Chapter 5

Aro

The excess water hangs at the corner of my eye—I feel it wet my skin—but I blink two more times, slow and calm, and it’s gone. Staring up, through the steel of the fire escape over my head, I find Vega. From it, I trace a straight line and locate Arcturus. The two brightest stars tonight.

I expand my gaze, taking in both, as well as the other glowing point in the sky, Mars. We can see it every night until next Monday when its orbit takes it out of view again.

I picture the dunes and the rocks I’ve seen in pictures, the vastness and silence, and even though I’ll never view the planet any closer than this, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ll ever see. It reminds me that I don’t matter. Not really. It’s been spinning for billions of years, and we’ve been spinning for billions of years—millions of me’s have come and gone. Nothing I do makes any difference.

Seems depressing, but it’s really not. It lightens the load to know all I have to worry about is what I’m eating next and where today takes me.

I blink again, making sure the tears are gone, and push off the wall of the alleyway outside Frosted. I can’t remember the last time I dropped a tear, but I just came closer than I have in a long time.

His haircut, the smell of his clothes, how they were cut just a little bit better than other guys’ to fit him in a way that you could tell why designers get away with charging sixty dollars for a fucking T-shirt…

I barely know what any of that stuff in the surveillance room is or how to work it. He’s smart. And he speaks like he’s never not been the center of attention.

He has people and college and cash in his wallet. He knows he’s important. Why does it bug me so much? I know what they’re like. They can’t hurt me. Why did I feel so small in there?

I had to get out.

I pull up my hood and stick my hands in my pockets, rounding the corner and jogging down the alleyway between Rivertown and a hardware store. I swing over to the dumpster, kicking away some boxes and crates to make sure Tommy isn’t still hiding there.

It’s empty. Hopefully she went home, and hopefully, she keeps her ass there, because I can’t go back to the garage.

I grab a crate and throw it. “Fuck,” I whisper, the weight of my dilemma finally sinking in. Trent is right. I have nowhere to go. My old foster mom still lets me crash at her place since I aged out and quit school months ago as long as I pay rent.

But that’s the first place Hugo will look for me.

Resisting the urge to run, I put my head down and exit the alley, making my way down the deserted sidewalk. I quickly dive down a side street.

I cut through the park and turn onto Orange Hill, seeing a car parked in front of the house ahead, its engine running.

I glance up the hill, seeing movement through the sidelights on both sides of the front door, so I approach the car, seeing it’s empty, and just go with it. I’m already in enough trouble to make me disappear for a decade. What’s one more thing on my record?

Quickly, I open the door of the 2008 BMW, climb in, and slam the door, shifting into first gear.

I hit the gas, speeding off before anyone comes out the door. Pressing the clutch, I shift into second, and then third, racing through the neighborhood and ignoring stop signs. It’s late, no one’s around, and I need to get on the highway where I can go faster. There are no street cams in the residential areas, but with a posh little town like Shelburne Falls, everyone is on community watch. Someone will see the car, but I’m on borrowed time anyway. I need to see them once before…

I hang a left, maintaining the speed limit as I go, passing businesses and the elementary school, and more homes. More homes with people like Hawken Trent who think they know what real problems are.

With people like his cousin Dylan with her black leather Keds she wore the first time we met, because she wants to look like everyone else but be respected for being just different enough by rebelling against the standard Chucks or Vans that all the other kids are wearing.

With people like Kade Caruthers who show you everything they are in the first five minutes of knowing them and will never be anything more.

I glance out the windows, to the houses on both sides of me, and know I would never belong in any of these places.

But…

I’d love to see Matty and Bianca safely asleep in one before I go. I pause my gaze on a light blue Victorian with navy shutters and a wrap-around porch. Trees sprout out of the front yard, a swing swaying from a branch. Matty would love that one.

I pull out onto the dark country road, kicking up my speed to fifty-five and cruising the short distance to Weston. We may not be far from the Falls, but it’s a different world.

Instead of rounding the hill toward Chicago, I turn right, cross the bridge and the river, and continue down the wooded road, broken from years of disrepair. Houses mixed with trailers sit on both sides of the road, spaced sporadically by a gas station or an autobody shop.

But then the forest gives way, and the town opens up ahead, mills and factories and old warehouses-turned-apartments decorate the view ahead, and at this time of day, in the dark, it’s almost pretty. The old brick. The lights.

I don’t know what the hell possesses Tommy Dietrich to venture over here to brighten up her life, but just about the only thing we have going for us is a good football team and some well-preserved history. Being a river town, we were one of the first settled when the pioneers crossed the plains, and so many of the old structures have survived, if not worse for wear. We have character. Just no money to take care of it.

Still, though…come winter, those Falls kids find themselves here for the ice racing on Duck Pond when their track is no good in the snow.

I turn at the coffee shop, speed down the street to where I know there are no cameras, and park the stolen car in front of an abandoned house.

