Leslie's Journal (12 page)

I want to be home under the covers. But no way for that. The minute Jason sees his room, he’s going to come after me. I picture me trapped in the apartment, with him in the hall trying to break down the door. Or the cops coming to arrest me after Mrs. McCready sees the chaos, not to mention the computer in the pool. No. Home isn’t safe.

Besides, I can’t go there with the memory card. I have to think of a hiding place. I want to destroy it, but I can’t. If the cops come for me, it’s all I have to stop the McCreadys from pressing charges. Not that I’d ever hand it over, but I could make the threat. Would that be blackmail?

All these thoughts zap my brain as I ride the bus to the subway. Once I’m at the station, inside, underground, I start to relax. If cops are after me, they won’t look here. And Jason can’t ride his bike down the escalator. Even if he did, what could he do to me in front of all these people?

As long as I stay where I am, I’ll be fine. I buy an Oh Henry bar at the kiosk, sit on a bench and eat it, watching people get on and off the trains.

I wonder how long I could live here. I picture me holed up in a cardboard box somewhere down the tunnel, coming out early in the morning to stock up on Coke, chips, hot dogs and nachos. Once I’m reported missing, I’d have to watch out for people who might’ve seen my picture on a local news show. But it wouldn’t be bad, apart from the rats and finding a bathroom: the subway toilets have been locked up for years.

Mom would be worried. But I could use the pay phone to leave a message saying I’m okay and I love her.

Just as I polish off my bar and get ready to toss the wrapper, I see these two subway patrol cops walking towards me. They look pretty grisly, like they don’t get out much. What do they want?

I stare at the wad of gum squashed on the floor in front of me. If I stare hard enough, maybe I’ll disappear. It works. The cops walk right past me and start hassling this guy playing guitar at the end of the platform. They’re just like Mr. Manley, without teachers college.

When the train pulls in, I hop on. It’s pretty full, but I find an empty seat at the end of the car. My back’s protected. But not my mind. It starts playing tricks. I imagine the memory card falling out of my pocket, getting found, and then the pictures put on the Net.

Does being paranoid make me look suspicious? I concentrate on acting normal. But the more I concentrate on that, the more I freak.

Still, you can’t freak forever. Without knowing when it happens, I zone out, bored, staring out the window at the tunnel and the stations flying by, until I’m sort of hypnotized. I’m like a zombie for I don’t know how long, till my mind reboots.

I think about how if I didn’t look at my watch I wouldn’t know the time. So much has happened since this morning in Beachball’s office, it could be years ago.

Time is just plain weird. When I was seven in Seattle, my Granny P. and Laura Wilson were at the center of my life. Now that Granny’s dead, I only remember her in flashes, like snapshots, and Laura could be anywhere. It’s like time keeps ticking, adding new people and things until sooner or later everybody forgets all about the old ones, even the old ones they used to care about.

I wish time was something I could grab hold of. I wish I could stop it from moving and making good things disappear. Still, on the plus side, it makes bad things go away too. Maybe someday it’ll help me get over this nightmare called Jason.

Before every test, Katie likes to say, “This, too, shall pass.” Actually, what she says is, “This, too, shall pass, even if we don’t.” Mom says something a lot the same: “Time heals all wounds.” What with all the Dad stuff, I wonder if she still believes it. I don’t. Time makes things go away, but it doesn’t heal: it’s more like an anesthetic.

I check the other passengers. Nobody’s looking my way. They’re all staring straight ahead, brain dead. It’s like they walked in, sat down and went from Technicolor to gray. I’m in a train full of robots.

This idea makes me smile for the next three stops. Then I start obsessing about Jason again. It’s like that for the next couple of hours. I go from scared to bored to giddy and back again as I sit riding the subway back and forth across the city.

Finally, I start getting lonely too.

I check my watch. It’s almost five. Jason will’ve left school ages ago. Has he seen his room? What’s he doing? (Swimming down the toilet after my cell, ha ha?)

I get off at the stop near Katie’s and call her from the pay phone by the drug store.

“Hi, it’s Leslie.” I hear pots and pans and a bunch of people laughing.

“Leslie! Where were you this aft? I locked your locker. It was a mess.”

“Katie, I have to talk to you.”

“Sorry. My aunt and uncle are visiting from out of town. We’re having a reunion. I’m supposed to entertain my little cousin.”

