The File on Angelyn Stark (10 page)

“Something’s wrong,” I say.

“That’s his business.” She’s back to her book.

I take up the article. Details catch me. I start over from page one.

“That
is
cool,” I say when I’m done. “About the prisoners.”

Jeni checks me. “Yeah?”

“There’s a line here.” I find it. “How in Australia they could write their own endings.”

She nods. “Beginnings too. It didn’t matter what they came from.”

“What they’d done,” I say.

“What anyone did to them,” Jeni says.

I’m writing. “I guess I could do this part of the report.”

She smiles. “That’s great, Angelyn.”

“Twue wuv!”
Charity’s voice carries. We look at her.

“You’re the one close enough to chew Jacey’s gum,” I say.

They burn carpet scraping chairs from each other.

Guys at the table between us laugh.

Jacey pouts. “God, Angelyn.”

I point to Charity. “Tell her.”

Jacey runs her eyes over Jeni. “So, this is your new best friend?”

“My partner for this project. Good luck with yours.”

“What are you trying to prove, Angelyn? Sticking with her.”

“What are you doing, Jacey, standing by whatever
she
does?”

Jacey checks Charity. I’m pissed at myself for saying that much.

I jerk my head to Jeni. “You guys chose her for me. Charity did.”

“But you’re not even trying to get back,” Jacey says. “Not with us. Not with Steve.”

“Why don’t you draw me a map?” I say.

“Come on,” Charity says, standing. “Let’s leave them be happy together.”

“You’re pathetic,” I say. “Both of you are.”

Jacey and Charity gather their things.

“Do you want to be with them?” Jeni asks.

I look at her. “Not today. Does it sound like I do?”

“A little.” She’s sunk in the chair, the book to her face.

“Don’t you be pissed at me, Jeni. Not you too.”

“I’m not pissed,” she says. “I don’t care. I only want to work.”

“Forget what I said about Charity choosing you.”

“Why? It’s only true. But it doesn’t matter.”

“It
doesn’t
,” I say. “I never think about it.”

“Sure you do, or you wouldn’t have said it.”

“Hey—”

“Angelyn, it’s okay. We’re not friends. Partners, right?”

Jacey and Charity are at the magazine wall, talking.

“We really were friends,” I say. “Jacey and me. She just dropped it.”

Jeni says, “Forget her.”

“You’re right.” I stare at the article I’ve read, trying to feel it again.

“You know, we’re kind of on a roll. Want to work in here at lunch?”

“The library at lunch? You’re killing me with this stuff. But, yeah. Okay.”

“Good,” Jeni says.

The doors to the library fly in. Nathan runs through.

“What’s
he
doing?” I ask.

He stops in front, checking the room.

Jeni stands. “Nathan!”

His face clears. She scoops her backpack.

“What’s going on?” I say.

“Trouble,” Jeni says, her lips in a line.

“Nice
friends
, Angelyn,” Charity calls as Jeni crosses.

Mr. Rossi pushes into the library as Nathan and Jeni dash out.

“Hey!” he says, sidestepping. “Stop.”

They’re gone.

“What just happened?” Mr. Rossi asks the room.

No one answers.

Jeni doesn’t show at lunch. I sit at the fountain outside the library, cursing Nathan and his drama. All around me, kids are yelling, laughing,
eating
. I’ve got nothing.

The door to the teachers’ lounge swings open in the breezeway between the library and Administration. Mr. Rossi steps through, a paper sack in hand.

His expression lightens as I walk up to him. “Angelyn.”

“Mr. Rossi.” I’m smiling. “Can I ask you something? Kind of crazy.”

“After today— Sure, what is it?”

“Can I bum some food off you? I forgot to bring lunch.”

“You want to have lunch with me?” he says.

“There’s no one else,” I say. Then: “Wait! I didn’t mean—”

Mr. Rossi has this sarcastic grin. “I am one popular guy.”

I lift my shoulders. “I didn’t ask right. But, can we?”

“You know,” he says, “you bet.”

Mr. Rossi lines his lunch along his desk. “Such as it is.”

A ham sandwich. Grapes. Something in a plastic container.

He points to it. “Pasta salad. Take your pick.”

I sit opposite him. “The grapes, I guess.”

Mr. Rossi raises a finger. “And half the sandwich.”

“Okay.” I lean for the food.

He pops the lid off the salad. And reels backward.

