Chapter 28: Safe with Me: Chapter 27

Sitting in the back of the computer lab with Noah about a month after Hannah revealed who she is, I look at him and sigh. “I honestly don’t think she’s going to leave him,” I say.

Since the night Hannah left our house, the only things my mom has done are drop out of college and continue to pretend like Dad is a really great guy. They haven’t had any major fights. He hasn’t lost his temper or raised his voice; in fact, they seem sort of happy together—going on dates and cuddling on the couch. Dad even went grocery shopping with Mom last weekend, because—he said—he just wanted to spend more time with her. It’s completely freaking me out.

“Has she said that?” Noah asks. “That she has decided to stay?” It’s after school, and we are finished with our assignment, but not ready to go our separate ways for the night. We’ve sort of developed a routine—he walks me to all my classes and to the nurse’s office when I have to take my meds, and we sit together at lunch, along with a group of other kids Noah introduced me to. One girl named Jen is particularly cool—with a shock of bright blue hair threaded through blond. She wears knee-high, laced-up Doc Martens with black leggings and a short military-style jacket almost every day, and like me, she wants to work with CGI. I’m supposed to go over to her house for a Halloween party next weekend—with Noah as my date, which I’m totally excited about. My mom knows we hang out together after school, and as long as we stay at the school, she seems fine with it. She picks me up around four, and a glance at the clock now tells me Noah and I only have about ten more minutes together.

“No,” I admit, “but actions speak louder than words, right? She hasn’t done anything like she said she would. When I bring it up, she shuts me down.” I feel tears prick at the backs of my eyes, and Noah reaches over and takes my hand, lacing my short fingers through his long ones. I love how his skin feels—the slightly raised calluses on his palms. “From helping my dad work in the garden,” he told me when I asked him about them. “It’s kind of our thing.” I try not to feel jealous that he’s close to his father.

“That sucks,” Noah says. I like that he just listens to me and doesn’t try to tell me what I should do.

“I don’t get how she can stay with him. She’s totally wimping out.”

He shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe it’s harder than you think . . . leaving.” I widen my eyes at him and start to pull away, but he doesn’t let me go. “Hey. I don’t mean you’re wrong or anything. I just think she’s probably not having the best time right now, either. Right?” He jiggles my arm and gives me a big, goofy grin.

I relax and smile back at him. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe I’m just being a bitch.”

“A bitch about what?” Hailey asks, and I look up to see her standing in the doorway, one hand on her jutted-out hip. Neither Kyla nor Jade is with her, which is strange. It’s unusual to find her without her minions.

“Nothing,” I say, a little worried she may have heard all of my conversation with Noah. I let go of his hand, stand up, and grab my bag. “I gotta go,” I tell Noah. “My mom’ll be here any minute.”

“Are you still in trouble for the mall thing?” Hailey asks. The morning after, at school, she grilled me on what had happened, and I gave her the barest details—that my mom had paid a fine and that I was banned from the mall for the next six months. If I don’t commit any other offenses, my record will be wiped clean when I turn eighteen. Hailey didn’t even thank me for not giving the police her and Jade’s names, further confirming my assessment that she’s a jerk.

“No,” I say, pushing past her, but trying not to touch her. She stumbles a step or two backward and has to put her hand on the wall to keep from falling, which actually makes me sort of happy.

“No thanks to you,” Noah mumbles, following right after me. He’s taller than Hailey, so he looks down his nose at her.

“Noah,” I say, not wanting to get into anything with her. I’d done my best to avoid any kind of interaction with her or her snotty friends.

“What was that, Brace-Face?” Hailey sneers.

“Oh, ha-ha,” Noah says, dropping his backpack to the ground. “What are you, eight?”

“You’re such a loser, Noah,” Hailey says, making a nasty face at him, then directs her gaze over to me. “I guess you two make a perfect freak couple.” She narrows her eyes. “What happened to your other boyfriend, Maddie? He get sick of you? Maybe he was repulsed by your disgusting scar.”

My eyes fill with tears, and before I can stop him, Noah charges at Hailey so she is forced to push her back up against the wall. He doesn’t touch her, but with his face less than two inches from hers, he speaks with contempt. “You shut your ugly mouth.” He breathes hard, and bits of spittle fly. “Maddie is more beautiful than you could ever hope to be. Stay the hell away from us.” He steps away, wiping at his chin with the back of his wrist.

Shocked, Hailey straightens her shirt and starts to walk away. But then she stops short, turning to glance back at Noah over her shoulder. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t tell the principal you just assaulted me,” she says smugly.

“And you’ll be lucky if I don’t tell him you’ve been paying Riley to write your English papers since you were a freshman,” Noah shoots back at her. “He kept the originals on his hard drive, along with the email where you asked him to do it, so don’t even think you could lie your way out of it.”

Hailey looks scared for a split second before she blinks rapidly, whips around, and struts down the hall on her own. Noah turns to look at me, and I slowly shake my head. “Holy crap. That was kind of awesome.”

