Taking Flight (5 page)

“You really think I deserve all of this?” I asked him. “Just for not going to class for three months? Since when is being sent to a new home across the country a viable punishment for that?”

David was silent for a moment. When he did eventually speak, he admitted, “I haven’t been completely honest with you. I was hoping to get you to open up on your own… but perhaps it’d be better if we just laid everything out on the table, so to speak.”

“I’d prefer that,” I agreed, narrowing my eyes at him.

“I’ve heard all about your mother,” he told me, much to my surprise.

“But no one knows about that,” I countered. “How could you—?”

“Judge Jacobs was provided with your school file, of course. There’s a lot of information in there. Everything you’ve been in trouble for… your grades… and the names of both of your parents. You’re here because you’re a special case, Lauren, and because you’ve been through a lot. Whether you realize it or not, growing up without a consistent guardian to watch over you
is
out of the ordinary, and it
has
affected your behavior.”

“You act like I’m some sort of heathen,” I shot back. “Why would the judge play dumb with me?”

“Did he? Or did you assume he didn’t know about your mother because he wasn’t as sympathetic to your situation as you thought he should be?” I ground my teeth silently, and that was enough of an answer for him. He leaned toward me. “Listen, Lauren. We are all here to help. The rest of my family doesn’t know who your mother is, and we can keep that between us, if that’s what you want. But this is a team effort, and you have to be willing to work with us.”

“Then we have a problem,” I told him, my voice sharp, “because I’m not.”

He looked disappointed. “Well… at any rate, at least we can improve your school attendance. But that’s honestly the least of my concerns.”

As much as I wanted to end our conversation, that piqued my curiosity. This entire trip had been made out to be some kind of attendance reform program. Now the rules had changed? “Then what
are
your concerns?” I asked him.

He rattled off answers like he’d done it dozens of times over in his head. “Substance abuse, lack of guidance, intimacy issues, depression, loss of a loved one…”

“Okay, I do not have intimacy issues,” I countered, offended. “
Or
depression.”

“From what I understand, you’ve spent three months lying in bed since the death of your mother,” he pointed out. “That seems indicative of depression.”

“God, my mother just died!” I hissed out, remembering to be quiet for the sake of the rest of the Marshalls. “Of course I was sad. Or…
am
sad. It’s okay to be sad.”

“But it’s not okay to miss school for three months.” He stood without any warning, and I took that to mean I could stand as well. “That’s enough for tonight. Tomorrow you’ll be helping out on the farm.”

I snorted. “Yeah, right. Over my dead body.”

He pursed his lips together as I left him there. “Goodnight, Lauren.”

I was up the stairs before he’d even finished speaking. Seconds later, I ducked into Cammie’s room briefly to get everything I’d need for my shower, and saw that she was sitting on her bed now, her Bible open on her lap. She looked up too late to see my eye-roll, and smiled brightly at me. “How’d it go?”

She saw my next eye-roll, then, and a moment later, I was out of her room and in the shower, thankful to finally have some peace and quiet. I ran through the Marshalls in my head, trying to work out what exactly I thought of them. I knew I didn’t want to be here, and I knew that that wasn’t going to change, but what I hated most so far was the way that David seemed determined to pry into my personal life. I didn’t like Wendy, either, but at least she was a good cook.

Scott had potential, though. He was a boy, sure, and one that’d looked at my breasts before my face when we’d first met, but he seemed to be the most relaxed of the Marshalls, and I was eager to hang out with anyone who wasn’t uptight for as long as I had to stay here.

Cammie, on the other hand, seemed to be a lot more likely to adhere to every little rule her parents made. She was nice, but she was a good church girl who wore parent-approved outfits that didn’t show too much skin, and she read the Bible every night from the looks of things. I didn’t expect to be having any sort of fun with her anytime soon, sexual or otherwise. She was hot, but I knew her type: a total stick in the mud.

I finished my shower and got ready for bed, even though I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. It was just after ten thirty, which meant it was seven thirty back in Los Angeles. Nowhere near my body clock’s bedtime.

Cammie was still buried in the Bible when I returned to her room, but she set the book aside even as I grabbed my mp3 player out of my purse and went to sit on my bed. “You brought that from L.A.?” she asked. I knew she was just making polite conversation, and nodded. “What kind of music do you like?”

“All kinds.” A thought struck me and I smirked to myself. “Except for country.”

“Not even Taylor Swift?” she asked, sounding genuinely surprised. I practically snorted.

“Uh, no. Definitely not Taylor Swift.”

