Chapter 4

4: 4

The morning after I signed, the whole house felt off.

While she cooked, my mother kept drifting to the storage room door to look at me, opening her mouth and saying nothing.

My father was the opposite. Sharper with me than ever.

The third night, I came back from my shower to the storage room.

My suitcase was gone.

So were the three hundred and some in spending money I'd saved in the drawer.

I rushed out to demand an answer from her.

She sat in the living room watching TV, not even turning her head. “What suitcase? I don't know anything about it.”

My father came out of the kitchen with his tea cup. On the coffee table sat a red card printed with my birth date.

“The Chavezes are coming the day after tomorrow to look you over. Clean yourself up. Don't go around looking like a mess.”

Mr. Chavez. The one who owned the plastics factory.

His son was thirty-two, divorced once, and had a temper, by all accounts.

My lips went white. “I'm not doing a match.”

He set the cup down and gave a cold snort. “That's not up to you.”

“I'm only eighteen!”

“Eighteen makes you an adult!” My mother's voice shot up.

“Didn't you sign that waiver? If you won't claim this family, don't expect us to pay for your college! Marrying into a good home beats studying a hundred times over!”

My brother stuck his head out of his room and threw in his line.

:

“Sis, the Chavezes have money. Marry in and you can help me out.”

I looked at the three of them.

Not one of them thought there was anything wrong with this.

That night, after they were all asleep, I got up and packed.

I was about to pull the door open when the hallway light snapped on.

My father was blocking the doorway. “Where do you think you're going?”

I stepped back.

My mother came out of the bedroom too, like she hadn't slept all night. “I knew you'd try to run.”

She snatched my backpack and dumped everything out.

My ID ended up clenched in her fist. “Forget it. You're not going anywhere.”

My father shoved me back into the storage room and locked the door.

I pounded on the boards. “You can't do this!”

My mother's voice came through the door. “Quit making trouble and settle down. When the Chavezes come, you put on a good show. Your mother wouldn't do anything to hurt you.”

I wrenched the handle as hard as I could. It wouldn't budge.

In the dark, my breathing came heavier and heavier.

My brother's room was right next door. I could hear his gaming keyboard clear as anything.

Through the thin wall, he let out one lazy line. “Sis, stop it. Just accept it.”

I crouched down and felt for the backup phone hidden in the seam of the mattress.

An old-person phone I'd bought three months ago off a secondhand site.

Nobody knew about it.

I woke the screen, dialed Teacher Lane's number, and dropped my voice as low as it would go.

The second she picked up, she was shaking with excitement. “Gladys Fox!”

“Gladys Fox!” Teacher Lane's voice was trembling with excitement.

“You got in! Eighteenth in the whole state! The acceptance letter came today. I've got it safe for you!”

Crouched on the floor, I pressed the phone to my ear. “Teacher Lane… I can't get out. They've locked me up.”……

Three seconds of silence.

“Don't make a sound. I'm calling the police right now, and I'm coming straight to the back alley.”

She paused. “If you can get out through the vent, do it. If you can't, wait for the officers. Don't take any risks with yourself.”

Midnight. Every house in Greenhollow had its lights out.

The old folks said midnight was the hour the yin ran heaviest, that a girl mustn't cross a threshold alone or she'd cut off her family's good fortune.

But when I squeezed barefoot through that hand-sized vent, there wasn't a trace of fear in me.

In the back alley, Teacher Lane's headlights flashed twice. I pulled the door open and slid into the passenger seat.

She didn't say much, just draped a clean coat over my shoulders.

“Let's go.”

The car started.

In the rearview mirror, the lights of Greenhollow fell further and further behind.

Clutching my backpack strap, I turned to look back at that familiar building.

Only when the lights of the small town disappeared completely did I say it, quietly, to myself.

Goodbye.

From this day on, no one has to pay back my principal for me.