Astray (4 page)

I sober up faster than Cody. The closer we get to his house, the more that the prospect of our punishment and what it might be looms over my head. My hands twist in my lap. I look over at Cody, fully expecting him to look worried too, but he doesn’t. He has his arm draped over the back of the seat and his eyes are closed.

He’s sleeping?

How can he sleep when he knows his dad is mad at him? I can’t wrap my head around it. Disobeying to this degree back in Mandrodage Meadows would have meant a major punishment—the kind that leaves a permanent scar. I put a hand on the rippled skin at the back of my neck again. I would know.

When the car slows and pulls into Cody’s driveway, I have to nudge him awake. He rubs his eyes and grins at me. It makes me want to shake him.
How can he treat this so lightly?

Steve heaves himself out of the car and yanks Cody’s door open. As we get out, Cody says to him, “Seriously, lay off the chocolate. You know Meg would freak out on you if she knew.” He pats Steve’s chest, right over his heart. “Okay, big man?” Steve glares at him, but his mouth keeps twitching like he wants to smile in spite of himself.

“Yeah? Well, you need to quit the white knight stuff,” Steve says as we walk past. “Not exactly keeping you out of trouble, is it?” He gives me a pointed look and I feel my face go hot.

I head for the front door, but hesitate once I’m there. I’m never sure if I should just go in or knock.

“Open it,” Cody says from behind me. I pull open the storm door, which is always unlocked.

“Hey, your hand’s shaking.” Cody moves so that the storm door is resting on his back and we’re both huddled together. “Are you scared?”

“You’re … we’re in trouble. Your parents …” I swallow and try to think of exactly how to ask him what his parents’ idea of punishment is. I haven’t told him or the sheriff about what our punishments were like back home. I’m not sure if I should. I know that if I do, the sheriff could take Will and the others away from the Community again. The Outsiders would see our punishments as brutal. It isn’t that I don’t agree, it’s just that I know that separating my friends from their families will feel even more brutal to them. “Um, how mad do you think they are on a scale of one to ten?” I finally ask.

Cody’s eyes widen and then he gives me the one look I absolutely hate. The one that says he’s feeling sorry for me. I turn away so I don’t have to see it.

“My parents will be mad, but they won’t hurt you. At the worst, Dad will yell a bit and Mom will be ‘disappointed.’ I’ll probably end up with an extra chore and no car for a bit. But you? You’ll be fine. They won’t punish you at all. Really.”

I’m relieved, but I don’t feel better, which makes no sense. I’m afraid to get punished, then disappointed because I’m not treated just like Cody? What is that? I guess maybe the special treatment emphasizes my “special project” status. I’m not family. I don’t belong, not completely.

Cody takes his key out to unlock the door and smiles at me one last time before he lets us in. We practically run right into his mom. She has the phone up to her ear. Her
face is still sleep swollen and her hair is sticking up on one side. She looks at Cody and then at me and shakes her head. “Get in here.”

Cody and I head for the kitchen. We sit at the table and wait for his mom to follow us. She’s on the phone for a minute or two more before she comes in, leans against the counter, and massages her temples. “Do you two have the slightest understanding of how stupid it was to go over there this morning?” She looks at me, and in spite of her irritation, her eyes warm a little.

Cody grabs a banana from the bowl of fruit at the center of the table. He turns it over in his hands, but doesn’t peel it. “I know, we’re sorry.”

“All that media and Libby Dickerson with her parent group protesting. Not to mention Lyla’s people. You’re lucky that a riot didn’t erupt! You could’ve been hurt. Your dad had enough to worry about out there. This wasn’t the day for a stunt like this.” She’s talking mainly to Cody.

Cody sighs and finally peels his banana. He shoves half of it in his mouth in one bite. I watch him chew. I don’t think he knows what to tell her.

“I’m sorry. It was my idea. I just … needed to see for myself.…” I trail off. She’ll never understand. Pioneer isn’t even Pioneer to them. He’s Alan Cross, just some man with a criminal record, not a messiah.

“Believe it or not, I do get it, Lyla.” Cody’s mom comes over to sit with us, puts her hand on my arm. “But today wouldn’t have brought you closure in the best of
circumstances. It’s going to take time. You have to be patient. One day, honey, you’ll get it. You’re such a strong girl. You’ll make it through this, I don’t doubt that at all.” Her smile is so warm, so … motherly. It makes my heart hurt. My own mom wouldn’t have reacted like this. Ever.

