Hush Money (23 page)

“Mom, Ella sprayed perfume on me when I was
sleeping….” Not that I expected her to do anything about it; she
never did.

“Arizona, she did play with your perfume
bottle, but I asked her to put it back in your bag. It does smell
lovely. What is it?”

My
perfume? It was certainly not
mine, but decided to let that slide for now. I needed to know what
I was doing here and where we were going.

“Mom, where are we? Where are we going?
Where’s Dad?”

“Home, of course,” she said as she turned up
the music.

Good, she must have come back to Princeton
early to pick me up from school. It was a bit odd though. I clearly
remember Dad picking me up. My eyes felt unbearably heavy again, so
I closed them and allowed the sedative sounds of the raindrops lull
me off to sleep.

I began thinking about the SAT’s, what a
disaster! It was my fourth time taking them, after having done both
the Kaplan and the Princeton Review classes. Not that I had paid
any attention, both courses had been numbingly boring. I guess I
could kiss the Ivy League colleges goodbye.

I decided to cast off those negative
thoughts for happier one–my last hockey game. Now there is
something I’m really good at.

When asked to describe myself (like I was
for the local newspaper last year), I always reply, “I’m Arizona
Stevens, ice hockey player at Princeton High School.” Ice hockey
defines me and I’m very proud to be the only girl who has ever
played for Princeton High varsity hockey team. My pride and joy is
my hard-earned varsity jacket, it’s got my name and number: I’m
number 11 and I play defense.

I’m sixteen and petite for my age. The
promised (by Mom) growth spurt I was looking forward to seems to be
eluding me. I’m about half the size of my team members who are
fairly big guys. However, despite being small, I have strong
shoulders and arms, and can pack a serious punch. And I’m not
exaggerating when I say that I can look after myself. No one messes
with me.

I wouldn’t describe myself as “pretty” even
though my mom sometimes does, but I think that’s just to annoy me.
I do like my hazel eyes but hate my full, wide lips. I always wear
my straight, brown hair in a ponytail and have worked hard at
perfecting a mean, snarly look. Although I do sometimes forget
myself and smile, and that’s when my very irritating mom says that
I’m
so pretty
! Pretty is not going to help me when I’m
surrounded by enormous hockey players all coming at me…. My snarl
wins!

My parents have been separated for a while,
which suits me just fine. Life was pretty horrendous living in
their war zone, although I must admit I did my very best to
contribute to the battles. Now I live with my dad, Dillard. He is
totally hopeless at getting anything done, which is ideal as I’m
not that into getting things done either.

My mom is a perfectionist. Neither Dad nor I
could stand it and we now live together in a house that we haven’t
bothered to straighten up for eight months. How cool’s that! Mom
and Ella moved to California a while ago, so I really only have to
put up with them during vacations when they always move to my
mother’s Princeton apartment. She’s been dangling that apartment as
a carrot to get me to study. There’s no chance of me getting into
Princeton University though, based on today’s SAT performance and
my rather embarrassing GPA. It’s a pity really as they do have a
great ice hockey team, ah well!

Although I look and feel like an
all-American teenager, I’m actually British. I was born and raised
in Wimbledon, London, until we moved to New Jersey nine years ago
when Dad was relocated. My parents’ marriage was over by then, but
Mom decided to stay with Dad, as she was pregnant with Ella at the
time.

It was hard. New school, new accent. I made
sure to promptly get rid of my posh British accent to fit in
better. But I wasn’t really happy until I got to high school. I
love high school, well parts of it anyway. The work is annoying.
After all, I just want to play hockey. What’s the point of
calculus?

My school is not cliquey like the ones
described in movies and books. There are no separate tables for the
football team, geeks, and losers. I hang with the hockey team when
I want easy, uncomplicated camaraderie, but try to hang with the
girls as much as possible. After all, I don’t want people thinking
that I’m weird in any way.

It’s hard work being friends with girls,
though. There are so many complicated issues and all that talk
about shopping! Honestly, who cares? My best girl pals, or BFFs,
are Monica, Ariele and Simla. Monica and Ariele are not talking at
the moment (some thing about Monica buying a dress that Ariele
spotted first), which is annoying. Simla seems pretty issueless.
She’s super smart and seems to spend her entire life studying.

