Alone Read online

  for Fiona Grace

  … the sound of a human voice.

  There is no sound like this in all the world.

  —Scott O’Dell, Island of the Blue Dolphins

  This Is Not Adolescent Hyperbole

  This is my reality.

  Alone in this place

  where I’ve been

  surviving on my own

  for over three years

  with no one but

  a big, smelly

  rottweiler who farts

  and hogs the covers.

  (You might think

  I’m exaggerating but

  I’m not. I’m not just

  “being dramatic,” like

  my grandma might say.)

  I figured by the time

  I was a teenager I’d be

  thinking about

  getting my driver’s permit

  going to dances

  playing varsity soccer

  and kissing.

  But instead

  I’m thinking about

  where to find food

  and fuel

  and water

  and whether to use Mountain Dew

  to force flush the toilet

  or to drink

  even though it’s the color

  of radioactive urine

  and it’s probably toxic

  when ingested over

  long periods of time.

  Better to be radioactive

  or dehydrated?

  These are the questions

  that plague

  my daily existence.

  At least for now.

  At least

  until

  my parents

  come back.

  Heaven

  (n.) bliss, ecstasy, paradise, dreamland

  Back When My Life Was Heaven and I Had No Idea

  “Shoes off before you come in!”

  Mom hollers as I open the kitchen door.

  “I mopped today.”

  She wipes orange slop off the baby’s face.

  “Honey, I know you have different rules

  at your dad’s, but could you try

  a little harder to make an effort

  when you’re at our house?”

  Sometimes

  the way my mom talks to me

  feels like a scratchy shirt tag

  on the back of my neck.

  I kick off my tattered silver Converse

  and calculate how much more

  I need to save before

  I can special-order a custom pair

  for my thirteenth birthday.

  Mom hugs me.

  “Sorry, sweetie.

  I’m just rushing to get ready to go.

  So glad you’re home.”

  Hands me a mug filled with

  chopped carrots and celery.

  “I bet you’re starving.”

  I squeeze an empty Twinkie wrapper in my pocket.

  I’ll have to remember to throw it away later.

  Before middle school

  I was never even tempted to lie.

  Lately though

  it just seems to make things

  so much simpler.

  Mom

  “Are you going out like that?”

  I make my horror obvious.

  Mom has on the paisley embarrassments

  she calls her “meditation pants.”

  She always wears something mortifying

  to the Tuesday-night dharma talks.

  They all just sit still and

  learn to breathe.

  Like breathing is something

  you have to learn.

  Mom does that thing

  where she pulls my hair

  to get me to smile.

  “Oh come on, honey.

  It’s called a ‘sitting meditation.’

  If I wore jeans like yours

  I’d lose circulation in my legs.

  Come to think of it

  did your dad see you wearing those

  when you left this morning?”

  Seriously?

  My jeans are not even tight.

  So what if the shape

  of my cell phone

  is permanently embossed

  on one pocket?

  Sometimes just being

  in the same room with my mom

  even the sound of her voice

  makes it hard to be a person.

  Paul’s car pulls up.

  Mom grabs her wallet

  out of the diaper bag.

  “Thanks for babysitting, sweetie.

  We should be back early

  unless they’re stopping people

  at the checkpoints.

  We’ll definitely be home

  before the curfew.”

  She kisses Trevor.

  Calls to the twins.

  “Hey, guys, bedtime at

  the usual time tonight.

  No messing around!”

  She signs I love you

  toward the dining room

  blows me a kiss

  and is gone.

  Brothers

  Trevor smiles from his high chair.

  Reaches for me.

  I lean in.

  Pretend to steal his nose.

  He erupts in belly laughs.

  Smears pureed carrots in my long hair.

  I pull it into a ponytail with

  a twist tie.

  Sigh.

  I adore my baby brother

  but

  I want to get upstairs.

  Check on The Weekend Plan.

  “You couldn’t pay me enough to eat that.”

  Elliott surprises me.

  Unnaturally quiet.

  Never hear him coming.

  I try to bribe him to feed Trevor.

  (I have another Twinkie

  in my backpack.

  In the gluten-free economy

  of my bizarre family

  Twinkies are worth a lot

  on the stepbrother

  black market.)

  But he’s helping James.

  Science project.

  Can’t be bought.

  They have one of those

  freaky twin connections.

  Can read each other’s minds.

  Plus the fact that James is deaf

  makes me feel awkward.

  Even after all this time.

  I know it’s not cool

  to say that, but there it is.

  I said it anyway.

  Doesn’t help I live half-time

  with Dad and Jennifer.

