Who Owns Kelly Paddik (4 page)

One day after school, Jim came and stood in my doorway. I'd been lying on my bed, watching the last of the yellow leaves blow past my window. If it had been Fran, I would have kept lying there. But Jim made me think of my dad, coming through my bedroom door when I was small. My heart started beating so hard that it hurt. Clenching my fists, I sat up.

“How are you doing these days, Kelly?” Jim asked.

“I don't have anything to say to you,” I said, watching his feet. If you want to know which way a person is going to move, you always watch his feet.

There was a long pause, but Jim just kept
standing there. Finally I glanced at his face and said, “Don't you get the message? I'm telling you to get lost.”

His heavy eyebrows went up a bit. “I hear you like writing stories,” he said. “I'd like to read one, if you'd let me. I brought you some paper to write on.” He placed a pile of lined paper on my desk.

What was it with these people? Why couldn't they just leave me alone? “Get out!” I yelled and threw my pillow at him. He caught it and placed it on my desk, then left. I heard him stop outside my door and wait, making sure I didn't freak out again.

Just before supper, one of the staff took some of the girls down to the smoking room. Even though I didn't have any smokes, I went with them — second-hand smoke is better than none. When we got to the smoking room I stood around, not knowing who to talk to. Chris had stayed in the unit to finish some homework.

“Hey, Kelly.” It was Pit Bull, sitting with another girl, playing cards. “Come over here,” she said.

I looked at her for a moment, thinking about it. This was the first time she'd spoken to
me since she'd apologized to the office wall. Why the sudden interest?

“C'mon, Kelly.” Pit Bull sounded friendly enough. She could fake a believable smile when she wanted to. And who cared if her smile was real or not? Nothing about Pit Bull was real; everyone knew that. If she decided to make me one of her fake friends, I'd have it made. No one would laugh at me. When I was out of smokes, someone would give me one. No one said no to Pit Bull and her friends.

I went over and sat down.
Careful
, I thought.

“Want a smoke?” Pit Bull asked, her smile as careful as mine.

“Sure,” I said. She handed me one, then held her lighter for me. I took a long deep drag. “Wish I could quit,” I said.

“Don't we all. Waste of money,” Pit Bull agreed. We played a hand of gin rummy while I wondered what this was about. Then Pit Bull glanced around, looking for staff, and said, “Walk down to Bingo with us tonight.” There was a look in her eyes that made it an order. I waited before I answered, just so she would know that I wasn't one of her slaves.

“Okay,” I said slowly.

Pit Bull smiled and said, “Good girl.” Then she and the other girl got up and left the table.

She made her point
, I thought.
Kelly New Girl does what she's told, just like everyone else
.

Still, when Pit Bull started joking around with me after supper chores, I had to smile. She could be funny, though most of her jokes put the other girls down. I walked with her through the long hall to the schoolroom where the weekly Bingo game was held. I could feel the other girls' eyes on me, wondering if I'd made it into Pit Bull's special circle. When we got to the Bingo room, Pit Bull kicked some girls away from the table she wanted. She always got her own private table.

“C'mon, Kelly,” she said. Feeling like her pet poodle, I sat down beside her. To my relief, Fran pulled up a chair and sat with us for part of the evening. When she left, Pit Bull leaned forward.

“Thursday night after gym, I'm going to run for it,” she said. “You're going to be my decoy.”

I knew better than to show surprise. Keeping my face blank, I stared at my Bingo card.
So this was what I was supposed to do for her.
Which door?
I thought.
How can I get her to tell me which door?

“Sure,” I said, trying to keep cool. “What d'you want me to do?”

“Just keep talking to Fran on the way back from gym,” said Pit Bull. “I checked the staff schedule and she's working. That should give me all the time I need.”

I took a deep breath and asked, “So, how are you going to get out?”

A slow grin crawled across Pit Bull's face. “Someday, maybe I'll send you a postcard and tell you. I'll owe you one, Kelly.”

