Finding Hope (17 page)

F
uck
me if Hope didn't take off. Like I was a freaking axe murderer.

“Who was that?” Leo asked when I pushed past him to get inside.

“My sister,” I muttered, hauling the groceries into the kitchen. I held onto the edges of the kitchen table and took a deep breath. I hadn't meant to freak out on her. My hands ached with the feel of her twiggy little arms in them.
Fuck
. I should have reined it in. She didn't know.

I wished I'd told her when it first happened. But then she'd have to carry the burden too. I was torn between protecting her and myself. Now, neither of us was safe.

“Whoa, she bought you all that?” Leo followed me into the kitchen. He peered inside. “You going to keep it or sell it?”

Storm was at my feet, pawing at my leg for some attention. I opened the jar of peanut butter and scooped some onto my fingers. “Here, girl,” I said and held it out to her.

“I never knew you had a sister. Never mentioned her before.” Leo looked offended, the plastic bags rustling as he inspected their contents. Storm had licked away the peanut butter. A sticky film covered my fingers. I should have bought her some food. All this other stuff was going to make her sick.

“Yeah, well,” I sighed. “She won't be coming back.”

I'd seen how she ran away, scared I'd come after her. I'd made her afraid of me. Now I needed a hit more than ever. “I need to sell this shit. You coming?”

Leo shook his head. “Nah. But you should go to that alley behind the food bank. Everyone knows to go there if they want to buy stuff.”

Hauling the groceries off the table, I took Storm with me, her leash in one hand. I spotted a guy I knew walking toward me on the sidewalk. He lived a block away, but didn't use. He'd stopped to pet Storm before, always asking first if she was friendly. “Hey, man. I got peanut butter for two dollars. You want?”

“The kind with all the crunchy shit in it?” he asked.

He dug out some change and I sold it to him for a dollar.

I didn't bother going to the alley, just set up shop right in front of the house, stretching my goods around me. Bag of potato chips, a loaf of bread, some KD, a tub of margarine to make the KD, and some milk and juice. I took a swig of juice before I put it up for sale. All I needed was ten dollars to get me through till tomorrow.

I dropped more change into my pocket as a guy walked away with the chips. A paper crinkled in my pocket and I pulled it out. Coach Williams' number.

Fuck me.

A thought rolled around in my head, not making sense, but persistent. I could go see him. Show up on his door and force him to admit what he did to me. Tell the cops.

But they'd arrest me for the pharmacy. I took another swig of juice, wiping my mouth with my sleeve.

A guy stood in front of me, pointing at everything left. “I got a kid. How much?”

“Five bucks,” I told him. He whined and complained but passed the money over and walked away with a bag of groceries worth triple that.

I had enough to buy a hit that would last for a few hours. I'd be able to think clearly, work out the plan that was taking shape in my head.

I
hadn't slept. My arms, sore and bruised from where Eric had grabbed them, had made it impossible. His fingerprints all over me. I'd woken up early and spent too long in the shower, my skin now red and pulsing from the scalding water.

I feel it all.

Acutely

Like fingernails bitten

to the quick.

Raw,

Exposed skin quick to bleed.

Nerves soft and

tender.

Unprotected.

The poem was written in a swirl on my palm. A reminder of what life with Eric was like. When I closed my fist, the words were hidden, held tight.

As I got dressed, I heard the ping of a new email. Please, please let it be Devon with a message of forgiveness.

Monday, October 13, 7:47 a.m.

To:
Hope

Cc: #
RH Students

From:
Devon

Subject:
Whore

Enjoy the pictures of Ravenhurst's stupidest slut ever.

Shock slapped me in the face, then kicked me in the stomach. I doubled over at my desk, gripping my sides. I couldn't breathe. Every student at Ravenhurst was going to wake up to photos of me topless, staring into the computer and pouting like a fool, kissing the
LOVE, DEVON
pendant.

What would the Ravens do to me, once they saw the photos? I started to tremble, too shocked to cry.

Devon wouldn't do this, not to me. We were together. Thoughts ricocheted through my brain. What if it wasn't him? What if someone had hacked his computer and sent the pictures out? With fiery conviction, I wrung my hands, squeezing my knuckles, trying to figure out what to do. I had to talk to Devon!

I couldn't send an email. Whoever had hacked his computer would intercept it. I grabbed my phone, started to write a text, and stopped. What would I say? No, I had to talk to him, find out what had happened.

I needed to hear his voice. With frantic fingers, I searched online to find the phone number for Melton Prep. I'd say there was a family emergency. My fingers shook so badly, it took me three tries to punch in the number.

“Melton Preparatory Academy,” the secretary answered.

