Wreath (15 page)

I
n the evenings, Wreath thought nights were the worst. Weird noises surrounded her, and she fretted that a bum would stumble into her corner of the world. But usually sleep overcame her, and although she woke up with a few bug bites, the darkness was gone.

Mornings hit hard because there was a big hole where Frankie should have been. From the time she was six or seven, her mama had brought her coffee to bed to wake her up. “Rise and shine, baby girl,” her mama would say, giving her the tiny white cup that had more milk and sugar than actual coffee. Every day Frankie sat down on the side of the bed and stroked Wreath’s hair, which stuck out in every direction when she woke up.

“I’m not a baby,” Wreath had grumbled when she turned nine. “You’ll always be my baby girl,” Frankie said. “Now get up and face the world.”

At sixteen, Wreath figured she was definitely facing the world. She thought her mama must be watching over her, or she’d never have made it this long. When you were doing fun stuff, time flew. But when you were trying to escape, it seemed to crawl by.

Wreath developed a routine. Not a normal one, she had to admit, but a routine anyway. Some mornings she pretended she was at extreme summer camp. “Wreath Willis, from Lucky, Louisiana, will be forced to live by her wits for one week. Can she find food and water? Will she be stronger than the other campers, winning the ten-thousand-dollar prize?” She announced the words into an old metal cup she used as a microphone.

“While other campers are out for activities, Miss Willis diligently takes care of the campsite,” she said into the make-believe microphone. “Chosen as camp leader, she must make sure accommodations are up to standard. Now she must begin her daily inventory of the site, making certain that other campers take care of the property and abide by camp rules.” Rich people paid good money for experiences like this. She had known a rich boy in Lucky who had gotten sent away to a military school for drinking and generally doing dumb things. When he came back, he described it in much the same way as Wreath felt about her life now.

She went directly to one of her favorite junkmobiles, a travel trailer that looked like one of those cans that ham came in. Maybe she should splurge on a ham at the Dollar Barn. That sounded good. The trailer, even with its share of rust and mildew, had a jaunty air about it, with turquoise trim and bright plastic furniture. She had read about Yellowstone National Park in one of her history books and decided to call it Old Faithful. She could see a family using it to camp in the park, the mom frying bacon while the dad watched for bears.

This morning, she was on a mission. She gingerly opened the door, never plunging in for fear of who or what might greet her. “Not a creature is stirring,” she said in her announcer voice, trying to shake the nerves she had when she entered any of the vehicles.

Turning to the kitchen, somewhat of a jumbled mess, she found what she was looking for—a coffeepot, a Dripolator, like Frankie had bought for a dime in a garage sale. She had watched her mama make a hundred pots of coffee and was going to give it a try, once she figured out how to heat the water. She also picked up a cracked flowerpot with a smiley face painted on it.

The floor creaked, and Wreath jumped, then headed back to the Tiger Van. Cute as Old Faithful was, her van felt safer. It was small and secure, not cozy, but contained. Even though she mostly only slept there, it felt like a home. With the coffeepot in the “kitchen” of her van and the flowerpot by the “porch,” she sat down in a half-broken lawn chair and pulled out the journal. At this rate, she’d need another notebook before long. She carefully documented her schedule in her journal.

Writing made her feel in control. She was not a hopeless girl living in a dump. She was Wreath Willis, and if she took life a week at a time, she’d make it, even if she was ignoring the looming weight of school. She hated to admit it, but she looked forward to school starting, even though the idea made her nervous. She missed talking to Frankie and her teachers at school and sitting on the front porch and listening to neighbors argue, TVs turned up loud. She had never watched much television because she didn’t like to be in the same room with Big Fun or Frankie’s other boyfriends, but now she missed the sound.

Dear Brownie: I wonder if I could get cable out here
, she wrote and then got up to explore some more. Sitting still in the van during the day was almost as bad as lying on the floor in the dark, smelly and claustrophobic. Combing the junkyard, she sketched vehicles and listed their contents. It not only gave her something to do, but it made her feel as though she were the landlord, in charge of all these people.

She shrieked when she looked up and saw a face staring at her through a window and then gave a relieved laugh when she realized it was herself.

She had finally found a decent mirror.

Wreath told herself she was making the trip to the state park to shower.

But she didn’t fool herself.

She wanted to see Law.

Desperate for someone to talk to, she was crushed when he was not in the little log cabin, replaced by a man in a tan uniform. The man looked more like a prison guard than a park worker, but he paid her scarcely any attention, watching the Weather Channel on a TV mounted in the corner of the office. She stood at the counter for a full minute before he acknowledged her. She supposed that was a good thing.

“Day pass, please,” she said, laying one of her precious, crumpled dollar bills on the surface.