Yeah, sure
, I thought.
You'll be gone and I'll be stuck here forever
. My thoughts raced around the inside of my head. Maybe she already had a key. If she did, I could steal it from her, and then I'd be the one skipping free.

“If you tell,” Pit Bull said, ditching her smile, “I'll make you pay for it.”

I almost laughed. Who would I tell? “What are you going to do out there?” I asked.

“I've got friends,” she said.

I had to try again. Keeping the hope off my face, I repeated, “How are you getting out?”

She laughed. “You'll find out after I'm gone. I'm out of this place, man.”

All I could do was stare at her face and wish I was her.

Over the next few days, Pit Bull and I didn't talk to each other so that no one would suspect. I stayed in my room and started writing a story about Chris as a little kid. It made me think about my sister Jolyn, and I wanted to talk to her more than ever. Maybe if I got out of here, I could visit her in secret, without my mom knowing. As I wrote, the story-girl Chris turned into Jolyn. It was almost like talking to her, and the words poured out of me. That evening and the next I
wrote every chance I got. Thursday evening I took the story with me when I went to skating.

In the long hall, Pit Bull looked at me as she walked by. I nodded. I skated by myself and thought about my decoy plan. I wondered how Pit Bull planned to get out, but I knew better than to ask again. If I tried to follow her, we might both get caught. Then she would make me pay for every breath I took in this place. And even if I escaped with her, she would probably set her friends on me for disobeying her. The best thing to hope for was that she would actually manage to escape. Then she would be gone and I could concentrate on getting out my own way.

When skating finished, I stopped Fran in the equipment room and handed her my story. She smiled and said she'd look at it when we got upstairs to the unit. But that wouldn't help Pit Bull, so I took the story back and started reading it out loud. I guess it got her attention because she walked back with me, listening the whole way. When we got up to the unit, I couldn't see Pit Bull anywhere. Still, she might need more time, so I kept talking to Fran while the other girls sat down for a snack. We went into the office.

“You're a good storyteller,” Fran said. “Do you ever write about yourself?”

“Yeah, I've written lots of stories. They're in my room.” The words were out of my mouth before I knew it, and I bit my lip. I had to be more careful — I didn't want the staff to know about that stuff.

“What are they about?” asked Fran.

“Oh, stuff,” I said, shrugging. “My life, I guess.” While I was talking, I kept checking for Pit Bull. I didn't see her anywhere.

“That's a good idea,” said Fran.

“Yeah, I guess,” I muttered. “I don't have that much to say.”

Fran was being nice, and I was getting nervous. I had to keep her attention until I was sure that Pit Bull was gone. But you have to watch it when people are nice. They make you relax. Then you let your guard down, and they get stuff out of you.

“It doesn't have a title yet,” I said, trying to change the subject. “First thing you do if you're going to write a book is give it a title — if you want to finish the book, I mean. If you're really serious, it's got a title. That way, it's for real. That way, you have to finish.”

Fran was looking at me closely. “Finish what, Kelly — your book or your life?”

I stared at her. How had we started talking about this? I didn't want to talk about this sort of stuff. In my head I could see Pit Bull running down the street, getting away. My legs got all tight, I wanted to run so much.

“You're not happy here, are you?” Fran asked.

“Is anybody?” I said.

“Where would you like to be?” she asked.

“In some wide open place.” I could see a huge field in the country, with no fences.

“What would you do there?” Fran asked.

“I'd run,” I said right away. “I'd run and run. I used to be on the track-and-field team at my old school.”

“What would you do when you got tired?” she asked.

“I'd never get tired,” I said.

“Everybody gets tired sometime,” she said.

“I never get tired of wanting to run,” I said.

“Yeah, but as long as you're running, whatever you're running from is right behind you,” Fran said.

I could feel my dad swell up inside of me.

My hands went to fists and I closed my eyes.

“What are you running from, Kelly?” Fran asked softly.

The answer was out of me before I knew it. “Me,” I said. “I'm running from me. I hate myself. I hate my life. I just want to get away from myself.”

“But you can't,” Fran said.