“What about Luke Bryan?”

“I don’t know who that is,” I replied simply, then put both earbuds in and cranked up my music. But Cammie replied before I could completely drown her out, and I missed about half of her sentence. Sighing, I paused the song. “What?”

“I said, how can you not have heard of Luke Bryan?”

“Because I’m not from the middle of nowhere?” I replied uncertainly. She shot me a knowing smile, briefly reminding me of her father.

“He’s on the radio. So what
do
you listen to, really?”

I sighed again and unplugged my earbuds from the mp3 player, then tossed it to her. She caught it easily and proceeded to scroll through my music. Occasionally, she made a comment, like, “The Beatles, cool,” or “I can’t believe you don’t like Taylor Swift but you have Avril Lavigne on here.”

Regarding the latter, I couldn’t stay silent. “I’ve had that library since age eleven, okay?”

“Suuure,” she drawled. “I bet when you get mad at your parents you slam your bedroom door shut and blast ‘What the Hell.’”

I scowled at her. “Real hilarious. Can I have it back, now?”

She tossed it back to me. “You’re missing my favorite band.”

“I’m shocked,” I deadpanned. “Look, I’m not gonna get a lot of sleep tonight otherwise, so I’m just gonna listen to music now and hope it helps. My body thinks it’s not even eight o’clock yet.”

“Okay,” she agreed simply. “That’s a good idea, I guess. We have to wake up at nine in the morning tomorrow.”

“What? Why?” I was most certainly
not
waking up that early, especially when my body would be telling me it was six in the morning.

“To get to work on the farm. We do it every Saturday.”

“Then Sunday is church, and then you have five days of school,” I realized. “Which days don’t suck?”

“Well, I don’t think any of them do.” She looked amused now. “But Saturday’s not as bad as it sounds. If we work quickly, we can have most of the day free.”

“Or if I don’t work at all, I can have all of it free,” I countered, then put in my earbuds and looked away from her before she could reply.

Chapter Three

Sure enough, I woke up to an alarm at nine o’clock on Saturday morning.

It blared for a solid fifteen seconds before I heard Cammie fumble for the button to shut it off. She got out of bed, but I stayed put, wrapped up in my comforter with my face half-buried in my pillow. I pulled the comforter over my head and squeezed my eyes shut, annoyed that I was going to have to start my whole rebellion plan this early in the morning. I wanted to go back to sleep, not spend half an hour arguing with Cammie and the rest of the Marshalls about whether or not I’d be shoveling horse shit today.

After a few seconds of footsteps padding around the room, I finally felt Cammie’s hand on me through the comforter. “Hey Lauren, it’s time to get up,” she said. I didn’t move. There was silence for a moment, and then she called my name again. I heard her sigh when I still didn’t move. “I know you’re awake.” After another few seconds, she gave up and left the room. I relaxed a little and tried to go back to sleep, hoping maybe I’d won, but it wasn’t long before she returned. This time Scott was with her, and he laughed when he saw the way I’d burrowed beneath the covers.

“C’mon, Lauren. Ready to try some hard labor?” he asked, and I’d finally had enough.

I moved the covers off of myself and glared at them from where I laid. “No. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Sorry. I don’t think Dad’s gonna let you do that,” Scott said.

“He can’t make me work when I don’t want to,” I argued.

“Yeah, that’s true, but arguing all the time is only going to make your seven months here harder,” Scott countered. Behind him, Cammie looked annoyed with me.

“You’re already awake. Just get out of bed,” she said.

“Have you
seen
me?” I asked them. “I don’t do manual labor. In fact, I don’t do any kind of labor. But what I
do
do is sleep in. Every day. Including today. Goodbye.” I threw the covers back over myself and rolled over to put my back to them, huffing loudly.

“Jeez. Spoiled, isn’t she?” I heard Scott murmur. Cammie made a small sound of agreement. I felt redness in my cheeks almost instantaneously even as they both left the room, and my heart sank in my chest, then started beating faster. For a moment, I was back in Los Angeles, walking into class late with a brand new manicure and a coffee as Cassidy Parkinson leaned over to whisper the same insult to the friend who sat next to her. 

I swallowed hard and whispered aloud, “I’m not spoiled.”

Realizing I couldn’t get back to sleep now, I sat up in bed and rubbed at my eyes. I felt like absolute shit, but I wasn’t sure if that was because I’d woken up so early or because of what Scott – and indirectly, Cammie – had said about me. I hated that they’d hit a nerve so quickly. “Spoiled” was one of my very few kryptonites. They didn’t even know about how rich my family was and yet, they were already using the insult against me. That was what hurt the most. I’d thought before that I’d only ever been called spoiled because people knew I had money.