Noah waves the compliment away. “She’s been a pain in the ass since kindergarten. Both her parents pretty much ignore her, so I try to feel sorry for her . . . but what she said . . . that went too far.” He takes a step over to me. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” The tears that threatened to fall when she insulted me have vanished. “You?”

He nods, then cocks his head. “What was she talking about . . . an old boyfriend?” He suddenly looks a little scared himself.

My face flames and I look down to the floor, then back up at him. “I sort of told her I was dating an older guy.” He raises his eyebrows, and I quickly attempt to reassure him. “I wasn’t . . . it was a lie. A stupid one. I’m really sorry you had to hear about it like this . . . I should have told you before.” He’s quiet, staring at me with a curious flicker in his blue eyes. “What?” I say. “Are you mad at me?”

Before I realize it’s coming, he leans down and puts his lips on mine. They are just as warm as I thought they’d be—his touch is soft, tender, and sweet. I do feel his braces push against me a bit, but I’m too happy to care. My stomach is doing back-flips, and my heart feels like it might hammer its way right out of my chest. When he finally pulls back, he looks satisfied, like he’s accomplished a goal.

“You’re not mad?” I ask, a little breathlessly.

“Nope,” he says. “Just wanted you to know that I want to be your boyfriend now.” He pauses, suddenly hesitant. “Okay?”

I press my lips together and nod, thrilled as he takes my hand again and walks me out to my mother’s car.

•  •  •

The next afternoon Noah has an orthodontist’s appointment, but I tell my mom that we’re studying after school as usual. When the final bell rings, I load up my bag, say good-bye to Jen at her locker, and then head to the public bus stop across the street. The number 21 will take me right past Ciseaux—I looked it up online last night.

I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to say to Hannah, I only know I want to tell someone else who knows what goes on with my dad that my mom doesn’t seem to be planning to leave. It’s possible Hannah won’t even care—it might be too hard to see me—though if that were true, she wouldn’t have hung around with us in the first place. Maybe it was true she felt blindsided the day we walked into the salon and then later, didn’t want to get us in trouble with Dad. And the minute she got my letter, she did tell us who she was. I have to at least give her that.

The ride is short, and after I step off the bus, I check the clock on my cell phone, knowing I only have about an hour before I have to be back at school for my mom to pick me up. As I stand outside the cute little house where Hannah works, I think about how my mom might feel if she finds out I’ve come here, but at this point, there’s no turning back.

I take a deep breath and open the front gate, taking in the sight of the garden that is slowly starting to wither away in the cool autumn air. Hannah has placed pretty pots full of spiky yellow, amber, and deep plum-hued blossoms on the stairs. I have no idea what they’re called, but they look like pom-poms or exploding firecrackers. I put my hand on the doorknob, looking into the salon through the glass panel in the door. I see Hannah blow-drying a woman with long blond hair. She looks so pretty standing behind the chair of her station in her slim black pants, black ballet flats, and a fitted white blouse. Her hair is pulled into a casual knot at the back of her head, with a few wavy strands hanging around her face. She is concentrating so hard on what she’s doing that she doesn’t even look up when the bells on the door tinkle as I walk inside. No one is sitting at the front desk—the guy with cool red glasses is cutting a man’s hair, and the other stylist is using a thick curling iron to style a client’s long red locks.

I let the door swing shut behind me and I clear my throat, which apparently Hannah doesn’t hear over the buzz of the hair dryer she’s using because she still doesn’t notice me. “Hannah?” I say loudly, and finally, her gaze snaps over to me.

“Maddie!” she says, her blue eyes wide open. She turns off the dryer and sets it on the vanity table in front of her client. “Um . . . can you wait a minute, honey? While I finish up here?” I nod, watching as she fluffs the woman’s hair and goes over it with an aerosol spray. “There,” she says, letting the woman eye herself in the mirror. “Good?” The woman nods and grabs her purse, and Hannah takes off the protective cape before ringing her up at the front desk.

When she finally turns to look at me, her eyes are a little shiny with tears. “I’m so happy you came,” she says. “Let’s go upstairs, okay? So we can talk?” I nod again, and she tells the other stylists where she’ll be.

I follow her up a narrow stairway, holding on tightly to the strap of my book bag. “You don’t have another appointment?”

“Not for half an hour,” she says. “I try to schedule myself a little break here and there throughout the day to catch up on paperwork or whatever.” She opens a door at the top of the stairs and motions for me to enter first.

I look around the room, a small space with little furniture. “Did you live here with your daughter?” I ask.

“No,” she says quietly. “I moved here . . . after. I had a hard time being in our house.” She pauses. “I’m thinking about selling the house, actually, and buying one for myself.”

“Oh,” I say, still holding on to my bag. I notice a few pictures on the fireplace mantel and step over to look at them. One is of a chubby but cute dark-haired baby girl with huge blue eyes, another of a slightly younger-looking Hannah holding that baby as a toddler, and finally, what has to be a recent head shot of a pretty girl with long black hair and blue eyes, who looks so much like Hannah it almost makes me gasp. She’s smiling in that picture, one of those please-push-the-damn-button smiles. There is a light in her eyes—a kindness—but also a stitch of thoughtfulness above her brows, as though she often pulled them together as she sorted something out. I touch the glass and run my finger over her face. “Is this her?” I ask. “Emily?”