Pulling down the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I clean the steering wheel and stick shift, using the same hand to open the door and clean the outside handle.

Walking away from the car, I go south one block, turn left, and jog up the hill to my real mom’s house. Her car isn’t in the driveway, but the lights are on, and equal amounts of dread and relief hitting me. I don’t care who’s home. As long as it’s not him.

I need money, clothes, and some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll come up with a plan. I’m not dead yet.

Sneaking around the back, I remove the screen from the window of my bedroom but catch a flash of movement inside. I stop, peering through the opening in the curtains.

Bianca sits on her bed, smiling at something. I search the room with my limited vantage point, a guy coming into view. He pulls on his shirt, covering his scrawny chest and then leans over, kissing my fifteen-year-old sister on the mouth as he fastens his belt. I straighten, dropping my hands from the window.

…or pregnant, Hawke’s words come back, ringing truer than I want to admit.

“Goddammit,” I murmur, continuing around the house to the back door.

My sister’s boyfriend is her age, but for some reason I let myself believe they weren’t sleeping together. Of course, they are. That’s what poor Weston kids do when they don’t worry about going to college.

I open the screen door, turning the handle slowly and hearing it squeak. I wince but push the door open, seeing Matty standing at the kitchen counter and trying to spread peanut butter on some saltines.

His fingers are covered as he struggles to stay on his tiptoes, the nails of which I see are still painted black from the last time I was here. That’s a good sign. My stepfather must be in lock-up, or else he’d have wiped the kid’s toes clean.

I slip in, but before I can close the door, Matty turns and sees me. His five-year-old eyes light up, and he drops the butter knife. “Aro!”

I press my finger to my lips, kneeling down in front of him. “Shhh…” I kiss his forehead. “Where’s Mommy?”

He scratches his nose, getting peanut butter on his face. “At work.”

I swipe my thumb across his face, wiping off the mess, and then grab a paper towel, cleaning my own hand. I pick up the knife, helping him with the crackers. “Why are you awake?”

It’s after midnight. I remember counting the chimes I heard from the town clock in Shelburne Falls right before I left the hideout.

But instead of answering me, Matty takes one of the finished crackers and starts eating.

I watch him hold it with both hands, taking bite after bite. Like it’s something he’s afraid to lose.

My throat tightens.

He swallows as I finish the rest. “Are we going shopping for school supplies soon?” he asks.

“I promised, didn’t I?” I tell him.

And I’ve never broken a promise, because I never guarantee things I can’t deliver. Like a trip to Hawaii or a car or a college fund. I want to laugh at how gullible I was when she told me I actually had a savings account from when I was little.

I don’t care if I’m in prison. I’m taking him shopping for school supplies.

“Draw me anything lately?” I ask him.

He takes another cracker, shaking his head and not looking at me.

I narrow my eyes. He always has a picture for me. “Where are the pencils I gave you?”

“Daddy—”

“He’s not your dad.”

A cough drifts in from the living room, followed by the sound of an empty beer can knocking into another, and I tense. I don’t know why I ever give that little sliver of hope air to breathe. My stepdad’s not in lock-up, and she’ll never kick him out. He pays rent, after all.

Bianca and I have the same father, but Matty is the product of a fling that lasted about three months, six years ago. Not long after, John Drakos swooped in, finding a nice, comfortable support system of people to do his laundry, cook his meals, and clean up after him. My mom doesn’t want to go back to paying all her own bills.

I hand Matty his plate and squat down, telling him, “Go to your room and eat. Close the door.”

He nods, well-conditioned not to ask questions. I wait for him to go, hearing the TV play gunfire and explosions, laughter echoing afterward.

Another door shuts, and I hear footfalls hit the stairs, “Have fun up there, boy?”

I creep to the end of the wall, just on the other side of the living room. My sister’s boyfriend must be leaving.

“That headboard slams any harder, it’s gonna pound a hole right through the goddamn wall,” John says, chuckling. “Must be some good stuff.”

“Jesus, man,” his friend laughs.

I peer around the corner, seeing Bianca’s boyfriend whip open the front door and walk out. “Sick asshole.”

He leaves, level-headed enough to know who’s bad news, and yet, he still leaves his girlfriend and her little brother with a guy like that.

Hawke comes to mind again and how he carried me away from the people he cared about inside Rivertown. Somehow, I don’t think he’d leave his girlfriend in a house like this.

I open the drawer next to the fridge, sifting through nails and screwdrivers of varying size and finding the long wooden handle. I pull out the hammer and shield it behind my leg, entering the living room. I stand in front of my stepdad, blocking his view of the TV. “Matty is awake. No one made him dinner,” I tell him, ignoring his friend to my left.