I went to my suitcase, started rummaging through it for clothes to wear, and found the shirt and shorts I cared about the least. When it was time for shoes, I stared down at my collection with trepidation. I had a case full of heels and one pair of sneakers, but they were white and unworn.

That was when Cammie found me. She walked back into her room, alone this time, and raised both eyebrows when she saw me kneeling by my suitcase. “You’re up?” she asked, not bothering to hide her surprise.

“I can’t decide which shoes to wear,” I told her, only giving her a quick glance. I knew deep down that the sneakers were probably about to be ruined today, but I was hoping there was a chance that she’d offer an alternative.

Cammie was still hung up on the fact that I was out of bed. “Really? For going outside?”

I crossed my arms and stood, looking to her. “This doesn’t mean I want to do it, or that I’ll have fun,” I told her. “But I’m not spoiled.”

I could tell she was trying to hide a smile. “My brother hit a nerve,” she guessed.

“Just help me pick out shoes.” I gestured toward the suitcase and she joined me in looking over what I’d brought.

“All you have is heels,” she said, appalled. “Doesn’t it hurt to wear them constantly?”

“I’ve been wearing heels since age five,” I explained. “But obviously I can’t wear them today.”

“Well, you have those sneakers.” She pointed them out.

“I don’t wanna ruin them.”

“What size are you?” she asked.

“A four,” I said.

“
What
? Wow, you have tiny feet! I’m a six, sorry. I think you may have to just wear the sneakers.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But we won’t give you much to do today. You can mostly just observe.”

“Good,” I said.

She smiled at me. “I’m glad you decided to join us.”

“Well, I figured your dad would come force me anyway,” I half-lied. I’d been prepared to combat David as well, if need be.

Cammie shook her head. “I don’t think so, actually. That’s not really how he does things.” She paused, and then corrected herself. “Well, he’ll force you with school, but only because that’s a legal thing. Anyway, do you want breakfast? Mom’s making French toast.”

“She cooks every meal?” I asked, baffled. I couldn’t remember the last time my parents had cooked a meal before Dad’s pancakes the other day.

“Of course,” Cammie replied, but I was lost in my own thoughts. It felt like so much longer than a day since I’d gotten here. Five months would feel like a lifetime at this rate.

Cammie and I spent a few minutes getting ready in the bathroom, and then she put on some real clothes and we went downstairs together. I followed behind her and couldn’t help but stare. She’d chosen a pair of shorts and a tanktop, and I could see now that her arms weren’t muscular, but they were toned from what I supposed had to be constant manual labor. She was definitely in shape.

I forced myself to look away and swallowed the lump in my throat.
The roommate is off-limits,
I told myself silently.
You can look, but don’t even think about touching.

I ate breakfast with Cam and the rest of the Marshalls, who all seemed pleasantly surprised to see me up, and David explained the chores for the day. Cammie and I were to take care of the horse today, which sounded like the best job of them all to me. For one, there was no plural “horses,” which meant just one animal to deal with, and secondly, I figured Cammie would be willing to do all of the work today. So really, I’d only complied by waking up early, and I’d gotten a good breakfast in exchange for that. I wasn’t doing any work, and that made me feel better about giving in to Scott and Cammie earlier.

We went outside after breakfast, Cammie and I bringing up the rear, and I felt the cow shit smell flood my nostrils. I paused, second-guessing myself, and Cammie stopped beside me, putting a hand on my arm. I glanced down at the action and she removed it sheepishly, but told me nonetheless, “You can do this. You’re not spoiled, right? You can work just as hard as the rest of us.”

“Emotional manipulation—I’m impressed,” I sighed out. “Did your dad teach you that?”

She rolled her eyes at me and dropped the act. “C’mon. It’ll be over soon.”

We trudged out to the stable together, and Cammie listed out everything that needed to be done. I pretended to listen; it wasn’t like I’d be willing to do any of it anyway.

There was one horse alone in its stall, and I stood by the entrance to the stable as Cammie went to go pat him on his head. “Good boy, Aerosmith,” she cooed, and I raised an eyebrow at the name.

“It’s named Aerosmith? Why?”

“
He
is, yes,” she corrected. “And I named him.”

“Your favorite band,” I realized. “Seriously? Why?”

“Why did I name him that or why is it my favorite band?”

“Why is that your favorite band? I assumed it was, like… The Wiggles, or something equally wholesome.”

