while watching TV, which she said was the point of room service anyway.
I order coffee and a smoothie plus an egg sandwich and French toast. I tell them I’d also like either an apple or a banana. Neither is on the menu, and I may end up actually spending ten dollars for a banana, but it’s not my money.
While I wait for breakfast, someone drops off five gold boxes with red ribbons, which makes me feel like a princess on Christmas morning.
Inside those boxes, I find clothing and a note reading “You need clothing, and I don’t know your style, so here’s a selection.
” There are five basic outfits, which amusingly fall into the category of “classic teen looks.” There’s jock, with an athleisure crop top and leggings.
Prep, with a collared shirt and khakis. Popular crowd, with heels and a miniskirt.
Goth girl, with a little black dress and Doc Martens.
And vintage, with, yep, everything old that’s new again.
I’ve never been a “type.” I always just wanted to disappear.
Is that what I want now? To hide in the back and coast to graduation?
I’m not sure, but I feel like maybe it’s time to try something new. To be my own person, like Mom was.
I try on all the looks. Back when I took dance classes, my teachers were devastated that I had no actual talent, because apparently, I’m built like a ballerina, even though I’m short—barely five two.
After my involuntary semi-starvation, I’m paler and thinner than ever, my eyes huge in my face.
So, yeah, prep doesn’t really suit me any better than the crop top and leggings.
As for the high heels and miniskirt, I’d need to drink a whole lotta shakes first.
Vintage suits me, so I definitely want more of that.
As for gothic, it shouldn’t work. My look is the opposite of goth. And yet…
I turn in the mirror. I’m wearing the Docs and a gorgeous black minidress, with lace shoulders and a tiered skirt. Goth always made me think of hiding in black, but this is not hiding, and I really like it. Fun, flirty goth.
When breakfast arrives, I tip the delivery person twenty bucks. I’d give a hundred, but that might make them nervous, fearing I’ve swiped it from Daddy’s wallet and he’ll demand it back. The breakfast included a hefty service charge, so I figure an extra twenty is fine.
By the time Cecilia knocks, I’ve eaten, dressed, and packed. I let her in, and she whistles at my outfit. “That is not what I would have picked, but damn, girl, it works. You want more of that?”
“Yes, please. I also took the vintage, but I want actual vintage. Not modern reproductions.”
“Done and done.”
She fires off a note on her phone. As for the outfits I didn’t choose, she assures me they’ll find good homes. A valet takes our luggage, and we follow at a leisurely pace, Cecilia asking how I slept and such. When we reach the elevator, the valet is already gone on ahead.
“You have your driver’s license,” she says as the doors close. Statement, not question. She’s done her research.
“I got it because I took a job last summer that required one but didn’t need me to actually drive. Mom and I used public transit.”
“So you can drive but haven’t?”
“Pretty much.”
“All right then. I’ll drive us out of the city, and then you can take over.”
Before I can ask what she means, we’re at the drop-off circle and walking to a Jeep that’s fancier than any Jeep has a right to be.
“This is yours?” I ask.
She chuckles. “Not really my style. But I’m guessing it might be yours.”
I glance over. “Did I mention I’ve never actually driven outside lessons?”
“Don’t worry. It’s the top-end model, which means it has the best safety features money can buy. An upcharge for side airbags? That’s for normal people.”
“Whose lives are worth far less?”
“Apparently.”
We exchange a knowing eye roll, and I shake my head. When I move toward the Jeep, squinting against the sun, Cecilia clears her throat. I turn, and she’s holding out a pair of sunglasses.
“I have others,” she says, “but I think these will suit you.”
I take them and glance at the name. Cartier. Another shake of my head, but I put them on, and they do help with the bright southern sunshine.
I open the passenger door and inhale the scent of leather.
“Fair warning,” Cecilia calls from the driver’s door. “You won’t have much opportunity to use a vehicle at Westdale. Even on weekends, your time isn’t really your own. But I thought you might like the idea of having one.”
For escape. Knowing I could leave.
“I appreciate that,” I say. “But I’m really not sure I should be driving anything this expensive.”
“Pfft. It’s fine. We have the best insurance money can buy.”
I laugh and climb in the passenger side as the valet loads our bags.
—
Savannah had matched my image of the Deep South, with its mix of old and new.
Once out of the city and on back roads, I drive, and I’m focused on the road, but when I glance up, I see live oaks, dripping kudzu, and endless orchards.
