Chasing Wishes (11 page)

A shiny black car zips past me, splashing me with even more mud, but instead of disappearing off into the distance like all the others, its brakes squeal and it pulls off to the shoulder, waiting for me.

Seriously? What the hell is wrong with everyone? People won’t even leave me alone on the fucking highway! I bet it’s one of the girls from school; she probably wants to taunt me for being caught out in the downpour.

I look off into the distance and pretend not to see the stopped car. If I ignore it, it’s not there. It works for cats hiding in paper bags, so why not for me? I walk straight past the car, not looking at it even once, and then I hear the voice.

"Nina! For God’s sake, come back here and get out of the rain!" shouts Isaac as he rolls down the driver-side window, and I nearly leap out of my skin.

I turn back to him, eyeing him warily. Can I trust him? He’s been good to me so far, but...

...but he could just be setting me up. He could be waiting for me to come back to his car, then laugh at me and speed off. He could be planning even worse. Nobody would ever know if I got in his car and was never seen again. Or at least, nobody would care.

Jesus Christ, Nina,
I scold myself.
Paranoid much?

I think I’m justified in being paranoid—I’ve only had a bag of shit thrown into my locker, served a good dozen unwarranted detentions, had my textbooks stolen, been attacked twice in the locker room, and had someone spray-paint "stupid slut" on my locker since I started attending Woodbridge Academy.

"Come on, Nina! Get in!" he urges me. His eyes are so kind and honest, so inviting, so... unbelievably green. Wow. They almost pull me in, and I can feel my resolve weakening.

His car looks so warm...

It starts to rain even harder—a torrential downpour so heavy that the raindrops actually hurt—and I race for the passenger-side door.

"Thanks," I mumble awkwardly, dripping all over his leather seats as he revs the engine and pulls back out into traffic. The wipers fly back and forth, back and forth, barely keeping up with the rain pouring down and pounding on the windshield. The strange, blended scent of oiled leather, new car, and Isaac’s cologne is almost intoxicating.

"What the hell were you doing walking on the highway?" he asks, glancing at me with incredulity. "You could’ve gotten yourself killed!"

What does he think I was doing? I wasn’t exactly singing in the rain, was I?

"I was walking home," I answer, opting instead for politeness. "I missed the bus while stuck in detention again."

"What did they say you did this time?"

"I didn’t do anything!" I fire back defensively.

"I didn’t say you did anything at all," he tells me, shrugging off my outburst. "I asked what they
said
you did."

He did say that, didn’t he? I’m so used to being the scapegoat that I assumed the worst about him yet again. I do that to him a lot, don’t I?

"I’m sorry," I apologize. "I’m just... I’m just so tired of them. All of them."

"Hang in there," he says with a soft, almost regretful smile. "They’ll give up and move on to someone else soon. Just don’t give in and you’ll come out on top. Seriously."

I sigh and shake my head.

"Some of the teachers are just as bad," I tell him. "Someone threw a wad of paper at me in Algebra II today—I mean, it’s like they’re still in pre-school or something—and Mr. Donovan gave
me
detention for disrupting the class."

His eyebrows narrow into a tight frown, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns on the radio and drives silently through the pouring rain. The gray, rainy woods fly past, and soon the New Haven skyline—if you can really call it one—comes into sight through the downpour.

"So where am I taking you?" he asks, finally breaking the silence. A pang of fear hits me as I realize what this means.

He’s going to get to see where I live.

What if Mom’s home? What if... what if she has a customer? I can’t let him see that! I can’t let him see the neighborhood I live in!

"Um... 230 West... Dewitt Street," I stammer, naming a street a few blocks down from mine. I can pretend to go home and then walk home after he leaves.

"How about you stop lying to me and just tell me the truth?" he asks, a sharp edge of irritation lurking behind his tone.

"Because I barely know you," I counter. "I’ve never brought
anyone
home, let alone guys from school."

He sighs and shakes his head before speaking again.

"Hi, I’m Isaac Preston," he says, grinning at me like an idiot. "I live at 3 Glen Lake Overlook, I’m sixteen, and I fucking
hate
the racist, classist sons of bitches in my school. And you are?"

My jaw drops so far that it lands in my lap and nestles comfortably between my legs. What do you even say to something like that?

Other than ‘thank you,’ maybe, and I’m pretty sure those words are nowhere near my lips right now.

"I’m Nina Torres," I mumble. "I live at 81 Spring Avenue, in the Hill neighborhood of New Haven, and I lied to you because I know what’s waiting at home for me."

Mom’s waiting at home. If I’m lucky, she’s just [#82trugged out of her mind. If not... she has a customer.

A quick burst of anger shoots through me as he nods understandingly. He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand because he’s never been there and never will. He has no clue what I’m talking about. I bite my tongue and don’t say anything, though—he gave me a ride in the pouring rain and I have no right to be a bitch to him.

Isaac changes the station as an advertisement comes on, and the song "Common People" by Pulp starts blaring through the speakers.

"In that case," he asks, shrugging, "I can just drop you off and immediately leave if that works better for you?"

"I... what?"

"Look... I get it," he tells me. "You’re ashamed of something at home, but you’re afraid that you’ll have to invite me in for giving you a ride. What if I pretend to be an asshole and disappear in a hurry before you get a chance to do that?"

... he’s right. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of bringing him in and Mom being ‘at work.’

He smiles comfortingly as if he’s reading my mind, and then he takes the next exit off the highway toward my neighborhood.

"Isaac?" I whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

His only answer is a slow, understanding smile as he pulls onto my street and slowly passes by the decrepit, rundown houses and their tarped-over windows. My house still has glass in its windows, making us one of the luckier families on the street.

