Finding Hope (8 page)

I
lay awake all night, wondering what to do. At breakfast, they'd be looking for me. I'd have to explain why Cassie still had long hair. That I'd chosen to protect her over backing up my friends.

By the time morning came, my stomach was churning. There was no way I could face them.

I watched from my bed as Cassie fluffed her hair, scrunching the curls with her hands. They hung lustrous against her navy sweater. “Want me to get you some toast?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No, thanks. I'm not hungry.”

“Hope you feel better,” she said and gave me a sympathetic smile. “I'll leave a note on Ms. Harrison's door, so she knows you're sick. She'll tell the teachers.”

I nodded gratefully, clutching my stomach. “Prob-ably just cramps.”

With a nod, she disappeared out the door.

It was better to stay out of sight today. Let the Ravens notice Cassie's hair without me being around. Now that the morning sun was trickling through the windows, last night felt like a hallucination. I wanted to believe that the whole thing had been a joke, something they hadn't meant for me to actually do, but I couldn't be sure. I'd held the scissors in my hand. I'd thought about it. That was the part that disgusted me: I'd
considered
it.

The blackbird landed on his perch. He opened his beak and let loose a loud “
Caw
!” A judgment.

“Shut up,” I whispered at him.

Shattered words and ideas floated in my head. I wanted to write something, find a vent for what was going on in my head.

I grabbed my journal and a pen from my nightstand drawer.

Wicked lies

Burn bright

In the night sky.

Just writing the words felt better, some proof that the old me hadn't completely disappeared.
 

I
stayed hidden in the scrub by the side of the road. It was dry; the grass prickled and bit at me. I'd have to thumb a ride to the city, somewhere I could get lost.

I imagined what Hope would do when I showed up at her school. And then stopped. I was sober enough to remember who I was. Not the hockey player, not the guy who people wanted to be friends with, who they looked up to.

I was a junkie.

What if she turned away from me, embarrassed? I couldn't take that, not from her. In my head, I was still the older brother, the one who was supposed to look out for her.

A semi drove past, kicking up a whirlwind of dust. It flew in my eyes and nose, making me cough. My chest rattled. There was a scab on my hand and I started to pick at it. Fresh, red blood seeped out. There wasn't any new skin yet, just a raw wound.

Maybe getting to the city wasn't the end of the line for me. I could go farther, out West, where the weather was better. Maybe to the ocean. My mind reeled with plans, unfurling like a ribbon in front of me.

For now, though, I'd go to the city. Find Hope. If she had any money, she'd give it to me. She'd know I needed it more than she did.

The sky was getting lighter, pinker, as the sun rose. I moved to the shoulder of the road and stuck out my thumb. I was travelling light. No backpack, only pockets swollen with what I had stolen at the pharmacy. I hadn't checked how deep the cuts on my back were, but they stung every time I moved. My shirt stuck to the dried blood, pulling at the wounds.

Another semi approached and blew past me. I ducked my head to my chest, shutting my eyes against the dust. Same thing with the next two, but then one put on his signal and pulled over, rumbling to a stop on the gravel.

I ran over, the pills rattling in my pockets. “You going to the city?” I asked.

The driver leaned out the window. He had a few days' worth of stubble on him and bristly brown hair. He was flabby and nondescript. “I can drop you off at the perimeter.”

I ran around to the passenger side and climbed up. The cab was dusty, with trinkets and trash all over the seat and floor. Pictures of the guy's kids were stuffed into the corners of the windshield. They were old and faded. Those kids could be in their twenties by now, but they were seven and nine forever in the truck.

“Been driving all night. Be good to have someone to talk to. I'm Mike.”

I hesitated, not wanting to give him my real name. “Darren,” I said, after my favourite hockey player, Darren Risk. A small-town boy, he went first round in the draft pick to the Habs. That could have been me, if things hadn't gone sideways.

“Got some coffee in the Thermos, if you want some.” He nodded to the back where his mattress lay, the sheets unrumpled.

I was going to say no, but then I thought, what the hell? He'd offered and I didn't know when my next meal was coming. I had to start thinking smart, taking handouts when they came. That was the way to survive.

Mike didn't ask me too much personal stuff. I started to relax and watch the empty expanse go past, zoning out, then sleeping.