Cecilia catches me eyeing roadside stands advertising peaches and pecans.
“I’m not sure Westdale would let you bring those in,” she says. “They aren’t organic.”
At my look, she says, “Kidding. You’re a Chamberlain. You could bring in a puppy and they’d only ask whether you need anyone to walk it for you.”
I give a slow smile.
“No puppies,” she says. “That was a joke. Well, not a joke, but not an invitation either.” She pauses. “If you really want to check out a roadside stand, there’s a good one in a couple of miles.”
When I slow at the next stand, she says, “Keep going,” and then directs me to one shortly after we turn onto a gravel road.
The stand is small and doesn’t look promising, but Cecilia hands me a twenty, and I get out.
I walk over to a rickety wooden table with produce and a box with a slot and a sign that says “Pay here. Thieves will be shot.”
I glance back at Cecilia, but she’s looking down, probably at her phone. I peer along the driveway. The house is only about fifty feet away, and I’d really rather give my money to a human and not, you know, risk being shot, but there’s no one around.
I select a bag of pecans and a quart of peaches. I presume I can get change out of the box, but I’m not opening it, in case someone watching from inside thinks I’m stealing. Then I realize I no longer need change, and I stuff the twenty in and turn back to the Jeep.
Before I can take another step, an engine roars. My head jerks up, hands clenching my pecans and peaches, expecting a car racing down that driveway to stop me. Instead, it’s an old pickup coming along the road.
The truck is moving faster than I’d ever drive on gravel. It’s so coated in dirt that I can’t even tell the color, and the windows are tinted darker than can possibly be legal.
I turn and keep walking toward the Jeep.
“You!” a woman shouts, and I spin, just as something whizzes past my ear. Pain explodes, and I drop to the ground, peaches and pecans going everywhere.
“I paid!” I shout. “Check the box! I paid!”
Cecilia gets to me first, helping me up with a “What the hell?” Her hand touches my ear, and I feel the sting of it and the hot drip of blood. I realize the projectile only nicked my ear, that “explosion” of pain being mostly shock.
“What happened?” a voice says, footsteps coming with an uneven gait. I look up to see a portly woman with a steel-gray bun. My gaze flies to her hands, expecting to see a rifle. They’re empty.
I swallow. “I paid. I put a twenty in the box.”
The woman stops, breathing hard. Then her eyes widen. “Oh, you poor child. You thought I was calling you out for not paying? I was making sure you got change. I forgot to add it this morning.”
“We don’t need change,” Cecilia says and then adds, “Thank you, though.” Her finger touches my ear again. “What happened?”
“S-something hit me. I heard it whiz by. Like a…like a bullet. And I thought…. The sign says—” I swallow.
“Thieves will be shot,” Cecilia mutters, proving she has indeed stopped here before.
“Oh, lord,” the woman says. “I am so sorry. It’s my husband’s idea of a joke. Well, not really a joke. A warning, I guess. But we’d never actually shoot anyone.”
I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself. “The truck. It must have spit up gravel and a stone clipped my ear and…” I laugh shakily as my face flames with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“You said you heard a whizzing sound,” Cecilia presses.
“The rock moving fast, I guess, like a bullet?” I look at the woman. “I’m really sorry.”
“Let me get you a bandage for that ear.”
“It’s fine,” Cecilia says, but the woman is already hobbling to the house.
Cecilia helps me to the truck and sits me on the passenger seat, sideways with my legs hanging out. She gives me a tissue for the blood and then tells me to wait as she paces around where I fell, squinting and bending and examining a nearby tree.
“Are you actually looking for a bullet?” I say.
“I’m being thorough.”
“I made a mistake. The sign freaked me out. We definitely have guns in Chicago, but putting up a sign like that would be asking for trouble. I understand that it’s different here in the countryside, and I overreacted.”
She keeps scanning the ground.
“It was a stone,” I say. “Thrown up by a pickup going way too fast on a gravel road.”
The woman comes out with a bandage, and while Cecilia applies it, the woman brings a fresh bag of pecans and basket of peaches, and tries to give us our money back, but I’ll only take the produce, with thanks and apologies for overreacting.
She still fusses until Cecilia assures her it’s fine and thanks her for her time.
“Would you drive, please?” I ask Cecilia when the woman finally leaves.
Cecilia nods, her face tight, and when she rounds the Jeep, she peers down the road. Then she shakes her head and gets into the driver’s seat.