I consider myself a fairly normal teen,
although I do have anger management issues when my mother is
around. Perhaps
issue
is putting it mildly. It’s been a huge
problem, one that landed me in behavior therapy, and almost on
meds, after a huge overreaction by Mom to some minor structural
damage to the house. Big deal. What are a few broken doors and
bashed in walls in the grand scheme of life? I have to be able to
deal with the hatred I feel for her some way, right? Many have
tried (and failed) to get to the bottom of this conflict with my
mother. I can’t put my finger on it. I guess, simply put, I don’t
like anything about her. She’s a pain. The worst thing is that now,
any signs of
inappropriate
behavior and she’s quick to call
my therapist. My biggest fear is in-house treatment. That would
really mess up my hockey schedule. So, I really watch myself, I
never react to anything around her.

It’s a huge relief having her out of my
everyday life. So, life is good. I’m well respected at school. I
get along just fine with Dad. The only thing missing in my life is
a car. I really, really want one. I’ll be seventeen in July and
will
need
a car… not a lame car, but a super cool car. I’m
thinking a Dodge Charger. Another upside of my parents being
separated is that it’s easier to get what I want out of them, so
I’m thinking that the Charger is as good as mine.

The next step in my life, as my mother
endlessly reminds me, will be trying to get into college. I really
want to play college ice hockey. However, it seems like colleges
want you to have good grades. Here is where I’m really screwed. I
blew off my classes and my grades are worse than poor, just good
enough to be allowed to play on the varsity team. I guess I’ll be
retaking the SAT’s again.

My head suddenly lunged forward and then
back again hard on to the seat. What seriously bad driving! The car
must be on a rough road. Mom was having a hard time keeping the car
in control. I held on to the seat in front of me with one hand and
protected Gertrude with the other. Ella did not wake up despite
being thrown around in her seat. The car came to a sudden stop and
my mother turned the engine off.

“Girls, wake up, we’re home!”

It was still dark, still raining heavily. I
looked at the dashboard clock, it was three in the morning.

“Arizona, can you wake Ella?” Mom asked.

I tried to take a peek through the window to
see where we were, but they were fogging up now that Mom had turned
off the engine. I could barely see, but one thing was for sure,
this is not
home
– not mine anyway.

This didn’t look the least bit familiar. I
tried to clear my mind to figure out where we were. I so wanted to
scream at Mom but held my breath until the feeling passed. All I
could see were dark, looming trees through the torrents of
raindrops. I could vaguely make out the dark shape of what looked
like a building; it was too hazy to make anything much out.

“Get your wellies from the back and put them
on. It’s muddy out there,” Mom instructed in her usual direct,
no-nonsense way. I was slightly annoyed at her use of the word
wellies
and wanted to shout
rain boots
, not wellies,
we’re in the U.S. now! However, looking around I sort of wondered.
I looked around for the wellies…. no
rain boots
! I couldn’t
see a thing so I switched the lights on. This was definitely not
the H3; it looked more like an H2. Mom must have changed cars.

I turned around and got up to have a look in
the back. It was full of junk, mainly ice hockey gear, but I
managed to scramble around and found some boots. One of my nails
broke as I dislodged the boots from under a box, I instinctively
went to put my finger in my mouth. I stopped as I noticed my
pink-tipped nails. I was horrified. What had they done to me? I was
going to kill Ella. Spritzing me with cologne while I was asleep
was one thing, but sticking fake nails to me…well that was a
flayable offense!

“Ella, wake up!” I yelled irritated.

She stirred, and stretched as she yawned.
She looked at me through sleepy eyes and muttered, “What’s up?”
Then she looked at Gertrude and smiled, “Hello, doggie!”

Gertrude wagged her tail and then settled
back to sleep.

“Put on your rain boots, Ella,” I said
impatiently as I handed a pink pair over to her.

“Thanks,” she muttered as she took them and
clumsily put them on, stretched and closed her eyes again.

“Mom, where are we?” I asked annoyed.

“Home, silly!” she said as she spoke into
her cell phone.

Home? It didn’t make any sense. This was not
my home. I held my breath again.

Mom turned off her cell and looked over at
us. She looked different. The lighter hair made her look
younger.

“Wait for Dad to come out to the car, he’ll
bring some umbrellas,” she said.

Phew! Dad was here. Everything was going to
be ok after all. There would be a simple explanation.