I cleared my throat. “I need to speak with Devon Huddington, please. It's an emergency.”

“With whom?”

I repeated his name, my voice catching in my throat.

“Just a minute.” She put me on hold, the phone making a repetitive beep as I waited, shivering and sweating at the same time.

“Hello,” the secretary said. “Devon no longer attends Melton.”

“What? Are you sure? Devon Huddington. H-u-d-d-i-n-g-t-o-n,” I spelled for her. “He's in grade eleven.” A swell of panic rose in my stomach.

“I remember him, but he no longer attends.”

I froze with the phone in my hand. He'd lied to me? He didn't go to Melton? I couldn't make sense of it.

“Was there anything else?” she asked brusquely.

“N-no,” I mumbled and hung up. My head started to throb. There had to be an explanation.

Monday October 13, 8:02 a.m.

From:
Hope

Please call me ASAP! Something horrible has happened.

I stared at my phone, waiting for it to answer me back. But nothing happened.

 

I
pulled out anything I could write on—the photos, Hope's old poems, the grocery receipt—and started a list. I had to make a list, while the plan was fresh in my head. I had so much to do.

The high was exhilarating. I was soaring over all my problems, sorting them out, making sense of them. God, it felt good not to be a victim. I couldn't believe it had taken me this long to figure out what I needed to do. Meth helped. Things made sense on meth.

My hand couldn't write fast enough to keep up with my brain. The list rat-a-tatted through my head, like machine-gun fire. I rewrote some of the things, they were important. And kept underlining them, so I'd remember.

Coach Williams. I wrote his phone number and address out over and over. I couldn't forget it: 314 Blossom Bay. I needed to find out where it was, how far away. One more thing to add to my list.

Monday, October 13, 8:54 a.m.

From:
Blocked number

Are you seriously this stupid? You are a slut and an idiot.

There is a Devon, but he was never interested in you. He doesn't even know you exist.

You probably wish you were dead, right? Now that you've put your tits on display for the whole world to see.

Guess what? We wish you were dead too. LOL.

E
mpty
glass eyes stared at me. Devon's bear was perched on my pillow.
There was no Devon.
My mind kept spinning through the reality, trying to make sense of where the lies had started. I scrolled back through all the texts and emails, back to the very first one he'd sent.

No longer did I imagine Devon, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he typed a message to me. Nausea rose in me, burned its way up my throat. Who had it been on the other end of the computer, answering my emails, making me feel better, sharing my secrets?

The doorknob turned and I bolted out of my chair. Cassie, her hair wrapped in a turban and cheeks flushed from a shower, darted in and closed it quickly. She eyed me warily, as if I were a caged animal. Neither of us spoke.

Collapsing into my chair, I pressed my face into my hands. She knew. The photos were being passed around on cellphones all over the dormitory, everyone gawking at my nakedness and laughing at my stupidity.

The necklace from Devon still hung around my neck. I tried to yank it off, pulling so hard the back of my neck burned in pain. The chain dug in, refusing to break. With a frustrated cry, I tried to unclasp it, but my hands were shaking and I gave up. Maybe it was better to leave it on as a tangible remembrance of what an idiot I was.

I heard Cassie behind me, stuffing her toiletries bag onto her shelf, hanging her robe on its hook. “The shower room's empty, if you want to use it.” Her voice came from a million miles away.

My chin quivered, but I shook my head. “I can't.”

“They're not that bad,” she said.

Stupid, sweet Cassie with her blond curls and scratch-the-surface-and-you're-through personality. If only my biggest problem was what my breasts looked like.

She started to bustle around the room, digging out knee-highs and a blouse. “Really, something else will happen and everyone will lose interest in a day or two, you'll see.”

I shook my head and stared at her.

It was so much worse than just the photos. I'd clung to Devon, desperately. He was the only friend I had at Ravenhurst. I'd shared secrets with him, made myself vulnerable. I'd let him know me in a way no one else had. I'd sent him the photos because I trusted him.

And now, he was gone.

Falling

Tumbling

Wind rushing past my ears

I plummet to your waiting arms.

But you are a

Figment.

And you disappear as I

Crash.

If Devon didn't exist, who'd been on the other side of the computer answering my emails? Whose cellphone had I been texting?

The slash of Lizzie's lipstick, scarlet against her pale skin, flashed into my head and I felt myself shrivel. When Devon had asked how I really felt about the Ravens, I'd told him, exaggerating stories and making snarky comments. He'd eaten it up, encouraging me in our united distaste for them. I'd fed into it, and each email had dug me into a deeper hole. My stomach gave a sickening drop. I'd given them a reason to hate me.