“This is an emergency.”

In the background, Mrs. Kincaid hollers, “Katie, get off your cell. Chloe wants to play with you.”

“Okay,” Katie calls out, then whispers, “I gotta go. I’ll call you back later.”

“You can’t. I’m not at home. I don’t have my cell. Katie, I’m not safe. I’m—look, if you don’t see me again, it’s because I’m dead.”

“
What?
”

“I mean it.”

“Where are you? Call the police. No, wait,
I’ll
call the police.”

“Call the cops and Jason’ll kill me.”

“Leslie, don’t cry. Forget what I said. Come over right away. We’ll—I don’t know, we’ll figure out something.”

Twenty-Five

W
hen I get there, Katie’s out front on the sidewalk. She’s got her cousin Chloe playing hopscotch. I’m pretty sure this is so I won’t have to ring the doorbell and get intercepted by her mom.

Chloe looks like a glass of skim milk, all scrubbed and polished like she’s going to church. Your basic trophy kid. The kind parents show off to make other parents jealous. I almost feel sorry for her. Instead of friends, I’ll bet all she has is a bunch of stuffed animals. I picture her playing house with them, all alone in a cheery antiseptic bedroom plastered with Disney characters.

At the sight of me her lip wobbles and her eyebrows do the Wave.

“It’s okay, Chloe,” Katie says. “This is my friend Leslie. Why don’t you go down to the basement and watch cartoons?”

Chloe does what she’s told. Fast.

“Leslie! You look awful!”

“No shit.” I tell her about the journal and Ms. James and Beachball and how me and Jason have broken up.

Katie’s all excited. I know she wants to jump up and down, but these days she’s making a big effort not to be so immature. She needs to work harder. This time, she shouts “Great!” at the top of her lungs.

“Don’t.” I shoot her a look. “I mean it. If you tell me God’s answered your prayers, I swear I’ll punch you.”

“I’m sorry. Only I’ve been so worried.”

“I know. Thanks.” I tell her about the nude photos. I don’t want to, but I can’t help myself, I can’t hold it in. Besides, she never blabbed about me getting hit.

Most of the girls at school would act shocked and give me a lecture. Then they’d ask to see for themselves. They’d pretend it was out of being a friend and wanting to share the horror, but really it’d be so they could act even more shocked and then run around telling everybody.

Not Katie. She gets very quiet, then hugs me.

Monster Mom sticks her head out the door. “Oh, hello, Leslie,” she says, not even pretending to smile. “May I have a word with you, Katie?” Before Katie has time to get to the porch, her mom starts in. “Poor Chloe’s sitting downstairs all by herself in front of the
TV
. Tell Leslie you’ll see her some other time.”

“But Mom—” Katie whispers urgently in her ear.

“That’s nothing to joke about.”

“I’m not.”

“Fine. Ten minutes.” She glares in my direction and disappears.

I want to die. “You told her?”

“Of course not. I said you were thinking of making a decision for the Lord.”

“You told her
what?
” I see myself in a white robe getting dunked in ice-cold water in the baptismal tub at Katie’s church.

“Never mind. Let’s get out of here. I’ll tell her I was so busy hearing your witness I forgot about the time.”

“She won’t believe you.”

“So? What’s she going to do? Have a fit in front of my relatives?”

Now it’s me with the bug-eyes. “You’re lying to your mom? I must be a good influence.”

Katie laughs as we hurry down the street. “I’m not as big a nerd as you think. I’ve started doing lots of bad stuff. In choir, half the time I don’t even know the words. I just move my mouth and smile.” Katie still has a ways to go in the sinning department, but I’m glad to see she’s taking a few steps in the right direction.

As we walk, we talk about my problem: do I get rid of the memory card, or keep it in case I need to make the McCreadys back off about my
B&E
?

“First of all,” she says, “you don’t even know for sure if you’re in trouble. Why don’t you call home and find out?” Katie’s pretty smart when she wants to be.

I use Katie’s cell. Mom answers. I tell her I called in case she was wondering where I was. Mom’s surprised. She thanks me for being considerate and says to hurry home because supper is about ready. I can tell she thinks I’m up to something.

Before she has a chance to ask me anything, I say, “Any messages?”

“Yes. Jason called. Something about missing you in the parking lot. But he said not to worry, he’ll see you tomorrow about what you were looking for. What were you looking for?”

