Chapter Three Elsie
Chapter Three
Elsie
Elsie hated her life.
And the disaster of epic proportions was her own fault.
She flung a hair straightener into her suitcase on top of a pile of jean shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops. She was a loser, like her dad. Probably due to something in her DNA. Or maybe she’d just picked up his loser ways.
Whatever the reason, she had to get out of South Carolina. ASAP. Unlike her father, she intended to do something to fix her epic mistake.
Besides, her mom didn’t need the stress of Loser 2.0 under her roof. Rosalynn Barnwell-Yates had enough on her plate with her job, the move, the divorce, and yeah, the health stuff too. And her mom juggled all of it in a world that wasn’t even built for her.
Elsie couldn’t manage to make it through high school without wrecking her life.
Now there was nothing left for her but to jump ship and start fresh.
Hopefully with her grandmother’s help. Elsie glanced at her phone, then checked her tablet too, but still saw just the one message from Grammie after their conversation.
Leaving today. We’ll talk soon.
That was it. Nothing more. No mention of which flight she’d taken.
Or, more importantly, whether she’d told Rosalynn about Elsie’s call.
Nerves gnawing her insides, she kept packing.
She hauled her guitar case out from under the bed and skimmed her hand along the top with a reverence she didn’t dare show anyone outside this room.
She’d stumbled on the acoustic in the attic about a year ago, when her dad was packing up to leave and needed an extra suitcase.
The strings had long since popped and the case’s handle had broken right off.
She thought maybe it used to be her grandfather’s but wasn’t sure.
Something about the faded stickers on that case called to her, promising music on her terms. A way to pour out her feelings during her parents’ divorce.
Emotions she still wasn’t ready to share with anyone else.
She’d tucked the instrument away in her bedroom and searched for YouTube videos on how to re-string the instrument, bringing it back to life in the privacy of her room.
She’d fought her mother so long and hard over a deep hatred for piano lessons and practice schedules. How could she admit her new hobby to anyone?
If somebody spilled the beans, a Rosalynn-generated practice schedule would land in Elsie’s email by sunup, complete with the option to add to her digital calendar. And the question: Would you like reminders ten, fifteen, or thirty minutes before the scheduled time?
She would like no reminders. She just wanted to feel something without the weight of her mother’s expectations. That kind of grind would squash the joy right out of the instrument when she really, really needed the outlet for the garbage going on in her life.
So she practiced in secret, self-taught with videos online when her mom was at work managing a whole arts center of professionals.
Her tablet vibrated from an incoming call with her best friend’s ringtone. My only friend left.
Elsie set aside the guitar case, now secured with a bungee cord off her kayak. She snatched up the phone and hit the “Accept” button.
“Willow, I did it.” She propped the device against two stacked pizza boxes. “I called Grammie this morning. I told her I can’t live here anymore, and she’s going to help. I’m packing now.”
At least she hoped Grammie intended to plead her case.
Her grandmother had promised to get the first available flight, but before they could talk more, Grammie had to hang up because of an incoming call from a doctor looking after her husband.
Elsie’s heart squeezed as she looked at the photo taped to her mirror, snapped when they’d made a special trip for her dippy piano recital.
She stuffed down a twinge of guilt over taking Grammie away from Ace’s bedside when he didn’t have much longer left to live and reminded herself the stress would be so much worse for everybody if the truth came out.
Besides, it wasn’t like she’d asked Grammie to leave Ace and fly here. She’d just asked for some help.
Why hadn’t Grammie called her back?
Willow Hererra stared at Elsie from the screen, brushing her damp hair as she sat cross-legged on her bed. “Wait, isn’t this happening kinda fast? Don’t you have to do legal stuff before you can go since you’re not eighteen yet? My mom would call the cops in five minutes if I just up and left.”
“I found a form online to emancipate myself.” She kicked through a pile of laundry and stubbed her toe on one of Dusty’s chewy bones on her way to the dresser.
She didn’t dare think of how much she would miss that goofball.
“Don’t you still have to go through the courts and stuff?”
“Grammie is a lawyer.” She dumped a drawer of underwear into her suitcase. “She’ll help me with the process.”
“Are you sure you want to bring your grandmother into this?” Willow asked skeptically.
“She’s your mom’s mom. The last time I sassed my mother, Grandma said she would ‘yank a knot in my tail’ if I ever did that again.
And that was just for sassing. I don’t wanna think about what she would have done if I threatened to leave. ”
“Mom and Grammie argue all the time.” Lately Elsie had been too busy hiding from her mother to get in an argument. Her mom had a spooky Spider-Sense at figuring stuff out, and some secrets needed to stay buried. “I think Grammie will take my side.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that. There’s a parent code with my mom and my grandmother. They might trash-talk each other, but nobody else can.”