Cammie laughed at that. I liked her laugh; it was a pretty, almost giggly laugh that made the corners of my lips tug upward. “Not exactly. My dad has all their albums; he used to play them a lot in the car when I was a kid. Even if I start to like another band just as much, they’ll never beat the nostalgia factor.”

“My dad likes to blast Queen,” was all I could really think of to say to that.

“What, like, Bohemian Rhapsody?”

“Yeah.” I paused. “I know everyone’s heard that song, but it still kind of surprises me that you have.”

“I don’t live in a tiny little country bubble,” she said. “We’re still in the 21
st
century.”

“Well, it feels like I’ve crossed over into the 1800s,” I admitted. She looked away from me, petting the horse for another moment before she cleared her throat and stepped away.

“Okay, anyway, the first thing we should probably do is clean out his stable. Something tells me you won’t have any part of that, so I guess just stand back and don’t get into any trouble.” She smiled at me to let me know she was joking, and reached over to unlock the stall. I backpedaled instantly, putting some distance between the stable and myself.

“Wait, you’re letting it out?”

“Just for a minute. I can’t clean this up otherwise. Just… go take a lap around the house or something and I’ll be done when you get back.” She snapped her fingers, like she’d just had an epiphany. “Actually, you can go grab something from the house. It’s gonna get warmer out as we get closer to noon, so you might wanna grab a hair tie and a couple of baseball caps out of my closet.”

“Okay,” I agreed, eager to get away from the stable. I headed back to the house and was surprised when I didn’t come into contact with any of the Marshalls on the way there. I knew from David’s list this morning that he and Wendy were with the cows and Scott was with the chickens, but I couldn’t remember what they were supposed to be doing with them other than that the cows needed to be milked. That was one job I was sure I’d never do.

I took off my now-muddy shoes before I went upstairs to Cammie’s room. I found the things she’d asked for without much difficulty, but paused on my way out when I caught sight of the closed briefcase still sitting on her desk. Sticking out from beneath it was a corner of the white paper, just barely visible.

I took two seconds to pretend like I needed to debate Cammie’s right to privacy, and then crossed to the desk and opened the briefcase again. It was exactly as I’d seen it last night. Rows and rows of colored pencils and pastels of every shade lined the briefcase, and most of them were nearly down to little nubs. There were also a couple of paintbrushes I hadn’t noticed the night before, along with around seven different small tubes of paint. So Cammie was an artist.

I closed the briefcase and set it aside, taking in the image on the paper beneath it. She hadn’t gotten very far along, but I could tell what she was drawing was some sort of cityscape. Skyscrapers stretched up toward the top of the paper, and a couple of street lamps lined what were the beginnings of a road. There was a lot of blue shading, which told me she’d meant it to be a night scene. A car was visible on the not-quite-a-street, but only the tire and a yellow outline had been drawn. It was a taxi.

“New York,” I guessed aloud, surprised. What surprised me even more was that it was
good
. Cammie could draw.

I put the briefcase back over top of the paper and moved quickly, not wanting Cammie to wonder why I’d taken so long. On my way outside, I passed the house phone, which was tempting. But I’d only been here for one day, so it wasn’t like I’d have much to report to Caitlyn, and besides, there was still the matter of getting back to Cammie quickly so as not to arouse suspicion.

She was done cleaning the stable by the time I reached her, and instead was brushing the horse. I kept my distance, and she came to me to take the hat. Her hair was already up, so she just pulled her ponytail through the back of the cap, and then asked me, “Do you want any help?”

“Oh,” I replied, feeling dumb as I looked at my remaining hair tie and cap. “Uh, I don’t wear hats.”

She tilted her head to the side quizzically, reminding me of a confused puppy. Then she smiled. “You know, I think you and my best friend would have a lot in common.”

“I don’t know whether I should be offended by that or not,” I replied, horrified at my own imaginary creation of Cammie’s best friend. I pictured one tooth and a straw hat.

Cammie rolled her eyes, looking mildly annoyed with me. I suspected she’d read my mind, because she told me, “You have got to stop the stereotyping. She’s actually really cool. Her name’s Tiffany.”

“God,” I murmured and put my hair up into a ponytail, then slapped the cap on in hopes it’d get her to stop talking.

It didn’t work. “What? You don’t even like her
name
, now?” Cammie asked. “You haven’t even let me tell you about her. I really do think you’ll like her, you know… She doesn’t get along with most of the kids that stay with us but you guys kind of seem similar. She hates when I try to convince her to help out around here too.”