Isaac pulls up in front of my house and I quickly grab my backpack and leap out. His passenger seat is completely soaked and I flush in embarrassment.

"Sorry about the car," I apologize, but he just laughs, his green eyes somehow gleaming brightly in the dull gray light, and points over my shoulder at the front door of my house.

"Get inside out of the rain," he tells me. "Warm up, relax, and I’
ll see you in class tomorrow."

Before I can say another word, his tires squeal as he shoots away from the curb and speeds off down the street, leaving me alone with my bewildered thoughts and the burning memory of his gorgeous green eyes.

I’m in a
lot
of trouble.

T
he rental company’s movers are here to take away my temporary furniture. There goes the bed, disappearing out the door as two burly men in gray overalls carry it away. Next goes the rickety desk and the end table. Wait... that lamp belongs to Cassie, and I quickly stop the movers before they walk off with it. Other than that, all I'm bringing with me to my new place are my book, my laptop, and a few boxes of clothes.

Wow, that’s all I actually own.

It’s almost depressing, really. I’m twenty-five and I own just as little as when I turned eighteen and the foster system kicked me to the curb.

No... there was no curb kicking; that’s not fair to my foster mother at all. Clara Hartley was very good to me while I was in her care. There’s only so much someone can do when she’s assigned a sixteen-year-old, though, and it’s not like she w ^#82t&r tas going to adopt me at her age. She was old enough to be my grandmother.

I sometimes feel like I should go back and visit her again, but I always stop myself. I remember my last day living with her, when she dropped me off at my dorm for my freshman year of college with little more than my suitcase of clothes and my scholarship letter.

"Good luck," she said, and then she gave me a hug before getting back in the car.

Not "call me when you’re moved in," or "keep in touch." Just "good luck" and nothing more. Fostering me was just a kind gesture and a way to keep me off the streets. She wasn’t my mother. My mother was a prostitute from New Haven, and she’s the last person I ever want to see again.

The taxi honks its horn downstairs. It’s time for me to go.

"Cassie, are you going to be okay dealing with the rental guys?" I ask. "They’ve tried to take your television twice now."

"I can deal with them," she answers, and I catch her wiping away a tear.

"Oh come on," I groan. "Don’t do this to me."

She sniffles and I hold back another groan. I’m going to start crying too if she keeps this up.

"Look, I promise I’ll keep paying my rent," I tell her. "You’re not going to be stuck with any extra—"

"It’s not about the rent, Irene," she mopes. "I’m going to miss you!"

"I’m only moving across town, Cassie," I tell her, and I quickly turn and stop the rental guys from taking the television for the third time. "It’s like ten minutes away. You’re going to see me again, promise!"

"Can I come and help you move in?" she pleads. "I don’t want to just say goodbye and watch you get into a taxi."

"Will that make you feel better?"

She nods and sniffles.

"Okay, fine. I’m going to go in the taxi, and you follow in your car behind us. I’ll give you the grand tour of... well, wherever I’m going to be staying. I haven’t actually seen the room yet."

****

I
t’s a good thing that Cassie came along, actually, because no sooner do I get the last box out of the moving van and onto the sidewalk than it speeds off down the street. I didn’t even get a chance to tip them.

"God, what the hell did you pack into this? Bricks?" whines Cassie as she struggles down the path carrying what is probably the lightest box of them all.

"Yep, I’m stealing your apartment one box of bricks at a time. You caught me."

Columbus is sleeping in a square of warm sunlight just inside the door. His ears twitch as we stomp in and drop heavy boxes onto the gleaming hardwood floor, but that’s as far as his reaction goes. The dog couldn’t care less about there being a stranger in the house—he doesn’t even open his eyes. He's neither guide nor guard, apparently, and I wonder what he actually thinks is his role. I bet it involves sausages.

"Wow, Irene," whispers Cassie in awe. "You’re living
here
? My god, look at this place! I’ve never seen a house so amazing!"

I have, but I can’t tell her that. She doesn’t know about my old c abamaz life and there’s no way I’m going to open that can of worms now. The decadence reminds me uncomfortably of Isaac’s mother’s mansion. It doesn’t have that same feeling of flagrant display, that aura of "look at me I’m so rich" that his mother gave the place, but it’s still giving me a sense of déjà vu.

Cassie’s eyes sparkle as she gazes in wide-eyed delight at the glittering chandelier. She’s like Cinderella at the ball, stepping into the royal palace for the first time. I recognize that look—it’s how I felt when I first saw Isaac’s mansion. I almost want to warn Cassie that the fairy tales never tell you how much it hurts when the clock strikes midnight and suddenly it’s all just pumpkins again.

The door to my room is directly at the top of the stairs. Terrence has left the key in the lock for me, and I take in a short, excited breath as the door slowly creaks open and reveals my new home. This was clearly the servant’s quarters once upon a time, but it’s like a little slice of heaven to me. The tiny room has a high, sloped ceiling, more shelves than I’ve ever had in any apartment before, and a cushioned window-seat built into the enclave beneath a trio of tall bay windows. The branches of the tall maple outside obscure the view of the Mystic River, but as the leaves rustle in the breeze, it only makes me fall in love with the room even more. My smile quickly spreads from ear to ear as I imagine how beautiful the room’s going to look in a few weeks when the leaves start to change.

"It’s a little small, don’t you think?" asks Cassie, putting her box down on my new bed. Is she kidding me? This room is amazing! It has inlaid bookshelves lining a wall, the perfect little nightstand for my reading lamp, all the closet space I could possibly need... and that window looking out over the river, oh
God
it's going to be pretty with the fall leaves!