The Red Hunter



Raven waved to her mother from the train window. She imagined that her mother was a stranger, someone she’d never seen before—a pretty lady, not old, not young, stylish in rolled-up jeans and oversized white shirt, red ballet flats, and big, glittery bag over her shoulder. Her blonde hair was up in a let’s-get-to-work messy bun; she had her sunglasses up on her head. She’d spend a minute when she got into the car looking for them before she remembered where they were. Ditzy, but smart ditzy. Take it easy on your mom, was her dad’s constant refrain. She’s been through a lot. Even Ella, whom Raven’s mom despised, was always ready to jump to her defense. We never understand our mothers until we are mothers ourselves. Until then, we should try not to judge. But, of course, we all judge them terribly.

Her mom was smiling bright and happy, but Raven could always tell when her smile was fake. Her eyes were sad, and Raven felt it, that horrible twist of wanting to stay and wanting to be away all at once. She pressed her palm against the glass, and her mom blew a kiss, gave another big wave before walking back to the truck. She thought about getting off at the next stop and going back. Maybe she would.

What’s up, buttercup?

Weird that her dad was texting her at exactly this moment. Like a poke in the ribs from the universe.

Not much. How’s St. Lucia?

Better than biology class. Lol. You’re on your way to class now, right?

He prided himself on knowing her exact schedule.

Yep. On my way there right now.

This was one of the little loopholes—and there were quite a few. One: Dad and Ella were having a long weekend in the Caribbean; they left after work last night. Mom didn’t know because it wasn’t supposed to be Dad’s weekend with Raven, and Dad would never tell Mom about it (unless Mom said, “Hey, what are you and Ella doing this weekend?” and she never would). Two: Raven showed her mom an old text, so Claudia never questioned that Raven was going where she said she was going. Three: Her mom and dad only communicated directly about scheduling when there was (a) something wrong or (b) coordination was required beyond texts and email. So there were all kinds of ways Raven could game the system to find a little freedom now and then.

Her parents didn’t hate each other—far from it, they actually seemed to like each other. It was more like it hurt too much for some reason to be near each other. Her mother had a very particular soft, apologetic tone that she used only with Ayers, and, likewise, Ayers treated Claudia like a bird he was trying to get not to fly away. Neither one of them had ever said a negative word about the other. And four: Raven had begged her mom not to tell her dad about the quasi-suspension. Usually, there would be no chance that Claudia would keep something like that from Ayers but this time, for some reason unknown to Raven, Claudia had agreed. Maybe because Claudia was trying so hard to make a fresh start, she didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t going as well as she’d hoped.

Study hard.

Mom said I could get the test.

There was a long pause where Raven looked out the window, watching the blur of buildings give way to a blur of fields and trees, to a blur of concrete walls, then buildings again.

THE test?

Yeah. She’ll probably change her mind. But she said okay.

Why? What happened?

Nothing. It’s just—time.

The station where Raven had considered turning around came and went. There were other points ahead, though, where she could change her mind. The sky outside grew darker, thick gray clouds floating together.

When I get back we need to all sit and talk. This is a big decision.

What? she thought. That was so like a grown-up. Why were they both so flip-floppy?

You said you were okay with it.

It’s still something I want to talk through as a family.

As a family, she thought. What a crock.

Ella said she thought it was time.

Ella, whatever her opinion, is not part of this.

Oh, snap! There had been a bit more of that from her dad, sort of a hard shutout of Ella on bigger-picture things. Maybe there was trouble in paradise—maybe Dad didn’t love being a vegan yogi as much as he said he did. Maybe Ella found out that he and Raven still scarfed down cheeseburgers and ice cream sundaes when they were alone together, lay around on the couch binging on television shows Claudia would never let her watch like Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead. It was hard not to like Ella (in theory) because she was so nice, so always, always kind. But, really, Raven wished that she’d just go away. Just float away, skinny yogini, on your magical mat made of recycled materials.

Fine. We’ll talk. But my mind is made up. You can’t stop me forever.

Don’t do anything without me.

Duh. How could we?

Uh, yeah. Right. When did you get so smart?

She was far from smart. Ayers and Claudia were both smart in different ways—maybe not math or science geniuses but creative and sharp. Raven struggled—always, with everything—with reading, with math, with people. She was always behind, even had to repeat kindergarten. Her parents changed schools, hoping that she wouldn’t notice that she had to do kindergarten again, but she noticed. Even now, even working hard, she was just a solid-C student, with the occasional B. She got A’s in art and theater sometimes. But the rest of it was a constant challenge of attention and effort.

I had trouble in school, too, her mom said. Creative people don’t always do well in a traditional school environment.

But Raven knew it wasn’t true. She’d seen her mother’s yearbook—she’d been beautiful and bright, editor of the school paper, most likely to succeed, homecoming queen. Your mother couldn’t pay attention, her aunt Martha said, because she was always thinking about boys, parties, and fashion. That’s why she had a hard time.

Another text from her dad:

Remember that you are my daughter in every real and significant way. Nothing can take that from us. No matter what. I love you, Kitten.

But it wasn’t true. It just wasn’t. She was either his biological daughter, or she was the daughter of a sociopathic criminal who raped her mother and left her for dead. There was no way to pretend that it didn’t matter which. And lately, she felt it. She felt apart from them, different. Ayers and Claudia were one kind of person, and she was another. There was a darkness in her, an anger that was foreign and alive. Like yesterday, the girl that dumped that tray—yeah, on purpose—was not the girl who had been sitting quietly reading with her lunch just moments earlier. She was dark and mean and lived inside Raven, just waiting to be invited out. And when she was out? There was always trouble.

I know, Dad. I love you, too.

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