The man picked the damp bill up with a slight grimace and wrote the date in marker on the pass. “Enjoy your walk,” he said as she turned away. “Watch out for poison ivy. It’s bad right now.”

The shower always made her feel better, less like a homeless person. The water, lukewarm coming out of the faucet, streamed over her. It washed away not only the grit but also many of her fears. Usually she walked out feeling like a new person, ready for a fresh start.

This morning she felt settled and homesick at the same time.

She wondered where Frankie was buried.

Clarice noticed her as soon as Wreath pulled out of the park, her legs strong as she propelled the bike toward town.

She had been worried about the girl and was happy to see she wasn’t on foot.

“Wreath,” she called, and the front tire of the bike wobbled a bit but the rider didn’t turn. “Wreath,” she yelled louder. The teenager kept pedaling.

Hesitant, Clarice put on her blinker and pulled onto the opposite shoulder, in front of the bike. Wreath would have to stop—or run into her car.

The bike swerved a bit, and Wreath’s face looked grim.

“I haven’t seen you around,” Clarice said. “I thought you’d gone back home.” She could almost see the thoughts run across the thin face, the beautiful brown eyes hooded.

“We’re staying,” Wreath said. “I may start school here.”

“I see you’ve got wheels.” Clarice pointed to the battered bike, with a silver fender and a large basket, filled with a backpack that was stuffed so full it looked like it would burst.

The teen actually smiled. “I bought it downtown,” she said. “It’s a lot easier than walking. Thanks again for giving me those rides when I first got here.”

“The offer stands,” Clarice said. “Do you still have my number?”

Wreath moved her head in what was the slightest nod and looked down at the plastic watch. “I’ve got to get to work,” she said. “See you around.”

And off she rode, swerving around Clarice’s car and pedaling like a pack of wild dogs was on her heels.

Coming to the edge of town, Wreath slowed down.

She figured she looked crazed flying along the road, but she liked to scoot away from the junkyard quickly on ordinary days. She didn’t want a passing driver to notice her near there, raising questions. She supposed it was inevitable that she’d run into that lawyer again, and it had shaken her.

She slowed down. Crashing into a ditch in front of an oncoming car would be a good way to get noticed, and that would have been stupid.
Avoid notice. Avoid notice. Avoid notice. Be more careful
.

Frankie had never fussed at her as much as Wreath fussed at herself. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” her mama used to say. “Just do your best.” She couldn’t let herself get upset by the encounter. Clarice was a good woman. The teen wanted to talk about her job and the books she’d been reading with the lawyer, but she knew that wasn’t smart.

Just hearing the voice, though, had helped. No doubt Clarice was smart, being a lawyer and all. She might be able to help Wreath if Big Fun showed up. But that would mean trusting her.

Wreath shook her head and started riding again.

She turned toward Main Street, trying to think of something to do until work. Unless she convinced Faye to let her do more, she didn’t think she’d be welcome showing up early. The woman didn’t seem too used to having people around and wasn’t much for small talk.

Being around her for work could be bad enough, but hanging out with her would be ridiculous.

Wreath couldn’t help herself. She groaned out loud at the thought of being chummy with her boss, pulling up a chair and propping her feet on the big old rolltop desk that looked like something out of a history book. She could almost see the woman shrinking back, turning up that rich nose of hers and shooing Wreath out with a broom.

Going to the furniture store was out.

She didn’t want to be too obvious at the library, and she’d been there four times this week. If she went to the Dollar Barn, she’d want to spend money she didn’t have, and the A/C didn’t work so great in there anyway. The cashier’s name was Destiny, and she went to Landry High, Wreath had learned during one of her regular visits for Vienna sausages and peanut butter.

Destiny kept a box fan sitting on the unused counter behind her, blowing hot, damp wind onto the customers as they paid—cash only. Sometimes she was out front on break when Wreath rode up and always seemed ready to talk. No. The Dollar Barn was out.

Wreath’s list of options wasn’t that long, and she finally took a deep breath and decided to do what she’d been putting off. Today was the day she would scope out Landry High School, where she planned to be an invisible A student, whom colleges begged for and teachers ignored. She wasn’t quite sure how she was going to do that, but where there was a Willis, there was a way.

Veering off to the right, she rambled through neighborhoods, up and down side streets until she saw the school in the distance, almost on the other edge of town. She pedaled with a sense of purpose now, excited to get a feel for the place and to work on her plan to get registered.

She ignored the bike rack and rode up the front sidewalk, realizing she was at Apollo Elementary School, not the high school. Disgusted, she turned her bike and rode around the side, jumping a curb into the parking lot and nearly colliding with a trio of sweaty guys, bouncing a basketball between them, shoving and laughing. She slammed on her brakes, skidded, nearly flew over the handlebars, and threw her left leg down to drag her to a stop.