Blood on My Hands

CHAPTER 29

Tuesday 7:43 A.M.

I WAIT INSIDE the tree house until the next downpour begins and then climb down and walk through the heavy rain, hoping that as long as it’s pouring, pedestrians will be preoccupied with staying dry and trying to avoid puddles. If I’m lucky, drivers will be watching for other cars, not fugitives from the law. A pickup truck goes past, wipers swiping, and I do a double take. It’s Slade and there’s someone small in the passenger seat. He’s driving Alyssa to school.
The Lamonts keep a spare key under a flowerpot near the back door. By the time I let myself in, I’m soaked to the skin. It’s quiet and still inside. Even better, it’s warm and dry. But being in this kitchen stirs up a stew of memories and emotions. There’s a feeling of familiarity but also a yearning for that time when I felt like I belonged here, when I’d make a big steaming pot of spaghetti on the old stove and pretend that I was part of the family.
But this isn’t the time for memories and regrets; I have to keep moving. I leave my wet shoes by the door, grab a garbage bag from under the sink, and dash up the stairs to the bathroom.
What I see in the mirror is revolting. The black hair dye has started to run down my face and neck. The makeup is streaked and smudged. What a mess! After stripping out of my soaked, dirty clothes, I go through my pockets for money, Slade’s penlight, and other things I don’t want to forget. All the change in my pockets comes to a little over a dollar. I thought I had more, but now that’s just one more problem I’ll have to deal with.
I stuff the wet clothes into the garbage bag and get into the shower. The hot water feels so good. It takes a lot of shampoo to get most of the black dye out. Finally I towel off and blow-dry my hair. Not all the color is out, but enough to make my hair look an unnatural shade of dirty blonde.
Wrapped in the towel, I head back downstairs and raid the kitchen. There’s milk in the refrigerator, and Honey Nut Cheerios in the cupboard. Two bowls later I’m back upstairs. Alyssa’s room is a reflection of a girl with one foot in the smooth sands of childhood and the other on the rocky shore of adolescence. Posters of singers on pink walls, an electric guitar leaning against a dollhouse, a training bra lying in the pile of yesterday’s soccer uniform. I go through her dresser and find a long-sleeved white cotton turtleneck that will cover the Sharpie tattoo on my neck. Next I pull on denim shorts over white leggings, then a pink hoodie and a matching pink baseball cap. A pair of pink-and-white Velcro sneakers are a nice touch. Even Alyssa, at age twelve, probably wouldn’t be caught dead in something so childish.
I find her old eyeglasses in a drawer and lollipops in the candy jar in the kitchen.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I’m almost unnerved by how young I look. Maybe it’s the candy-cane eyeglass frames, but I wonder if I’m actually more convincing as a pre-pubescent girl than I was as a punk. I wander away from the mirror and into the hall, barely conscious of where my feet are taking me until I stop outside Slade’s door. So far I can justify sneaking into the Lamonts’ house, eating their food, taking a shower, and borrowing some of Alyssa’s clothes. Desperate times call for desperate measures. But what I want to do next crosses the line. Only I can’t help myself. I press my fingers against the door to Slade’s room and go in.
My heart thuds and the ache returns, stronger than ever. So little in this room has changed. The car and motorcycle posters on the wall. The ankle weights on the floor, which Slade is supposed to use to keep the muscles around his knee fit. The shelf of dusty everyone-gets-one trophies from soccer and Little League.
But there’s something new hanging on the closet door—a pale green-gray military camouflage uniform. And on the floor, tan lace-up boots. Slade’s uniform.
On his desk is a new laptop, which he got through the army PX. A photo is taped to the outer edge of the screen so that every time he sits down he sees it. It’s a photo I know well, because I have a framed copy of it on my night table at home. In it Slade and I are together, arm in arm, smiles on our faces one night last April at a party Dakota gave.
I feel a rush of hope. He’s kept the photo where he can see it all the time! My spirits lift. So he does still care!
Only now I notice something else in the photo. Something I missed before, because I’ve always been content to look at Slade and me standing in front of the small crowd of people with drinks and food in their hands. In that crowd, staring at us with an unmistakable look of dismay on her face, is Dakota.
And suddenly I have an outrageous idea. Or maybe the best word to describe it is desperate. Jerry has made my phone untraceable. So that means I can call … Dakota. I can confront her with what I think, and see how she reacts.
I go over and over it in my head, but there’s so much I can’t predict … other than the one thing I’m sure of—that I can’t hide from the police much longer. That sooner or later I’m going to get caught.
With shaking hands, I turn on my phone. It’s the middle of the school day, so I can’t call her. But I can text. My trembling fingers make mistake after mistake. Finally I manage to get it right: I no U killed K.
With my heart pounding as if I’ve just run five miles, I hit SEND.
Now what?
I sit on Slade’s bed. Even though the rain’s passed, I can’t go anywhere in my new disguise, because it’s a weekday and girls my age should be in school. So I have no choice but to wait. But I know that it won’t be long before Dakota reads the text. It’s the middle of fourth period at school. Even if she has gym or is super busy in some class, the period ends at 10:56 and she’ll read it then.
The first week of senior year passed and Dakota was still a no-show at lunch in the cafeteria. I saw her in the hall between classes and she said she was using lunchtimes to work on a research project in the library. But it was much too early in the year for anyone to be working on a research project. Had it not been for Brianna’s presence, I might have thought Katherine and Dakota were just having another one of their tiffs. But during the previous fights, even the long one the spring before, no one had dared sit in Dakota’s seat, the way Brianna now did.