“Hey,” he said shaking me awake. His coffee breath hit me and I looked the other way.

“We here?” I asked. We were stopped. Outside the window, a gas station sat at the other side of a parking lot.

Mike shook his head and snorted. I got the feeling he wasn't real happy with me. “Shoulda known better than to pick up a junkie.”

He looked at me hungrily. There was a coldness in his eyes that didn't fit with the guy who'd offered me some of his coffee a couple of hours ago, the guy who had pictures of his kids on his dash.

I felt my heart thud, heavy in my chest. Nothing felt right anymore. I needed to get out of his truck. The door was locked.

“Where you going?” he asked. “You think a ride doesn't cost anything?”

He leered at me and started unbuckling his belt. Bitter, acidic coffee rose up in my throat. I'd puke on him if he made me suck him.

“Come on. Don't be like that. You wanted the ride.”

Fuck.
I started to cry, holding my stomach and whimpering. I couldn't do this again.

“It's okay,” he soothed me, resting a hand on my shoulder. “It'll be over soon and I'll drop you off. Anywhere you want.”

My stomach heaved. I gripped the door handle, but it didn't budge. I was trapped.

“Come on,
Darren
,” he said with a moan of anticipation. “There's only one way you're getting out of here.”

I heard him unzip his pants but couldn't look. The metal teeth unhooking themselves from each other, separating, dividing like a fault line.

He grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me down. I struggled against him and then gave up. What was the point? He'd get it one way or the other.

Sticking my face into that dank, foul place, I caught my gag reflex in time and slipped into darkness. To a place where I didn't have to think, where I could disappear.

“Ah, yeah,” Mike exhaled, twisting his hand into my hair. He gave a soft laugh. “This isn't your first time, is it?”

I
stood on tiptoes, rereading my words.

The ravens swoop

Attack with beady yellow eyes

A cackle of greeting

For their prey.

A murder,

They find each other.

There are no innocents.

Stepping down from the chair, the poem disappeared. Tiny letters on the wall above the door frame. Indiscernible to anyone else's eye, but I'd know they were there. Every time I walked under them. The same poem sandwiched in my journal, a fragment of me.

I'd delayed leaving my room for as long as I could. Cassie had sneaked food upstairs for me the day before, but Ms. Harrison would make me visit the infirmary if I missed another day of school. Waiting until the last possible moment, I raced to the dining hall and grabbed a piece of toast. I didn't sit to eat it, there was no time. Instead, I kept my head down and stuffed it into my mouth as I walked to class.

I could feel Lizzie's narrowed-eye glare as I slid into my seat.

“Where were you?” she hissed across the aisle.

“Not feeling well,” I whispered back, barely turning my head. I watched impatiently as one of the girls monopolized Ms. Tate's attention. I wanted her to start the lesson so I could avoid Lizzie's questions. I opened my binder. Blank pages stared back at me. Poems simmered in my head. Picking up my pen, I was about to write something, but Lizzie's insistent whisper came at me again.

“Why didn't you do it?”

“I just couldn't.” I caught myself before adding an apology. I wasn't sorry.

“A real friend would have done it.”

I glanced over at Cassie, imagining her hair shorn, hacked to nothing, like a field of stubbly wheat stalks. The image of her waking up, seeing dead strands of her hair littered on the pillow, the sheets, the floor, how she'd scream, made me shiver.

I looked at Lizzie. She was such a private school cliché. I'd be better off with no friends than ones like the Ravens. “A real friend wouldn't have asked me,” I fired back at her, shocked at the venom in my words.

She gave me a wicked smile. “I was never your friend.”

I stared so hard at the lines on my paper, they blurred.

Ms. Tate was saying something. I focused on her, ignoring Lizzie. My pen slipped and rolled to the floor. In one brutal motion, Lizzie scooped it up, snapped it in half, and tossed it back at me. Ink leaked out, a blue blood bath seeping across my desk.

I
t
started to rain. Huge drops that soaked my shirt, making me shiver. Mike had left me under a sign welcoming visitors to the city. The skyline lay ahead of me, shrouded in grey cloud. Everything felt foggy. I kept getting Mike confused with Coach Williams, my brain playing tricks on me.

Mike could have beaten me, or done worse. But the taste of him in my mouth made me retch.