“Nothing. I’ll be home right away. Bye.” Click.

I’m having a hemorrhage, but Katie gets me to calm down. Obviously Jason knows I trashed his room and computer and stole the memory card. Equally obviously, he hasn’t done anything about it. “And he’s not going to,” she says.

“Oh no? What about this ‘see me tomorrow’ bit? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s trying to scare you. Come on, what can he say? ‘Leslie stole the porn I made of a bunch of under-age girls?’ I’ll bet he’s peeing himself wondering what you’re going to do. Did you ever stop to think that maybe he called to find out if you’d told?”

I’m amazed. Who would have thought Katie could be so crafty? Anyway, according to her, I don’t even need the memory card, as long as Jason thinks I have it. “Your only problem is if it gets found. If I were you, I’d ditch it. That way Jason’s history, and you’re home free. Before you know it, life will go back to normal, and you can pretend none of this ever happened.”

That makes sense, except for the last part. I’m good at pretending, but not that good.

Together we take a vow of silence. I even let Katie say a prayer. Then I pull out my Bic and burn the card. We watch as the edges melt. I toss the charred remains down a drain hole.

All of a sudden, the pressure’s gone. It’s up in smoke. I can breathe again. I’m free.

I wish I knew who the other girls were. I wish I could tell them they’re free too.

Twenty-Six

N
ext morning, I wake up thinking about Jason’s message. I know Katie says to relax, but I can’t. No way I want to see Jason till he’s had time to cool down.

I cough loud enough for Mom to hear. “I don’t feel well.”

Mom comes into my room and touches my forehead. “You’re fine.”

“I’m not.” Cough, cough.

Mom sighs, brings me the thermometer and goes to make breakfast. I rub it till it reads a couple of degrees high. Then I join her. “See?”

She knows I’m faking. She shakes it down and makes me do it again, this time watching me like a hawk.

“Do you mind?” I garble, lolling the thermometer around in my mouth. “I can do this myself, you know.”

“I’m not stupid, and you’re not skipping.”

“I’m not skipping, I’m sick.”

We fight all through breakfast. I make sure to cough so much my throat hurts for real. As for Mom, she gets a headache. “Leslie, I don’t have time to argue anymore. Get dressed. You’re going to be late.”

“You want me to infect the whole school? Talk about considerate. I hope it’s meningitis. I hope I die, so you can feel guilty. I hope you get it too. That’ll be a laugh, watching you hack away with double pneumonia.”

She puts on her coat. “I’m not writing a note.”

“Great. Get me expelled, why don’t you?”

She leaves.

If you’re going to skip, it’s better to do it with a friend. Being stuck alone gets tired real quick. I flick around the
TV
. Nothing but news, cartoons and the Shopping Network. I wish I was stoned.

Then the phone rings. Is it him? If Mom weren’t so cheap, we’d have call display. In case it’s the school, I answer with my sick voice. Good move. It’s the attendance secretary checking because I’ve been marked absent first period.

“I’m sick. My mom’ll write a note.”

“And what about yesterday? You left without signing out.”

“I was too busy puking, do you mind? What are you? The
CIA
?” I hang up.

I turn off the
TV
. I walk around the apartment a couple dozen times. I make faces in the mirror. I’m so bored I even read the newspaper. The headlines, anyway. When I get this bored at Dad’s, I sometimes watch the porno flick he keeps at the back of his filing cabinet under his old tax returns. I think it was a present from his stag party back when he married Mom. The hairstyles kill me, and the guys all have zits on their bums. I used to find it funny, but since all this stuff started happening with Jason, the thought of it makes me feel like heaving.

The phone rings again. I figure it’s the secretary calling back. Or Mr. Manley. I answer with my sick voice. “I told you, I’m sick.”

But it’s not the school.

“You can’t fool me, angel.” Jason’s voice is very even. “You took something of mine. I want it back. Plus your journal.”

“I don’t think so.”

Pause. “Is your mother home?”

“What’s it to you?”

A long pause. “I know where you live.” Click.

I let myself down onto the couch and try to breathe. Is he coming over?

How can I keep him out? Our building doesn’t have a doorman. The outside door downstairs is locked, but he could get in whenever a tenant comes or goes. I know. I’ve let in lots of strangers and seen others do it too. If they look respectable, you don’t mind. If they don’t, you don’t want to get them mad.