Chapter 11 - Ava
Ava
Tucker agreed to wait at least a week before we saw each other again, to be safe.
Since our argument over the song, I’d been so careful to protect the secret of the window, volunteering to wash them myself, keeping my room as organized and clean as possible so that my mother would only give it a quick once-over and never look close.
But yesterday she’d wandered in with her paper towel and Windex.
And she’d seen the cuts around the edges of the frame.
Her eyes went wide, the paper towel fluttering to the floor. She pressed her fingers into the cracks where the paint had once sealed it shut.
I wanted to be fierce, to tell her I had a life of my own, and soon, she’d be no part of it.
But the first sign of her wrath, eyebrows pointing toward her nose, mouth set tight, sent fear flooding through me.
I’d been careful not to anger her now that I had a secret to hide.
My notes told me she sometimes went wild, dumping drawers, clearing out closets, searching for my journals, my notes, anything that might be advising me to rebel.
As Mother lifted the window and leaned out, I pressed into the far corner of the room, wedged between my dresser and the paper flower wall.
“How many times have you left?” she asked, her voice low and menacing, like the angry dogs I sometimes saw on our walks.
I was so close. My birthday was mere weeks away.
I thought fast.
“Never. I only wanted fresh air.” The lie was smooth, convincing, and without even a waver in my voice. The fear receded. I was strong.
Mother studied me, her eyes blazing. “I don’t believe you.”
My mind raced again, and the answer clicked into place. I could kill two birds with one stone, as Tucker sometimes said.
“One of the neighbors plays their music loud. I like it. So I opened the window to hear it. That’s why I knew that song the other day.”
Something relaxed in her, her shoulders shifting down. She stood straighter.
She believed me.
“I used to have a record player,” she said, surprising me. “Then, in middle school, I used a cassette player until much later, when CDs became popular.”
“I don’t know what any of those are.” I did, actually, but I couldn’t admit that Bill’s old car didn’t have a hookup for his phone, so he sometimes played CDs. That vinyl was a thing again and Sarah’s brother had an entire collection.
Perhaps I knew more than she did. We were locked up here together, after all.
“Do you have them now?” I asked.
“That was a long time ago.” Mother picked up the paper towel and held it out. “You clean this while I get a hammer and nails.”
She was going to lock me inside again.
I quickly cleaned the window, already formulating a message to Tucker in my mind. I’m caught, and I’m stuck. But soon I’ll be eighteen, and I’ll walk out of here. I’ll get a job, and we can see each other whenever we want.
Tucker had plans. He was talking to some of Sarah’s friends who were headed to community college and looking for roommates. When he found a place, we’d apply to grocery stores or restaurants nearby that might hire us both. The idea of seeing him any time I liked was the ultimate prize.
I would not mess up so close to freedom.
Mother returned with a hammer and pounded nails into the wood surrounding the window.
She clearly had little experience with tools and almost cracked the glass.
But when she was done, four crooked, bent nails held the pane in place.
She checked, making sure it wouldn’t lift, then left me alone in the room.
I wrote Tucker, saying I couldn’t come.
But the loss of our real-life dates made my need of him stronger, until I couldn’t stand it a minute more. Only a week later, I worked the nails loose, making the holes wide enough that I could slide them in and out.
And I texted asking him to come.