“Yes,” Hannah says, and I can hear the tears in her throat.

“She’s pretty. I mean . . . she was . . .” I trail off and turn my gaze to Hannah. “Sorry. I guess I don’t really know how to talk about her.”

She gives me a shallow smile. “It’s hard for me, too. I’m trying to learn how to do it without completely falling apart.” She pauses, then gestures to the couch. “Do you want to sit down?”

“I can’t stay,” I answer, straightening my spine. “My mom doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Oh, Maddie,” she says, and her shoulders drop. “I don’t want to keep anything else from her . . . you know?”

“I know. But it’s not like she’s going to call you . . . right?”

She stares at me a moment, holding in a breath. “I suppose not,” she says with a sigh. “So, what’s going on with you?”

I lift my chin in what I hope looks like a confident way. “I wanted you to know I’m not mad at you anymore. I don’t think what you did was right, but I guess I understand why you did it.”

“Thank you,” she says, looking palpably relieved. “That means a lot to hear. I really am very sorry if I hurt you. That was absolutely not my intent.”

“Okay,” I say, looking around the room for more evidence about Emily’s life. I assumed there’d be more of her here.

“Are you guys . . . okay?” she asks hesitantly. “Does your dad know what happened?”

“With you, or with me at the mall?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“He doesn’t know anything,” I say, and for some reason, my eyes begin to sting. “She said she’s going to leave, but she’s not. Which means I’m not.” She takes a step toward me, one of her hands outstretched, but I move backward, out of her reach. “We’re fine,” I say. “He hasn’t yelled at her or hit her or anything. I think she thinks he’s better.”

She drops her arm back down, letting it hang loosely at her side. “Has he been that way before, though? Where everything seems like it’s fine for a while and then it’s . . . not?” I don’t say anything, but I’m sure she can see from my face that she’s right, because she sighs again. “I wish there was something I could do, Maddie. I wish I could change everything about the way we met.”

“What was Emily like?” I ask, suddenly not wanting to talk with her about my mom and dad anymore. It feels too dangerous.

“She was wonderful,” Hannah says, glancing over at the pictures on the mantel. “Not perfect, of course—no child is—but perfect for me. She was smart, like you. Better with the computer than I am . . . I had to have her program my phone for me, too.”

“I do that for my mom,” I say.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she says fondly. She moves her gaze from the pictures to the bay window behind me. “She talked back a little . . . she always thought she knew more or better than I did. Sometimes she was right about that, but as her mom, I had a hard time admitting it. She loved old movies—the black-and-white ones, with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers?” I nod, and she goes on. “She wanted to be an actress, I think. Or a veterinarian. She loved animals so much and was never happier than when we were visiting her grandparents’ farm.” She smiled and looked back to me. “She was funny, too. Oh my god, she could make me laugh until I cried.” Her eyes fill then, and I feel bad for making her talk about all of this.

“Do you think . . .” I say, unsure if I really want to know the answer to the question floating around in my head, but going ahead and asking it anyway. “Do you think she would have liked me? Would she be glad that it’s me she saved?” My bottom lip trembles and I bite the inside of my cheek to get it to stop.

“Yes,” Hannah says without hesitation, staring right at me. “I know she would.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m happy it was you that she saved, too. I think you’re an amazing girl.”

“Thank you,” I say, and a tingle of relief rushes through me. I hadn’t realized just how much hearing that would mean. I glance at the clock on the wall. “Oh crap. I’m sorry, but my mom’s meeting me back at the school. I should go.”

“I can drive you if you want,” Hannah offers, but I shake my head.

“It’s probably better if I take the bus. Just in case she might see you.”

“She’s still mad?” she asks, and I feel a little sorry for her, seeing the sadness in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” I say, trying to be gentle. “She isn’t talking to me much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She pushes her hair back from her face, then walks over to her purse, which is lying on the couch. “Just one second,” she says as she roots around inside it, eventually coming up with a small picture removed from her wallet. She hands it to me, and I don’t even have to look to know it’s the same school picture as the one on the mantel.

“I can’t take this,” I say, holding it back out toward her, wanting nothing more than to take it home with me.

“Of course you can. I have plenty, and I want you to have it. Please?”

I hesitate a moment, and then nod, carefully slipping it inside my bag before letting her lead me back downstairs and out to the front porch. I feel the other stylists’ curious eyes on us both and do my best to ignore them. I imagine she hasn’t told them who I am or about the fact that she lied to my mom and me.

“Well,” I say, “good luck with everything.” I cough, even though I don’t really have to. “With your move and everything.”

“Thank you,” she says, and it feels like her eyes see right through me. “I want you to know, Maddie . . . if you ever need anything. If something happens with your dad or your mom and you don’t have anyone to talk with? I’m here, okay? I might not be your first thought, but I want you to know that you’re not alone.”

“Okay,” I say, and then before she can say anything more, I turn my back to her and go.