“Can something go bad between this morning and now?”

I’m covering my nose. “Definitely, yes.” Laughing.

He seals the salad and dumps it. “Welcome to my day.”

“Aw. Well, mine’s not any better.”

Mr. Rossi leans back, arms behind his head. “Tell me something good, Angelyn.”

I eat a grape. “I’d have to make it up.”

“The dog is working out. You ought to like that.”

“She is? That’s great. Your son is lucky to have Dolly.”

“Yes,” he says. “So, why are you on your own today?”

I poke at the ham sandwich. “Short on friends, I guess.”

“They let you down?”

“Everyone does that.”

He looks sad. “You’re young to know that for a fact.”

“Some people are okay. You are.”

Mr. Rossi’s chair creaks. “Nice of you to say so.”

“Thanks for letting me eat here.”

He picks up his sandwich half. “This ham doesn’t look too good.”

I don’t think it does either, but I keep quiet.

“Hey, Angelyn. Want to see a picture of my son?”

“Sure! I’d like that.”

Nodding me over, Mr. Rossi pulls out his wallet.

At his shoulder I lean to the picture—a blond, green-eyed toddler smiling on a bale of hay.

“Halloween last year,” Mr. Rossi says. “We went to a pumpkin patch.”

“He’s cute,” I say. “He looks happy.”

Mr. Rossi stares at the picture. “Camden is my world.”

I try to imagine Mom—anyone—saying that about me.

“I’m not such a bad guy if this kid loves me.”

“Mr. Rossi.” I’m surprised. “You’re not a bad guy at all.”

His head dips.

“Mr. Rossi?”

He breathes in hard.

I’m scared. “Camden is all right, isn’t he?”

A hand up, he nods.

“Well—what’s wrong?”

He makes a sound. Mr. Rossi is crying.

“Oh!” My hand hovers at his shoulder. “Oh, don’t.”

“She took him, Angelyn. My wife. Took Camden and left me.”

“She did?” I hurt all through for him. “That sucks so bad.”

“It does. I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll get him back. I know you will, because you care.”

He wipes his eyes. “I can’t do this. Not here. Can’t let anyone see.”

Both of us look to the door.

“If anybody gets on you, Mr. Rossi, I’ll kick their butt.”

Silence. Then he laughs.

“You are really something, Angelyn.”

“Something good?” I ask, looking down at him.
Don’t laugh at me
.

“Yes,” he says. “One tough little angel.”

Next morning, Mom is all snappy business.

“Up,” she says in the doorway. “I want to be on the road.”

I blink from the bed.
Sacramento
. “I am not going.”

“I’ve reconsidered that. Now hurry. I’ll drop you at school.”

I stumble around the room picking what’s closest to wear. Dark T from yesterday. Jeans from yesterday, puddled on the floor. I slide on flip-flops.

Mom yells for me to come.

I circle for my backpack. It’s under the bed, and I drop to grab it. Behind the backpack, the
shoes
peek out like hopeful dogs, dusty, waiting. I don’t want them now.

The kitchen door slams.

I run for it—
slap-slap
—not caring if the noise wakes Danny.

Danny
. Mom never
reconsiders
anything. I check their room. Empty.

He’s in the truck with her. Mom is at the wheel.

I step to them through wet grass. “What’s going on?”

“Danny’s coming with me to Sacramento,” Mom says.

“
He
is? Why?”

She starts the truck. “Get in, Angelyn.”

Danny’s like a lump. Like some robot she steers.

“I am not sitting three in a seat with you and him.”

“That’s right,” Mom says. “You’re not.”

The cab is stuffed with their gear.

“You don’t mean I should ride in the back.”

Her lips quirk. “Yeah. I do.”

The bed is unlined. Cold metal speckled with yard waste.

I cross my arms. “That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t,” Mom says.

Danny looks across. “That’s right.”

I look back. “
You’re
pissed at me? Why? This is all her.”

His face purples.

“Don’t talk to him,” Mom says.

I step away. “I’ll take the bus.”

“No, you’ll climb in.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Your choice,” Mom says. “I drop you at school or report you truant.”

The miles go by faster on the outside. I sit against a wheel well, backpack between my knees. Inside, Mom talks to Danny, gesturing one-handed. About me I am sure. The wind tugs my hair and flips it in my eyes. I shut them for protection and against the sight of the two in front.