I want to cry, but I clench my teeth and hold it back. If I start, she’ll be over here hugging me and smoothing my hair and that’ll just make me feel worse. My family will never be anything like Cody’s. While I’m happy that for the past couple of months I’ve been able to pretend to be a part of their family, I’m not. At some point I’ll be returned to my own parents. I can’t afford to get used to being treated this way.

“Okay, look, Lyla’s had a trying morning, so I’m not going to belabor the point”—she stops to give us each a pointed look—“
this
time. But I won’t have you two sneaking out of the house again, understand? If I feel like I can’t trust you, I’ll have to rethink this arrangement.” She doesn’t come right out and say that she means my living here, but she may as well have. I get it.

“So, that’s it?” Cody looks at her hopefully.

She laughs out loud. “Uh, no. Your dad’s going to assign you some shifts at the station
and
I’m drafting you both into working the Winter Festival. I still need a few attendants at the ice-skating rink.”

Cody’s mom is in charge of this big charity festival that the town puts on to raise money for the fire and sheriff stations. She’s been busy with it ever since I started living
here. Cody’s been sidestepping her pointed hints that we help out. He wouldn’t even let me volunteer. I can tell it pleases her that he has to help out now. I just don’t see how this is really a punishment.
I’ve
been dying to go to the festival ever since I heard about it. It sounds like something out of a movie. I keep envisioning giant stuffed-animal prizes and carnival games. Once or twice I even fantasized that Cody and I were riding a Ferris wheel and got stuck at the top like Fern and Henry in
Charlotte’s Web
—until I remembered that it was almost Christmas and way too cold for that sort of thing.

Cody groans loudly. “You can’t be serious.” He looks at me. “We’ll spend the entire day stuffing nasty kid feet into skates.”

I burst out laughing. I can’t help it. Cody is totally grossed out by feet. The boy can mix up a vat of fake vomit, but he can’t stomach bare toes. He’s not supposed to know that I know this. His sister told me the first night that I stayed with him. Cody looks at me, then raises his face toward the ceiling and yells, “Taylor! You suck.”

“Good morning to you too, little brother. Cranky much?” she yells down the stairs. I hear a door close upstairs and then the sound of running water. Taylor’s a “never let them see you looking less than your best” kind of girl. She won’t come down until she’s completely ready for the day.

“You’re getting off easy, son. Waking up to find you gone isn’t something I want to go through again,
understand? I’ve got too many gray hairs already,” Cody’s mom says as she gets up. She smacks his back lightly as she moves away from the table. “Now get Lyla some breakfast. I think there’s some leftover egg casserole in the fridge … if Cody’s father hasn’t eaten it all.” She heads down the hallway and toward the stairs.

Cody smiles at me. “See? Nothing to be scared of.”

Maybe not here, but when I think about what happened this morning I can’t help feeling like maybe this is the only place where that’s true.

All the Outsiders can offer is persecution and disappointment. Who in their right mind would want that?

—Julie Sturdges, member of the Community

I’m trading one disguise for another today. Yesterday it was a beard, now it’s a pound of makeup and a calculatedly casual hairstyle. If I start both days in basically the same way, what are the odds that they’ll turn out equally awful?

I glance at the clock on the dresser. It’s six forty-five. School starts in less than an hour. My first day. Ugh.
Why did I ever think I would be able to do this?
I shake my head and try to calm down.

“I can be normal. Blend in,” I tell myself. “I’ll just fake it until it happens.”

I run my hands down the sides of my jeans to try to get rid of the moisture on my palms.

“Stop fidgeting, Lyla!” Taylor says. It comes out sounding more like “Op idgeting, I-ya,” because she has a dozen bobby pins pressed between her lips.

She grabs a thin section of my hair and begins to braid it. I watch her in the dresser’s mirror before studying the
work she’s already completed on my face. I don’t look like me. My lips are all glossy pink and my eyes have these expertly smudged lines of dark brown around them. It’s like staring at a stranger, someone straight out of my best friend, Marie’s, contraband magazine collection.

