Survival Strategies of the Almost Brave (7 page)

The lights in the parking lot flicked on. The sun had set and cast shadows across the pavement. The Lavender Lady still yelled at the guy at the desk and Orson fell back to sleep. I stretched up and pulled the money out of my pocket. It was damp with sweat, or maybe Billie's pee.

One. Two. Three. Four twenty-dollar bills sat safely in my hand.

Eighty dollars. How many Twinkies could that buy? No matter how bad I felt about stealing, looking at the wad of money, I knew I would never give it back. Instinct had kicked in.

I turned to Billie. “Come on. Let's get out of here.”

 

Survival Strategy #14:

BEWARE OF “SKIP TO MY LOU”

When Billie and me moved into Dad's camper, I realized he didn't have a TV. Sometimes campers had TVs and stuff, but his didn't. There was a computer, but it was for his work. And I really missed my animal shows. Having a dad was way better than watching any old TV show, though. Still, it was an adjustment. I didn't complain because he had to like us.

After Dad picked us up in San Diego, he said we were headed to Arches National Park in Utah so he could get some pictures of all the rock formations called arches. I was really excited to see them. I had an information pamphlet in my notebook—it was about chipmunks, prairie dogs, tortoises, coyotes, and mule deer who lived there. I had really wanted to see a mule deer.

That first night in the camper we parked at a rest stop and slept inside. The sleeping bag was hot. And for a second, it was so quiet and dark that I felt like maybe we were floating somewhere in outer space. In the middle of the night, Billie fell off her bed and landed right on top of me. So I let her stay next to me, because really her bed was too small and high. When she fell, Dad didn't even wake up. He just slept and slept.

“Tell me a story, Liberty,” whispered Billie. Because even though she had a brand-new koala, I could tell she really missed San Diego, and our condo, and George and Martha, and Mom. And maybe so did I, but I didn't want to let Billie know that.

“Once upon a time, there was a sea turtle floating through the ocean all by her lonesome.”

Billie nodded.

“And she had a secret. She was going to have baby turtles. But she needed to find a special place where she could hide her eggs so they could grow up happy and strong.”

Billie closed her eyes.

“She went to the shore and buried them in the sand…”

And just that fast, Billie was asleep again. I could tell by her longish breathing and how her mouth fell open a tiny bit. And for a second I almost woke her back up, because I didn't like feeling alone in the camper. Right then, I missed Mom more, now that we weren't in the condo. My heart felt all dehydrated with the missing of everything: Mom, and our condo, and Antonio, and my school, and even Julie. What could I do to fill it up again?

I climbed up onto Billie's bed and reached around in the covers for the flashlight Dad gave her in case she got scared. It was tucked in between the wall and the mattress. Then I covered myself under Billie's old baby blanket and turned on the light so I could read my notebook with the lists of everything I knew. Sometimes it's the only thing that makes me feel better.

The next morning, in the daylight, I finally saw where we had spent the night: an empty campground surrounded by bushes that looked like long, bony fingers crawling up from the ground.

Sitting outside at the picnic table, Dad pulled out some truck stop cinnamon rolls and apples he had bought yesterday for breakfast. He handed us each an apple. “What's more amazing than a talking llama?” he asked.

Billie and I looked at each other, because how did Dad know we liked jokes?

Finally, Billie said, “I don't know.”

“A spelling bee.”

Dad laughed. It was a pretty good one.

And Billie said, “What do you call a grizzly bear stuck in the rain?”

“I don't know.”

“A drizzly bear.”

“That's funny,” Dad said. And then he took a huge bite of his apple.

And that missing feeling slowly inched over, leaving space in my heart for something new. And for a second, there in the sun, I felt almost happy.

After we ate our cinnamon rolls, Dad showed us where we could brush our teeth but said we couldn't take a shower inside the camper until we got to a campsite with hookups for water. Then we drove again for hours and hours with nothing to look at but desert. And it was getting sort of boring. And just when I thought I would pop with doing-nothingness, Dad said, “Maybe we should take a detour.”