In town I can hear them—my name mentioned—and I press hands to ears. My hair feels rough. I try to work fingers through and can’t.

I stick an arm in the backpack, feeling for a comb. Nothing.

“Shit,” I say, and brush back tears.

“Nice hair!” some kid calls from a sidewalk near the high school.

Mom drives past the auditorium. I see Steve’s group ahead by Ag.

Pride aside, I scrape the cab window open.

“Mom, turn back. I’m fighting with those kids.”

She drives on. Danny looks between us.

I crouch at the window.
“Please.”

Mom says, “Don’t ask me for anything.”

“Oh.” I sit on my heels. She steps on it, and I fall. Mom swerves and stops the truck. I roll up on hands and knees. We’re parallel to the Ag building. Steve, JT, Jacey, Charity, and the others line the sidewalk.

“I hate you,” I say. Quiet.

Mom says, “Get out.”

I swing a leg over the side. Cold in T and flip-flops, I drop to the ground.

“Hate you!”
I scream it, reaching for the backpack.

She jerks the truck forward. My fingers scrape the strap. Mom swings into a U-turn, speeding off with Danny like they’re a pair of kids.

I’m left there, nothing in my hands. Shivering. So embarrassed.

Something hits me on the butt. Something light, thrown hard. It skids into the street. A purple plastic comb.

“Fix your hair, bitch,” Charity says.

I stare at the comb. Afraid to turn.

“That’s not right.” Steve is talking. “Angelyn, are you okay?”

“Totally.” I try for sarcastic. It comes out strangled.

“She looks homeless.” Charity again.

“Shut up.” It’s Jacey.

I turn.

Everyone is staring. Charity is closest, off the sidewalk.

I look at Jacey. “Got something I can use?” I mime brushing my hair.

She digs in her purse. “Hang on.”

“You don’t have to help her,” Charity says.

Jacey pulls out a brush.

Steve sticks his hand out. “Give it here.”

Pulling a face, she hands it to him.

With a tiny shrug, I start to leave.

Steve says, “Don’t run.”

I check traffic. “Who’s running?”

“I’ll brush your hair.” He’s closer.

I whirl around. “No way.”

“Come on, Angelyn,” Steve says.

“With them watching?”

“Yeah.”

“Forget it.”

He comes the rest of the way. “Who else is going to do it?”

I look up at him. “No games.”

Steve grins. “I want to be your hair boy.”

It’s hard not to grin back. “My
what
?”

“I’ll show you.” I let him turn me.

Steve sets the brush at my hairline. He pulls it back. I flinch with a snag. He stops himself and starts again, slowly. By the time he’s done a section—the brush pulled clean to my shoulder blade—I’m breathless.

“Guess it was bad,” I say, touching what Steve’s made smooth.

“Like Mrs. Frankenstein,” he says.

“Well, keep going.”

He does. The bristles tickle as the knots unravel. I’m smiling with it. Moving with him. With the brush.

Traffic picks up. Kids and teachers coming to school. Heads turn passing us. A bus comes by. My mother isn’t driving it. Yet.

Steve does the last bit. I’m tingling. Then it’s
him
, not the brush, Steve’s fingers working through my hair. Pulling out the waves.
His
fingers on my scalp.

I shake myself.

“Steve, thanks, huh?”

He wraps an arm around my waist. The other above my chest.

“I missed you, Angelyn. Really missed you.”

“Let me go,” I say. Stiff.

He pulls me in. Swirls his hips, dancing me in place.

A kiss to my neck. “I don’t want no girl but you.”

I roll my shoulders wildly. “Let
go
!”

Steve freezes.

“Bad touch!” one of the guys says from the sidewalk.

“How could there be with her?” another says.

The rest are laughing.

Steve opens his arms. “Bitch.” Ragged voice.

I stumble forward, bare toes on the pavement.

“Bitch!” he calls as I cross the street.

“Bitch!”
when I’m on the other side.

It follows me.

“Angelyn?”

“Angelyn.”

Two voices.

I lift my head from the desk. “What?”

Mr. Rossi is at the front of the aisle. “Class is over.”

“You fell asleep,” Jeni says, leaning to me from her desk.

The three of us are alone. “Did I snore?”

“Are you all right?” Mr. Rossi asks.

“No,” I say. Then: “Yeah. Sure.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Jeni stands. “We should go.”