  I used to love the regular breaks

  from gluten-phobic diets and

  silent dinner conversations.

  Until Paul and Mom had Trevor.

  Now it feels like I’m missing out.

  I want my own freaky connection

  with someone who can read my mind.

  Pocket vibrates.

  Click on Ashanti’s name.

  6:55 p.m.

  WEEKEND MISSION IS GO

  Our Weekend Plan (or, How I Got Myself into This Mess)

  We are going

  to lie

  to our parents

  and have

  a

  secret sleepover.

  Emma and Ashanti

  will say

  they are spending

  the night at

  each other’s house

  and I will tell Mom

  I am with Dad

  and tell Dad

  I am with Mom

  but

  we will actually

  sleep over at

  my grandparents’ empty

  summer apartment.

  We will:

  make popcorn
/>   stay up super late

  watch glamorous old Katharine Hepburn movies

  lounge on the king-sized bed

  sleep as long as we like

  No one nagging us to:

  get up

  do the laundry

  clean your room

  change (stinky gross) diapers

  We. Are. Geniuses.

  Thesis

  After dinner, Elliott sneaks up on me again.

  “Can you please help me with my book report?

  I’m having trouble with my thesis.”

  Thesis?

  He’s in fourth grade.

  What does he know about drafting a thesis?

  “I’m in Accelerated.”

  (my family is a freak show)

  He takes a deep breath.

  Launches his explanation.

  “It’s called Island of the Blue Dolphins

  and it’s about a girl who lives alone

  on an island for eighteen years.

  She jumps off a boat and stays behind

  to save her brother but then he dies

  and she tames a dog and later she makes a friend

  but really she’s pretty much on her own

  until she’s totally grown up and—”

  “ELLIOTT.”

  Sharper than I intend.

  His hands flutter.

  He shifts his weight.

  I tweak the brim of his hat.

  He relaxes.

  “I have to prove whether her biggest challenge is to

  defend herself against the wild dogs

  provide food and shelter for herself

  or

  learn to trust a friend.”

  Plot details are sketchy in my memory.

  I ask him what he thinks.

  “Her brother dies and she’s left alone.”

  Elliott’s eyes fill with tears.

  “The wild dogs get him.”

  He glances toward the dining room

  where we hear James working.

  Jeez. Why do they let little kids read stuff like this

  even if they are in Accelerated?

  “Listen, Ell,” I say, “wild dogs can be scary for sure

  and it sucks what happens to her brother

  but if she doesn’t have a place to live and

  food to eat, she can’t exactly survive, can she?

  I think her biggest challenge is B, definitely.”

  Elliott exhales.

  “Really? I kind of thought so too

  but I wasn’t positive. Thanks, Maddie!”

  I smile.

  And think of the upcoming weekend.

  Our very own Island of No Brothers or Parents.

  All alone with unlimited fun and freedom.

  Cannot wait.

  Paul

  I wrangle the boys into their bunk beds.

  Trevor finishes his bottle and falls

  asleep in the crib across the room

  from where I lie on my own twin bed.

  I don’t love sharing my room

  but at least for now he’s quiet.

  Log in to my laptop.

  Kitten videos.

  Tumbling around on

  a patient golden retriever.

  Adorable. So precious.

  Hear garage door.

  Switch computer to online history textbook.

  Open binder.

  Stretch out on stomach.

  Pretend to study.

  After a few minutes, Paul peeks in the open door.

  “Hey there, how’s it going, kiddo?”

  He crosses to Trevor’s crib.

  Tucks in the baby blanket.

  I grunt.

  Frown at my Cornell notes.

  Draw an elephant in the margin.

  (My friends all say I draw really good elephants.)

  Paul tries again.

  “It’s nice to have you here. We miss you

  on the weeks you’re at your dad’s.”

  Not even sure why I’m being so rude.

  Paul’s gentle voice brings out the meanest part of me.

  “Well, we really appreciate you babysitting

  so we could have a little date. Thanks.”

  He pauses.

  A few awkward moments.

  I keep drawing.

  “Okay. Sleep tight.”

  Paul leaves the room.

  Closes the door.

  exhale

  slam the computer shut

  roll onto my back

  stare up at the ceiling fan

  trace the pattern of blades moving in lazy rotations

  weekend can’t come soon enough

  Friday

  Feeling fine.

  New striped top and denim leggings.

  Jean jacket. Floral backpack.

  I even let Mom kiss me

  as I leave for school.

  Language Arts

  (autopilot)

  Pre-Algebra

  (autopilot)

  Study Hall

  (shopping list)

  Social Studies

  (lockdown drill)

  Fine Art

  (progress on vanishing-point project)

  Spanish

  (autopilot)

  Earth Science

  (autopilot)

  Final bell!