Her answer came at me so hard, I felt as if I'd been hit. I opened my eyes and stared at her. This conversation had been going along so nice and easy. Why had she suddenly turned mean on me?

Fran just sat there, looking me in the eye. “That's the only thing you can't run from, Kelly. You can never run from yourself.”

“Sure I can,” I said, pulling up my sleeve and pointing at the bandage.

“Suicide isn't the answer, Kelly,” Fran said, leaning towards me. “Suicide means the person who hurt you won. Even though that person isn't around you right now, he's still running your life. In fact, you're doing his job for him by hurting yourself.” She looked at me for a moment. Then she said, “Who owns your life, Kelly? Who owns Kelly Paddik?”

“He's dead,” I muttered.

“Who is?” asked Fran.

“Ah, nothing.” I hadn't meant for any of this to come out. A long time ago I'd tried talking to my mom, and that had made things worse. Life happens the way it happens and you can't change that. “You don't do life,” I said. “Life does you.”

“You can write your life any way you want, Kelly,” Fran said. “It's still all there ahead of you. Right now it's a bunch of blank pages. Suicide means you leave them blank.”

“Fran.” Suddenly Sister Mary was standing in the office doorway. “I need to talk to you,” she said.

One look at Sister Mary's face and I knew they'd found out about Pit Bull.

“I'm going to have a snack,” I said and walked away. I sat down and picked up an apple. From where I was seated, I could see Fran on the office phone, probably calling the police. I wondered how far Pit Bull had gotten.
Which door?
I kept asking myself.
How did she get out of this place?

As I bit into the apple, Fran's words kept running through my head. She was right — someone else was running my life. My dad, of course.
He was still hanging around in my head, even though he was dead. But how was I supposed to fight a ghost? I'd been trying for years, and nothing had worked.

In my room I saw the poster that Sister Mary had given me. I unrolled it. The picture wasn't that bad, really. If I folded the words LOVE YOURSELF under at the bottom, I wouldn't have to look at them. Maybe I couldn't get out of this place, but I could still pretend that I was out. From now on, whenever I started thinking about my dad, I'd pretend that I was a small white bird. Then I would up and fly away.

The next morning it looked as if nobody had figured out the part I'd played in Pit Bull's escape. Rumor had it that she'd broken out through a skylight in the social workers' area. Not that it helped much to know that
now
. That skylight would be guarded by nuns on a mission around the clock.

At midmorning break, Chris came up to me. “Want to get out of class?” she asked. “Sister Mary said I could get someone to help me do something.”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Decorate the gym for Parents' Night.”

I stared at her. “Parents' Night?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Next Thursday. People come in and take a tour — family, or just people from the neighborhood. I'm going to be one of the tour guides.”

I couldn't believe it — this place was like a jail. “What'll they think when they see the locked doors and the wire through the windows?”

“I dunno,” shrugged Chris. “It's not that bad. And it's better for them to see the way it really is than to make up stories about it in their heads. So, d'you want to help?”

“Sure,” I said. Anything to get out of class.

Some of the nuns and several girls were setting up tables on one side of the gym. Sister Mary set us to work cleaning up the equipment room. Then we helped her drag a ladder over to one of the gym walls. Hands on her hips, Sister Mary eyed that wall as if she was going to turn it into a work of art. Standing beside her, I couldn't believe how short she was. I was taller than her when I was ten years old. I couldn't help grinning.

Glancing up at me, Sister Mary got a stern look on her face. “Don't think you can use me
as an armrest, or we'll never be friends, Kelly Paddik,” she said.

Chris hooted with laughter. Without missing a beat, Sister Mary said, “You hold the ladder, Chris. Kelly, why don't you pass the banner up to me?” She started to climb without waiting for Chris to grab hold of the ladder.
This nun doesn't wait for anyone
, I thought.

I went over to the banner and read the words as I picked it up: ONE PERSON IS WORTH MORE THAN THE WHOLE WORLD.
Yeah, right
, I thought.
If they think I'm worth something, why lock me away like this?