There was a sharp knock on Mom’s window. She
opened the door. I was expecting Dad but was shocked. It was a man
I didn’t recognize. He had dark hair and blue eyes that gleamed as
he kissed Mom right on her mouth. Disgusting. He scooped her up in
his arms with a laugh as she ruffled his hair. Ella shouted a
delighted, “Dad!” as she tried, unsuccessfully, to scramble to the
front seat. Gertrude was wagging her tail furiously, but thankfully
showed restraint and stayed by my side.

“Hi, girls!” The stranger said with a smile.
“Let me carry your mom in and I’ll be back for you guys in a
jiffy!”

They disappeared. I felt a sense of panic.
Where was my cell phone? I felt for it in my hoodie pocket where I
usually keep it, but couldn’t find it. I felt around for it on the
floor, fruitlessly. This was getting scary. I looked over at Ella.
She didn’t look the least bit concerned as she traced stars on the
fogged up window and tried to look outside. There was a second
knock on Ella’s window before her door opened and the man appeared
again.

“Dad, look at the doggie!” Ella said
excitedly.

Dad? This was the second time she had called
him that; I thought I’d misheard her before. Had she lost her mind?
It was late and dark, but this man looked nothing like Dad. This
man was over six feet tall, dark hair, striking blue eyes. Our dad
is a balding blond with brown eyes and a beer gut (not from beer,
but from those enormous New Jersey breakfasts). I felt a sense of
panic wash over me again and could hardly breathe.

This had to be a dream! Silly me! A post SAT
nightmare… what else could it be? I would just have to dream it
out.

However, I found my mouth saying, “Stay,
Ella. Don’t go anywhere with this man!”

“You silly!” she said as she clambered into
his arms.

“Come on, Arizona, it’s wet and muddy. Can
you carry the dog in?” he asked looking at me, clearly puzzled, as
he picked Ella up.

I looked over at Gertrude. She was wagging
her tail at the man, but then she wags her tail at anyone. Ok, so I
was dreaming. One of those dreams where one thinks one wakes up,
but one’s still actually fast asleep. I hate those kinds of
dreams!

I lifted Gertrude into my arms and followed
Ella and the stranger through the muddy darkness. My feet sank into
the ground with each step, it was heavy going. This mud was no
match for the rain boots. My feet were soaked by the time we got to
the building I had spied through the trees. I could still not tell
much about the outside of it through the rain. I just tried to make
it to the front door as quickly as I could, shielding Gertrude
inside my hoodie.

Mom was standing by the door with an armful
of towels. She threw some around Ella and then proceeded to pat me
dry… yikes… too much physical contact.

“Go to your rooms, shower and get into your
pajamas. Then come down for hot chocolate,” she said turning to
remove Ella’s rain boots.

“You can both sleep in tomorrow,” added the
stranger.

I had no idea what to do or what to say. I
wanted to scream and shout, but that would only land me in the
psych unit so I clenched my mouth shut, held my breath and went
with the flow, as usual. This dream had to end soon; it was
boring.

I looked around. We were standing in a
ginormous hallway, dominated by a double stairway to another floor.
There were five archways from the hallway leading to… somewhere. I
had a room here? If so, I had no idea where to go. As
dream/nightmare houses went, this was not too shabby. I followed
Ella up the stairs. Gertrude ran past us and disappeared. There
were a number of doors at the top of the stairs. I hung back to see
where Ella would go. She went straight through the first door on
the left and shut it behind her. The door had a pink sign on it
that read
Ella’s Room
. Very handy, hopefully mine would have
a nameplate as well.

Arizona’s Room

Perfect! Well, almost, the sign was in pink,
my least favorite color. This is where I hoped that I was in a
dream rather than nightmare. I was sort of hoping that my room
would not turn out to be a cave full of tarantulas. I pushed the
door gingerly and went inside. Everything looked
normal
. No
giant insects, monsters or murderous beasts. It was, in fact,
almost exactly like my room at home in Princeton, which I guess
would be weird if this was not a dream. There was my bed, some
hockey posters, my Edward Cullen poster (hey, maybe this will turn
into a romantic vampire nightmare!) and my electric guitar. On
closer inspection, there were some differences from my real room.
My New Jersey Devils bedspread was not on my bed. Instead, there
was a pink monstrosity with the word
CHEER
written on
it!