  Bike to store.

  (snacks, soda, frozen pizza)

  Grocery bags on handlebars.

  Fifteen-minute wait at intersection for

  military trucks to roll through town.

  Convoys come through every day now.

  Mom always has the news on

  listening for information

  about checkpoints and delays

  and “protective action” curfews

  whatever that means.

  I personally don’t get why everyone is so uptight.

  It’s just a bunch of trucks moving stuff around

  not World War III.

  Pedal to grandparents’ empty apartment.

  (Easy to get the key

  since Dad had an extra set

  hanging on a hook

  in the laundry room.)

  Soda in fridge to chill.

  TV on.

  Feet up.

  YES

  Tangled Web

  to Mom 4:46 p.m.

  plan changed

  staying over at dads for help with huge history project

  back tomorrow afternoon xo

  to Dad 4:47 p.m.

  babysitting tonight for P and Mom

  c u sunday after church? I’ll make the waffles this time!

  from Mom 4:50 p.m.

  Please ask Dad if he might be able to get us two tickets to the concert next Thursday? I’d like to take Paul for his birthday.

  Good luck with the project and don’t stay up too late.

  Concert tickets are a good idea.

  Dad conducts.

  Jennifer plays flute.

  Paul doesn’t play anything

  but loves music.

  from Dad 4:53 p.m.

  Sounds good. I want bananas and walnuts on mine! Make sure you charge Paul time and a half for working on a weekend! ha ha.

  love you.

  Everything is going perfectly.

  Monkey Wrench

  Emma 6:40 p.m.

  no sleepover.

  ashanti threw up in her moms car

  Me 6:40 p.m.

  gross! can u still come?

  tell ur mom ur sleeping over at my house

  Emma 6:41 p.m.

  tried but she called ur mom who said u were 2 busy w/ur dad doing history. sux! maybe next week?

  Me 6:41 p.m.

  A banquet of junk food spans the coffee table.

  All that money and risk and

  no one’s coming after all.

  At least there’s no crying baby to wake me up

  and I can sleep in tomorrow.

  I settle into the couch and scroll through channels />
  until I find an old black-and-white movie.

  Ginger Rogers tap-dances with Fred Astaire

  around a big empty dance studio.

  An invisible orchestra plays somewhere offscreen.

  Ginger lifts her wrist and her skirt swirls around her

  like the petals of a tropical flower.

  Her perfect hair falls to her shoulders

  in smooth, elegant waves.

  I tug my fingers through my curly tangles

  and reach for a Twinkie.

  Disruption

  middle of the night

  trucks rumble

  loud voices outside

  grab remote

  TV off

  glad lights aren’t on in the apartment

  something BANGS against the front door

  I jump

  footsteps move down the hall

  unfamiliar voice speaks

  outside the door

  “What about this one?”

  “They’re part-timers,” says a neighbor

  “only here for summers and holidays.”

  voices move away

  doors close and open

  and close

  I creep across the floor

  crouch by the door

  hear people talking downstairs

  dogs barking outside

  someone having a party?

  curious

  but can’t risk being seen

  avoid windows

  sound

  light

  if I get caught here alone

  I’ll be grounded forever

  worry infects the room

  eventually sounds fade

  crawl back to the couch

  pull up Grandma’s afghan

  sit in the dark

  wide awake

  Forsaken

  (adj.) deserted; abandoned; forlorn

  Saturday

  Bright sun shines

  high in the sky.

  The sofa cushion is embossed on my cheek

  and my teeth feel fuzzy.

  I rub sleep crumbs from my eyes.

  Reach for the last of the popcorn.

  Plug in my phone to charge the dead battery.

  Messages and missed calls light up the screen.

  Oh crap.

  Text Message

  EMERGENCY ALERTS 12:01 a.m.

  IMMINENT THREAT ALERT. INCREASED PROTECTIVE ACTIONS ARE BEING TAKEN. FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS OF LOCAL AUTHORITIES. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

  VOICE MAIL FROM DAD

  “Hey there, sweetheart. I’m sorry this happened so fast and we didn’t get a chance to touch base, but we’ll reconnect when we arrive, and then your mom and I will work out a plan for the next few weeks, okay? In the meantime, don’t be scared, I’m sure this is all just precautionary. And Jennifer says not to worry, because she’s packing your earbuds and your purple jeans, and she’ll give them to you when we see you. Okay, Peanut? I love you and I’ll see you soon. Be sure to help your mom with the boys and try not to worry. Bye now.”