I started scratching my hand again, the newly formed scab still soft and pliable. It peeled off, blood rushed to the surface. Mixing with the rain, it ran down my fingers in rivulets.

Cars zipped by, dousing me with spray, their wheels spinning as they raced down the highway. I wouldn't hitch again. My steps wobbled, weaving onto the road and back to the shoulder. A car honked, its horn blaring, scaring the shit out of me and making me jump out of the way, back to the shoulder. I stood there shuddering, my nerves shot.

A box lay in the ditch, wiggling. What the fuck? I blinked, wiped the rain out of my eyes and took another look.

It was wet and folded down on itself, the cardboard soaked, but it was rocking, almost tipping over. I slid down into the tall grass. Puddles of fetid water sucked at my feet as I crossed to the box. Inside was a dog. A small, black puppy with pointed ears and a snout speckled with white. He started whimpering, brown eyes still half-closed with newness.

I put my hand into the box. The dog sniffed, curious, too young to be scared. A little pink tongue shot out, rough and warm, licking my fingers, drinking the raindrops.

“You're hungry,” I said out loud. I had no food for myself, never mind the dog. Could he drink ditch water? I wrapped my hands around his middle. Wet and skinny, his heart beat like crazy and he tried to scramble out of my hands.

“Shush, shush,” I soothed him, holding him against me. His paws scratched me, but I patted his head, the skull impossibly small under my fingers. How old was he? A few weeks? Tossed onto the roadside to die. Whoever did it should have just killed him, not left him to starve.

The dog calmed down, nestled against my chest. Tucked himself into my jacket. A bit farther up was a truck stop. They might not want to give me food, but a helpless puppy?

Exhaust fumes belched at me as I crossed the parking lot. The asphalt was slick with rain. One of my shoelaces had come undone, but I couldn't bend down to tie it, in case the puppy ran off. I needed to find something for a leash so I could keep him with me.

The guy at the till looked me up and down when I walked in. “No dogs,” he said catching sight of the one in my arms.

“He's a puppy. I found him in the ditch.” I tried to push his head towards the guy at the counter so he could see how helpless the dog was.

“Don't care,” he growled. I looked around at the perfectly stocked shelves, bright drinks glowing in the coolers, racks of shiny magazines, and the rotating corn dog display.

“Come on, man. You can't help me out? I just want some food for the dog.”

His face stayed blank. Did he want me to beg?

“This place is a fucking rip-off anyway.” I kicked the door open. I didn't care if the other customers stared at me. I stumbled back outside, into the rain. I'd take my chances in the garbage, or keep walking until I found someone who wasn't a heartless bastard.

A frayed pink rope lay beside bundles of firewood for sale. I picked it up and wrapped it around the dog's neck, but it was too loose and he slipped his head out of it. “Don't like being tied up, do you?” Tossing the rope away, I remembered the gauze I'd taken from the pharmacy, first aid for my hands. It seemed like so long ago that I'd left Lumsville, but it had only been hours.

Damp from the rain, the gauze stretched and stuck to the dog's fur so he couldn't wriggle out of it. When I put the dog on the ground, he skittered away, not sure what to do, and then lay down, pawing at the leash.

I took a minute to look around. Another stretch of highway led into the city. The downtown skyline loomed in the distance. If I made it there, I'd be able to find food and a place to crash.

I wasn't just thinking of me anymore. I had a dog to look after.

If I got the city, I could find Hope. She'd help me. I just had to remember the name of her school. My brain was fried.

And the dog. It needed a name. I bent down again and checked, lifting a paw against his wishes. A girl.

Rain dripped from my forehead onto my lips. I licked it away. Fresh. A paper cup rolled across the pavement toward us. I ripped off the top half and let the water collect in it so she could drink. My jacket's odour, pungent wet leather, musky, reminded me of my hockey gear. The smell trapped in the bag, released when I opened it. But I pushed those thoughts away. I'd left that world behind. I was here now, lost on a highway. Better than being stuck in Lumsville.

I smiled as the dog's pink tongue darted out to lap the water up. She needed a tough name, something nobody would mess with.

Storm.

“Come on, Stormy,” I tried. It sounded right.

I wrapped the gauze around my fingers and started walking. I wasn't as tired anymore, or as dazed. The rain and Storm had brought me back around. As long as I could find Hope, I'd be okay.