Dark Parties (21 page)

We walk away from the Square. We travel side streets until we are at the train station. I kiss him on the cheek. “I really
need to go home.” I’ve got to read my grandma’s letter.

“I’ll go with you.”

I don’t know what to say to him. Part of me wants him to take me home. It’s Ethan. I can trust him. We’ve known each other
forever. Everything around me is shifting, but Ethan still loves me. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“But I want to.” He smiles this sweet, warm smile, and there’s a hint of the old Ethan, the one I fell in love with. The guy
who picked his neighbor’s flowers when he was twelve and brought them to me with the dirt still clinging to the roots. But
I can’t keep hoping. The old Ethan is never coming back.

“Ethan, we broke up, remember? You have to move on.”

His face reddens and tears swarm his eyes. “I thought if I showed you I could change. I can be the person you want me to be—”

“No, Ethan,” I say firmly. I don’t want to leave any room for doubt. He can never be the person I want him to be. He will
never be Braydon. “I’m so sorry, Ethan, but I…” I’m not sure I can say it with him staring at me as if his life is ending.
I blurt what I have to tell him, “I don’t love you anymore.” Now that it’s out there, a part of me wants to
take it back so I won’t have to see the way his eyes are deadening. I may be leaving in four days. I don’t want him to miss
me or search for me. I don’t want him to feel the anguish I’ve felt for my grandma every day for the past ten years.

I walk away. This is for the best, I reassure myself.

“I won’t let you go,” he calls after me.

I stop. It sounds like he knows about my grandma’s invitation to escape, but he couldn’t. I walk on.

“I love you, Neva!” he shouts. His words have the impact of stones. I never knew I was capable of hurting someone so deeply.
I want to comfort him, but I can’t. I’m the source of his pain.

I hurry onto a departing train. I don’t care about the train’s destination. I’ve got to get out of here.

When I get home, the living room is dark. I can barely see the mom-size shape slumped on the couch.

“Mom, what are you doing?” I flip on the lights. Her eyes are rimmed with red. Streamers of hair hang loose around her face.
She has a dish towel over her shoulder. Her beige shirt looks like a paint-splattered canvas. There’s a brownish blob in the
center of her shirt and polka dots of a darker beige. “What’s wrong?”

Mom fiercely hugs me. I can hardly breathe, she is squeez
ing me so tightly. “Where have you been?” she demands, suddenly breaking our embrace.

“What?” My mind is still processing the day’s events. I could escape. I could see my grandma again. Four days. Her invitation
has started an internal clock ticking.

Tears are streaming down Mom’s cheeks. She covers her face with the towel from her shoulder. I press my hand hard into my
stomach and feel the edges of the envelope. “I…” She’s sobbing so hard she can only get one word out at a time. “Thought.”
She pants for air. “You.” Her sobs are more like the low moans of a wounded animal. “Were.” She holds her breath and cries,
“Gone.”

“Oh, Mom. Why would you think that?” But I could have been erased so easily, like Thomas.

“You don’t know what’s going on. What can happen to young girls. I saw Sanna.”

“What about Sanna?”

“I saw her today. You’re always with her. I was so afraid…”

Did Sanna say something to her? “Mom, Sanna and I had a fight last night. She’s not speaking to me. She may never speak to
me again.”

“Oh, thank God!” She throws her arms around me.

Not the reaction I was expecting.

“When the police were taking her away—”

“What?” I break free.

“At that thing at the Square.”

“You were there?”

“But you’re safe and that’s all that matters.” She’s hugging me again, but I don’t want to be hugged.

I pull Mom parallel. “Mom, what about Sanna? Where did they take her? I’ve got to help her.” Sanna’s missing.

“I know this is hard, Neva. But you can’t do anything. You can’t get involved. You don’t understand the stakes. You were damn
lucky last time. Your dad had to call in favors and practically beg them to release you. If you get mixed up with this again…”

“But, Mom, this is Sanna. I can’t…” What? I can’t what? I’ve betrayed her with her boyfriend. I didn’t think things could
get worse.

“They will probably interrogate her like they did you.”

I haven’t told her about Nicoline. They will send Sanna away. I know it. “I’ve got to do something.” I release her.

“Let me see what I can find out.” She holds my face so I am forced to look her in her bloodshot eyes. “But you have to promise
to stop whatever you and Sanna have been doing.”

“Okay.”

Mom grabs her coat and leaves out the front door. I can’t just stand here. I feel so helpless. I decide to make one call.
Maybe Sanna’s home already. She won’t talk to me, but if I hear her voice, I’ll know she’s okay. I dial.

A deep voice answers the phone. “Jones residence.”

“Hi, Mr. Jones. This is Neva Adams. Can I please speak to Sanna?” I ask in my most polite voice.

The phone line crackles.

“Mr. Jones, are you still there?” I ask after what feels like an eternity.

“Yes. I’m still here,” he says clearly. He knows me. I’ve spoken to him hundreds of times. He used to think I was a good influence
on Sanna. He liked that Sanna hung out with the Minister of Ancient History’s kid.

“Can I please speak to Sanna?” I ask again.

“I’m sorry. There’s no one here by that name.” The phone goes dead. Not Sanna. Please, God, not Sanna. I double over to squelch
the pain in my gut. The corners of the envelope hidden in my jeans dig into my snowflake tattoo. I’d almost forgotten.

