Harper Apple
When I get home, I sit in the truck, afraid to get out, afraid he’ll come up and park behind it like he did before. I sit there in the bubble of cold AC until the bus pulls up at the corner. Blue and Olive climb down and start along the block toward me. When they get to their drive, Olive waves and jogs over, her little backpack bouncing, her gangly legs making the run even more awkward. She hops up on the running board and makes a face at me through the window.
I roll it down even though she’s right there in my face, too close.
“Can you take us for a ride?” she asks.
Blue lingers on the other side of the street, in front of her house, watching.
“Sure,” I say, managing a small smile.
“Yay!” Olive throws her arms up, and I’m sure she’s going to topple onto her back on the road. She loses her balance but hops down, landing on her feet despite the clumsy execution. I remember what it was like to have that much confidence in my body, to know it would take care of me, and my chest aches. Sooner or later, we all realize the false sense of security that lends us, when someone bigger and stronger and better comes along and strips it all away.
I look down at my brass knuckles, reading the word over and over as Blue climbs into the back seat and Olive climbs in front.
“Wow,” the little girl says, running her hands over the supple leather seats. “White leather! Are these custom?”
“I don’t know,” I say, shifting into drive.
“Where are we going?” Olive asks, standing to look over the dash. “Can we go to the movies? Or Boehner’s Burgers? A bunch of kids were going after school, and if they see me in this…”
“Put on your seatbelt,” Blue says from behind us.
“Sure,” I say to Olive. I have nowhere better in mind. I just want to get away from my house, and I can’t go to Preston’s, because Royal knows where that is, too. If I can make a kid look cool in front of her friends, I’ve done something good in the world today.
We swing through the drive-through because I don’t want to go inside. Boehner’s is a hangout for high school kids, too, and I don’t want to run into anyone I know. Olive sees a couple kids she knows at a picnic table and rolls down the window, hanging halfway out and waving to them. When we have our food, I suddenly realize Preston wouldn’t want us eating inside his car.
“Let’s go somewhere to sit,” I say, swinging back onto the road. I take the highway out of town, heading north. I stare straight ahead like my life depends on it as we pass the rice paddies with the swamp beyond, just like I do every time I take this road to and from Preston’s house. Only when I reach the exit do I relax.
“Can I eat?” Olive whines. “I’m hungry.”
“Fine,” I say. “Don’t spill anything.”
We pull up at the quarry, and I park the truck but leave it running so we’re not all baked alive in the Arkansas heat. But Blue opens the door and hops down. “We can eat on the tailgate.”
I join her while Olive stays inside to play with the radio and finish her food.
“I thought you disappeared again,” Blue says as we spread our food on the tailgate. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“I’m going back to Willow Heights.”
“You living with this rich guy?” She turns to check on Olive, who’s fiddling with the radio stations.
Suddenly, this whole thing is too big for me to carry. Even if she’s never had anything like that happen, she’ll understand. I feel myself crumbling, and it terrifies me. I need a friend, even if it’s one I don’t know well. The depth of that need scares me, but I don’t know where else to turn.
“Remember when I disappeared last spring?” I ask, my throat tight.
She nods and opens a ketchup packet with her teeth.
“I… I was gang raped,” I blurt out.
Her flat blue eyes rise to mine. “Shit,” she says quietly.
I nod, swallowing past the lump forming, trying to choke off my words. Even if Blue can’t help, even if this doesn’t help, I can’t hold onto it anymore. There’s no purpose, no motive in telling. It’s just spilling out like the water from the swimming hole when it rains and the banks can’t contain it all anymore.
“That guy I was seeing, with the Range Rover,” I say. “It was his friends.”
“Does he know?”