Anxiety left Elsie so lightheaded she tripped over a high-top sneaker. She sank onto the edge of the unmade bed, flopped onto her back, and grabbed the tablet. “I’m certain. Grammie’s flying here to get me today.”
Well, her grandmother was flying to the Charleston airport, but she hadn’t specified if Elsie would be coming home with her.
Eyes wide, Willow paused brushing her hair. “In the middle of a hurricane?”
“It’s a tropical storm.”
“Every hurricane is at the start.”
Elsie thumbed open the weather app on her phone just to confirm. “From what I see there’s no change to the intensity. It’s not even predicted to be a Category One.”
Although the path had shifted for a direct hit to their coastal town. And the last tropical storm turned really fierce without much warning. Elsie glanced out her window, where the waves crested higher, some splashing over the dock. She was like a rotten-karma magnet.
“My parents aren’t taking chances with our property.
They are locking things down tight—we’ve been filling sandbags in case there’s a storm surge and Mom got extra gas for the generator.
I had to take a quick shower in case the power goes out.
” Willow darted her eyes toward her door.
“I’m not going to be able to hide in my room much longer. ”
A rocking chair on the porch knocked ever so slightly against Elsie’s window. She should probably start hauling stuff into the garage. Grammie always said a swaying rocking chair meant bad luck. “If they’re so worried, why don’t they just evacuate?”
“Dad says it’s too tough to transport all the animals.
He worries about getting stuck in a traffic jam with the horse trailer.
” The Herreras had two Thoroughbreds, four rescue dogs, and a three-legged cat.
Lucky Willow. “We’ll just hunker down here.
I wouldn’t count on your grandmother making it anytime soon. ”
Elsie smiled for the first time since that awful Monday a month ago, a.k.a. the worst day of her life, the cherry on the sundae of a crummy year. “I pity the person who tries to say no to Grammie.”
“Are you, uh, going to tell them what’s really going on with, well, you know . . .”
“No. Absolutely not. They’ll call the school.” Her throat tightened until she struggled to swallow. Her family’s counselor called it a panic thing. “Then everyone will know what happened.”
“I think you’re right not to say anything. Your secret is safe with me. No matter what.” Willow looked away again, then back at the screen. “Hey, my parents are hollering for me to help with the horses. Some, uh, people from the neighborhood have come over to help.”
Some people.
Willow’s friends.
Elsie’s former friends, from before her life blew up.
“Sure, go ahead.” She had packing to finish and a plan to make if Grammie didn’t come through.
Although now, after talking to Willow, Elsie worried her grandmother might have another motive for coming, to gang up on her. The adults around here hadn’t been all that trustworthy lately.
Willow hesitated. Her forehead furrowed like she really cared. “I’ll call you later, though. Okay?”
Elsie’s throat closed again. “Thanks. Go make those sandbags.”
She disconnected, then hugged the iPad to her chest hard against the ache that wouldn’t go away.
More than a pain, it was a fear that grew heavier every day.
She had to leave. She just couldn’t bear going back to her high school for even one more minute.
Walking down the hall, hearing the whispers and the laughs, feeling the eyes on her.
Yesterday, she’d hidden in the library during lunch rather than go to the cafeteria and risk a day when even Willow wouldn’t sit with her.
A tear trickled down her cheek and into her ear.
Sniffling, she scrubbed her wrist under her nose.
She’d never been popular, but she’d embraced being different, a part of a quirky pack of other misfits.
Like science nerd Willow. Band geek Jareth.
The artsy theater twins. Then there were the floaters who’d been booted out of the popular crowd, like mathlete Porter, who hung their heads as they asked to sit at the misfit table like it was a consolation prize.
Elsie took pride in welcoming them, in being the better person.
Now she was a floater with nowhere safe to land. Worst of all, she’d been betrayed by one of those trusted few in her circle of friends. Someone who’d sold her out for a little piece of popularity, unleashing a storm of bullying that left her desperate to escape.
Please, Grammie. Please, Grammie. Please.
A vehicle rumbled outside, slowing. Her gut knotted, and she was afraid to hope. It was probably just her mom. Except it didn’t sound like the van. The engine certainly didn’t sound like her dad’s convertible. Maybe it was a turnaround since they lived at the end of the street.
Flinging aside the tablet, she rolled from the bed and to her feet, peering out the window just as an unfamiliar sedan stopped out front.
An Uber ID card was perched on the dash.
The back door of the compact car swung open, and an arm extended holding a one-of-a-kind briefcase.
The vintage piece was covered in needlepoint cabbage roses.
A purse charm dangled from the handle, the kind with a frame for a family photo.
Grammie had arrived.
Elsie stuffed down the shame sweeping over her at the thought of her grandmother knowing the truth of why she needed to leave.
Or the humiliating prospect of Grammie seeing those naked photos, taken by someone threatening to ruin her life.