John stares up at me, unfazed. He’s only seven years older than my mother, but he’s lived hard. Lines crease the skin around his eyes and forehead, he perpetually needs to shave, and his hair is always greasy. But it’s still black. He’s not fat, and he has a job, so in this neighborhood he’s considered a catch.

“Where are his drawing pencils?” I demand.

But he just laughs, emptying a beer can. “I think you’ve got bigger worries right now, girl.” He reaches over, setting the can down on the table at his side. “Get out of here.”

And I can’t stop it. Fire spreads up my neck, heating my face, and I’m sick of everything the way it is. I hate him. I hate all of this!

I swing the hammer, bringing it down over my head and right onto his hand.

If I’m going, I’m going. I’ve been wanting to do this for years. I grab the gun he has sitting there, drop the hammer, and cock the weapon.

“Motherfucker,” he growls, wringing out his hand, and I see his middle finger bleeding. He glares up at me, suddenly very sober.

“This isn’t your house anymore,” he tells me. “You got nowhere else to go, do you?”

I will fucking sleep on the streets. It wouldn’t be the first time. But I know I can’t take them with me.

“You’re dead.” A sick smile curls his lips as he tries to catch his breath. “You know you are. I’m all you’ve got. That’s why you came back.”

My hand shakes, whatever pain I caused gone from his eyes and a calm settling as he closes in. “I’m all you’ve got,” he whispers.

I was a year younger than Bianca the only time he ever tried something with me. Half of his earlobe is missing as a result, but I was the one removed from the house, arrested, and psychologically evaluated for weeks before finally discovering that my mom didn’t want me back. It was the second time I was removed from her house. Neither were my fault. I just fucking reacted when she didn’t.

In the end, she chose the one who could pay bills.

I don’t really hate her for it anymore. I honestly think there was a time when she loved me. I remember it.

I just think with some parents, after the kid isn’t cute or little anymore, they realize it’s a huge fucking job, and a huge expense and for what? What do they get out of it? I mean, really? A dog is cheaper and it doesn’t talk back.

I don’t hate her for myself. But I do hate her for having two more kids she has no intention of raising.

John rises from his recliner and approaches.

“Go into the garage, Aro.”

I stare at his chest, the letters on his T-shirt swirling together until I can’t actually read them.

“Her mom will be home soon,” his buddy says off to my side.

John keeps his focus on me. “Her mom knows she’s old enough to start earning her keep.”

Not sure what he means, but I’m certain it involves the only thing anyone thinks women are good for.

It’s all my mother thinks she’s good for until she’s too old to work at the club, and it’s all Bianca is learning she’s good for right now.

I exhale as he takes my hand with the gun. He tries to pull the weapon, I meet his eyes, and I squeeze the trigger.

Fuck it.

A pop fills the air, I jump, and he flies back, a flash of red spilling from his hand. His friend scrambles from his seat, the shot echoing through the house and making my ears ring.

Screams sound from upstairs, his friend runs, and a sting registers on my right arm. I look down, seeing blood and spot the hammer I had in his hand now as he crashes into the wall and collapses. His hand is covered in blood—not a fatal wound, but enough to send me packing for a few years.

It’s over.

This is how I end. It’s almost a relief.

I just worry about Matty. Bianca will understand all the shit that will happen to her in life. Matty still just wants hugs. He won’t understand why no one wants him.

“Aro!” I hear my sister cry. “Aro, what are you doing?”

She stands in the hallway, staring between our stepfather and me, my brother behind her looking like he’s about to cry.

“Aro!” someone else calls.

But I can’t focus. I fall back, slamming into the wall, sliding down until I’m nearly seated.

“Oh my God!” I see the blur of my mother sweeping in, dropping to the ground near my stepdad and sobbing. “What have you done?” she screams over her shoulder at me. “Get out! Get out now! How’s he going to work now?”

How’s he going to work? I almost laugh.

But then there’s another voice. Deeper. “Get the kid outta here,” someone orders.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bianca spin Matty around and lead him back into the bedroom.

I look around at what’s happening, but everything is blurry.

“We have a shooting victim, non-fatal. 875 Burnes Avenue,” the man’s voice says again. And then…he touches my face. “Get up.”

I blink, raising my eyes. Hawke? But then the pain hits me and before I know it, something circles my body, and I’m swept up into his arms.

“Who’s going to pay?” my mom cries. “Huh, Aro? We can’t afford an ambulance. Why don’t you just leave us alone?”

My hand shakes, and I can’t stop it. Hawke carries me out, and I rest my chin on his shoulder, looking back into the house but not at my mother crying on the living room floor.

I want to take Bianca and Matty. “I’ll be back,” I whisper, my vision going black like I’m sinking further and further down a tunnel.

But then I faintly hear his voice. “You are never coming back here.”

And I’m not sure if it’s a dream, but in a moment, the fatigue and nausea from the pain takes over my thoughts, and I wrap an arm around his neck, holding on as he puts me into his car.