And then we drove through a place called Zion National Park, which was maybe the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I didn't know some mountains were orange like a sunset and could reach so high that it hurt my neck to stare up at them.

Dad stopped for lunch near a stream so we could eat bagels, and he showed us how to skip rocks. Billie was actually really good at it—better than me. My stomach felt heavy when Dad smiled and patted her back after her rock skipped four times before a fish jumped up and swallowed it.

I should be able to skip a rock better than her.

But when I saw Billie's face all golden, I felt guilty. And Mom's words were in my head reminding me, like always, that I was the oldest. That I was supposed to take care of her. And if Billie was happy, then I decided that I could be, too.

“Did you see that, Liberty?” she asked.

I nodded and meant it when I said, “Good job, Billie. You're way better than me.”

After that, Dad pulled his camera gear out of the back of the camper and set it on a picnic bench. We sat and watched him go through bags, take out lenses, switch cameras. I didn't know what to do. Were we supposed to go with him? Stay there? He hadn't said.

Billie hugged Koala.

Dad threw his backpack over his shoulder and glanced at the sun and then at us. “Come on. The light is going.”

We followed him up the trail.

The cliffs stretched like they scraped the sky. I had to run-walk to keep up with him. Billie had to run-run. She had on her flip-flops and kept tripping. I grabbed her hand to steady her. “I'll go first. Just watch my feet and step where I step,” I said.

Pretty soon, Dad started to talk. Out loud. Not really to us; more like to the sky.

He talked about the last time he had been there. How he had almost stepped on a rattlesnake sitting fat and happy, sunning itself in the middle of the trail. And how we should be noisy when hiking so we could give animals time to move out of our way.

Then Dad started whistling “Skip to My Lou.”

And I stopped, right there, next to the twisted, gnarled tree that stretched over our path. I stopped because I remembered that whistle. I didn't even know I knew it before. But standing there, listening to my dad, my gone-forever-but-now-he's-back dad, whistle “Skip to My Lou,” I knew I had heard it before.

I wondered what else was buried deep inside my brain. What else was going to come up when I didn't even know? What would happen if it all came rushing out?

 

Survival Strategy #15:

TRUST INSTINCT

Sneaking out of the Lavender Lady's car was easier than I thought it would be. I watched her through the glass hotel doors from my hiding spot in the backseat. She banged her fist on the desk like it was a gavel and she was the judge on one of those divorce court shows Mom never liked me to watch. And Orson? Well, you know, he couldn't hear a thing.

The clock said 8:34. I opened the back door and slunk out, Billie right behind me and the money tucked safely in my pocket. I pushed the door closed carefully with a tiny click. We crept past the entrance of the hotel and into the shadows between two bushes. Compared to the car, outside felt cool and refreshing, so much better than sweaty, recycled pee air.

I couldn't hold it any longer. My bladder was going to burst. I pulled my shorts down and crouched. “Don't look,” I said.

“Ewwww. That's gross,” said Billie when pee hit dried leaves.

I pulled up my shorts. “Not as gross as peeing in your pants.”

She looked embarrassed but didn't say anything. There was still a huge wet spot on the back of her shorts. She stepped closer into the bushes, scratching her thighs.

“Stop that,” I said.

“I can't help it. Dried pee makes me itch.”

We ducked toward the bushes farther away from the parking lot lights and the entrance to the hotel.

Just for a second, I turned around and stared at the car where Orson sat sleeping. Had he stopped breathing again? Did he need someone to poke him back into life? The hotel door creaked open and the Lavender Lady came out, her face transformed into a smile. I had spent so much time sitting behind her; it took me a minute to get used to seeing her from the front. She looked like an old half-bitten apple, baking on the asphalt, all shrunken and wrinkled.

She opened the car door. “Orson, we hit the jackpot. You should see the room upgrade we got.
Orson. Upgrade!
”

The only response she got was Orson's hacking cough again. Good. He was still breathing.