As I head to my room, I remove the now-wrinkled envelope from my jeans. I turn it over and over in my hands. What does it
matter now? If Sanna is missing, I can’t leave until she’s safe.

I sit on my bed and carefully slice the envelope open. There’s just one sheet of paper; I rub the paper between my fingers.
It’s cream-colored, nearly brown, rough with bits and pieces woven in. I’d forgotten the feel of my grandma’s handmade paper.
I unfold the letter.

Was this always her plan—from the moment I was born? My parents let her name me—her one and only grandchild. She chose to
call me Neva. She told me once that she wanted my name to hold promise. “The government can manage the snowfall, but it can’t
make two snowflakes the same,” she had said.

I stare at the letter for a long time. I may have found my grandma and lost my best friend. I dig out my journal and flip
to the pages filled with the memories of my grandma. The postcard she sent marks the spot. All I ever wanted was her back
in my life, but I never expected that I’d have to choose between her and everything and everyone else.

I turn to the last page and note the date and write: Thomas. I don’t even know his last name, but he’s gone. I reread the
names of the people I’ve lost. My pen hovers on the next blank line. I can see Sanna’s name there, but I can’t let that happen.
I’ve got four days to decide if I want to accept my grandma’s invitation, which means I’ve got four days to rescue Sanna.

I read the letter again. With everything else spiraling out of control, I want to hold on to the spark of hope it ignites
in my gut. I want to save the letter with the other memories of my grandma, but it’s too risky. I’ve got to destroy the only
evidence I’ve ever had that my grandma is alive. I can’t put it in the recycling bin. Dad has a shredder, but I can’t put
it in his office—even shredded in his trashcan. I stuff the letter and postcard in the front of my jeans and head to the bathroom.
I lock the bathroom door. I rip off a few tiny pieces of the postcard and a few pieces of the letter and watch them flutter
into the toilet. I flush the toilet and do it again. The scraps of paper look like tiny boats floating on a calm sea, then
I flush and suck my fleet to a watery grave.

I make the pieces really small—only a few letters per piece. I decide to eat the key phrases in Grandma’s letter. I put the
paper in my mouth and grind the pieces. The paper fragments cling to my teeth. I stick my mouth under the tap and gulp water
to wash away the evidence. A few more flushes and the evidence is destroyed. I sit down on the toilet. I can feel a lump of
paper slowly making its way into my stomach where the acid will melt it into pulp.

I’m startled by two quiet taps on the bathroom door. “Neva, are you okay in there?” my mom asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I call. But my stomach is rolling.

“Neva, we need to talk.”

I search the bathroom for any stray fragments of paper. I glance at myself in the mirror before I go. I check to make sure
there are no words stuck to my teeth. How would I ever explain that?

I open the door. Her cheeks are wet with fresh tears. “You
need to leave.” She grabs me by the arm and practically drags me to my bedroom.

“Mom, you’re hurting me.” I wrench my arm free.

She’s got a duffel bag. She’s stuffing my underwear and a pair of jeans in it. “You’ll need a coat.” She rifles though my
closet.

“Mom,” I say, but she doesn’t hear me. She’s too busy ripping shirts off hangers and jamming them in the bag. “Mom!” I shout,
and snatch the bag out of her hands. “What are you doing?”

“You’ve got to go. They’ve taken Sanna and they are preparing to round up anyone they suspect might have been at the demonstration.”

“What?”

“You’ve got to get out of here.” Her eyes are wild. “Do you have somewhere you can go?”

There’s only one person who might help me. Braydon. I nod.

“Good. Okay.” She hands me a tiny scrap of paper. She closes her hand around mine. “This is contact information for someone
called Senga. Find her tomorrow and she’ll help you get out of the City.”

“How do you know Senga?” I ask, opening my hand and reading the address on the paper.

“Don’t ask, just do it. Pack a few things and I will take you wherever you want to go. I’ll make sure we’re not followed.”
Her voice is calmer, almost cold. “There’s not much time. We need to leave before your father gets home. He
can’t know I had anything to do with this. He can’t know where you’re going.”

I’m starting to see my mom in a whole new light. It’s as if she’s removed her mask or maybe it’s that I’m seeing everything
clearly now. I let the duffel bag fall to the floor. “Come with me.”

“I can’t. We are getting a baby. If I left, they would come after me. But you. You could disappear. Go up North somewhere
at least for a little while.” She lifts my chin. “We’ve got to be strong.”

If she can, I can. But I’m not going to run away. Not in the way my mom thinks. I’ve got to find Sanna and make sure she’s
safe.

By the time I get into the car, my life fits into a duffel bag. I’ve got the clothes on my back and the worn shoes on my feet.
I rub the snowflake necklace between my fingers. When Mom pulls up in front of Braydon’s house, we cling to each other as
if we may never see each other again—and we may not.

The crusty cream paint flecks away as I beat my fists on the door. No one comes. Maybe he’s gone too. I pound harder. Slivers
of paint and wood prick my skin. The door opens slowly.

“Neva? What are you doing here?” Braydon asks. He’s wearing a pair of faded blue plaid pajama bottoms.