Marie
.

Thinking about my best friend sends my stomach churning. She should be the one getting this makeover, especially since she would have appreciated it so much more. She should be going to school today too. She should still be alive. For a moment the thought of it, of her never getting the chance to have this day, overwhelms me and I can’t breathe.

“Okay, I’d say you’re ready. And looking rather hot, if I do say so myself.” Taylor takes a step back to admire her work, and a slow grin spreads across her face.

I stare at my reflection and tug at the snug sweater she harassed me into wearing.
Am I ready?
I’ve never had a first day at school, at least not one I can remember. Pioneer taught us all of our subjects in the clubhouse. The high school will be huge in comparison to our tiny room there.
Can I navigate a maze of hallways and kids I’ve never met before?

“School starts in half an hour!” Cody’s mom calls up the stairs, her voice full of forced brightness. I can almost picture her standing at the base of the stairs, wringing her hands together the way she does every morning. She’s big on being on time. It must be killing her that no one
is downstairs yet, but she won’t fuss—probably because she’s already guessed how nervous I am.

Taylor groans and heads downstairs. I hurry over to my bed and grab the worn leather shoulder bag that used to be my dad’s back when he worked as a structural engineer in New York, before my sister went missing and we moved out here with Pioneer. I’m using it as a book bag. He gave it to me at our last counseling session. It’s the first present he’s given me on his own … ever. He’d left a little note inside. “
Be strong. Don’t lose yourself.
” Even now I’m not sure what he meant, especially after seeing him at Pioneer’s transfer. I want it to mean that I’m supposed to stay strong against Pioneer, but it’s more likely that it means stay strong against all the Outsiders.

There’s a small click from the hallway and then a brief flash of light. Cody’s standing in the bedroom doorway with his cell phone in front of his face. His grin is so wide that the phone almost seems to rest on it.

“You look … wow.” He pulls me into his arms. I remind myself to stay loose, not to stiffen.
He’s allowed to hug me. I want him to. Pioneer isn’t watching
.

“Where are you on the nervous scale?” he asks against my hair. I close my eyes and lean into his chest so that I can hear his heart and feel the warmth radiating off him.

“Um, about a ten point five.”

“Thought you might be.” He frowns for a second, but then his face brightens. “Would it help if you wore this?”

Cody steps back and points to the T-shirt he’s
wearing—the one he had on when we met. It reminds me of him more than anything else.

“You’d let me wear it?”

“I wouldn’t offer it up unless I wanted you to,” he says.

I nod and he ducks out of it, then hands it to me. His chest is lean and tight, defined in every place it should be, and there’s a small constellation of freckles on his left shoulder. Every time I see it, I have to fight the urge to trace it with my fingers. I’m pretty sure that if I did, I’d figure out that they make a perfect Little Dipper. He’s watching me stare at him and I blush, but I don’t turn away. He grins and hands me the shirt.

“Thanks.” I take the shirt and wait, but he doesn’t turn to leave. After a slightly awkward beat of silence, his lips twitch a little and he raises his eyebrows at me.

“Well? Aren’t you gonna put it on?” He leans against his sister’s dresser and crosses his arms over his chest like he’s going to stick around and watch.

“Whatever, there’s no way!” I laugh and push him out the door. My face is flushed all the way to my ears; I can feel them starting to burn.

“You’re cute even when you’re lobster colored,” Cody says. He leans over and kisses my forehead, then turns to go.

I pull off my uncomfortably tight sweater and slip Cody’s shirt over my head. A mixture of fresh-scented deodorant and the glue he uses when he works on his movie special-effects stuff surrounds me. I breathe it in and my body starts to relax. Now that I don’t have a real
home of my own to speak of, this scent and Cody himself are the closest things I have to one.

“Lyla!” Cody’s mom calls.

“Almost ready,” I call as I put my book bag over my shoulder. But even if I’m not, it’s time.

Fifteen minutes later we’re turning down the long road that leads to Culver Creek High School. I can see a large crowd of people, cars, and news vans—almost as big as the one at the hospital yesterday morning. Cameramen huddle close to the fence that surrounds the school, their cameras pointed out toward the road, at us. It looks like Cody wasn’t the only one who wanted to capture images of my first day of school.