For a minute, I felt sad to leave. But animals on the run don't have time for sadness—they don't feel a thing. I pulled Billie around the corner, ready to face whatever happened next, just the two of us.

 

Survival Strategy #16:

IF IT'S GOOD ENOUGH FOR A SEA TURTLE, IT MIGHT BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU

Do you know how a green sea turtle has her babies? She climbs up to shore, digs a hole, lays her eggs, covers them up with sand, and then she goes back to the sea—without
ever
looking back.

The baby turtles are all alone for two whole months, snuggled up, getting warm in the sand and spending their days growing, until they finally hatch. Then they have to hurry back to the water so they can survive. On top of that, they have to watch out for other animals like seagulls and crabs waiting in the dark to eat them. Baby sea turtles don't have their moms to tell them where to go or what to do. But they have
instinct
. Sea turtles just know what to do to survive.

The hotel pool had been easy to find. After Billie and me walked around the building looking for a pay phone, we turned the corner and,
bam
, there it was. Like maybe Mom had sent it down to us from outer space. A perfect place where Billie and me could wash off grime and pee. After that we could find a phone.

Of course, the gate around the pool was locked. The sign said no swimming after nine o'clock, but after taking the Lavender Lady's money, I just kind of decided that the rules didn't apply to Billie and me. I climbed the fence and found a place where Billie could slide through.

Now swimming in the pool, I imagined I was a sea turtle, gliding through the ocean. The moon glistened on my back and my baby sea turtle sister swam next to me. I knew it wasn't true, but it was a nice thought as Billie and I swam naked in the outdoor swimming pool. It was dark, and it was pretty late. No one had walked by, not even once.

The water was still warm from baking in the desert sun all day. I couldn't believe our luck; it was like an oasis just for us. The pool was amoeba-shaped. It had little nooks and crannies, some in very dark spaces, surrounded by hedges and rows of lounge chairs. It felt hidden and safe. But more than anything, it felt good to wash off everything that had happened today.

I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't just done it. Now I needed to plan our next step. But I couldn't think without making a list. Clasping the edge of the pool to catch my breath, I saw my notebook sitting on the lounge chair I had pulled near a row of hedges. Just seeing it there, waiting for me to fill it with everything I knew, calmed me.

“Liberty, watch.” Billie floated on her back in the shallow end. The only light came from the glow of the moon.

“That's awesome,” I whispered.

Billie had found an old damp towel that someone had left behind. I spread it out next to a lawn chair, behind a row of bushes. I rinsed Billie's clothes out in chlorine water and laid them on the warm cement to dry.

I swam over to the shadowy side of the pool and pulled myself up. My hands and toes were pruney, and the concrete from the bottom of the pool had chewed away at my feet, leaving the edges raw. I padded over to the towel and wrapped myself up. The breeze tickled my skin and covered me in goose bumps. I glanced up at the hotel floors; there were three levels surrounding the pool, some windows black and some bright like eyeballs, reflecting back the light. Maybe everyone was safe, except for us.

“Billie, come here,” I whispered. I didn't have to remind her to be quiet. She knew.

As she swam over, the water rippled behind her like a dolphin tail. The little crease between her eyes deepened, like it had been forever part of her face, a baby S-shaped snake in the center of her forehead. It had crept there and stayed after Mom died.

I knelt down and pulled her closer to me through the water, cocooned in the shadows of the pool.

“I thought of the best joke,” I whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “What did the baby zebra say to the other baby zebra?”

She balanced a little army man she had found on the ledge. It teetered and fell in. She shook her head. Her flyaway hair had already begun to dry. Her pinched face looked tired.

“No jokes, Liberty. I'm hungry. When are we going to eat?”

I had to face it sometime. Billie never was her best self when she was hungry. I didn't want her to have a meltdown. We needed to find something to eat and we needed to call Julie.

“When's Dad coming? I want Koala.”

Dad.

I shoved him out of my brain and locked it tight. I reached for Billie's face so I could get a better look at her cheek. The swelling had gone down, but a purplish bruise had formed.