Getting Somewhere (4 page)

Lauren is almost giddy with everything she has heard, with the adrenaline of successful thievery, no matter its nature. So much has been explained now, the mystery of so many of the day's weird little exchanges resolved.

It had actually started out pretty well. In fact, the peach coffee cake that Donna had made for breakfast smelled so good, like something an old-timey grandmother would make, that Lauren had even had to try some. The table was laid so pretty, reminded Lauren of her mother's parties when she hired that Anna Maria to cater, everything sparkling, the sun prisming through the juice glasses. Ellie had looked downright radiant, her hair still wet from the shower, wearing crisp khaki shorts and a lemony yellow polo shirt, her eyes bright, though Lauren still thinks she'd look better with a little makeup. Lauren had noticed Grace watching her, too, seeming a bit dazzled, the same expression Lauren has noticed on her dad's face in her parents' wedding pictures, something like pride. Ellie was much more relaxed than she had been last night, confident, funny, even.

She told the girls as soon as everyone was seated at the breakfast table, “The first thing you need to know is that we didn't start this program because we think the farm is a good place to send people for punishment.” She even got a few smirks with that one.

She went on, “You were invited to come here because we don't think mistakes should exclude you from the best possible future.” That was the second time she'd mentioned mistakes, and Lauren wonders if that's going to be some kind of theme, rectifying mistakes, maybe even some religious thing going on, though she admits she doesn't see the typical signs of religious fervor. Ellie explained that the farm was a lot of work and that all of them would be expected to help out; in fact, by being here, they were committed to help, but that was because working together to accomplish a goal is how people learn compassion, both for themselves and for others.

“We believe in food around here, in case you haven't noticed or guessed,” she'd said, smiling with that kind of quirky half-grin that Lauren has already noticed is her way of showing that she's not taking herself too seriously. “Even if you don't fall in love with farming or cooking or anything related to food while you're here, we hope you'll at least learn what that love might feel like.” Thinking it over now, Lauren realizes that
is
the religion, this food thing. She's certain that's what it is, when people think their way is best and try to force it on you, start talking about stuff like love. Whatever this is all about, Lauren knows she'll be able to resist getting caught up in it.

It was all downhill from there. At first, it seemed like Grace was the one in charge. She led them all outside and showed them all the different vegetable beds, talked about how they put things in different places every year, a rotation, and all the good reasons to do that, though Lauren drifted off during that part. Grace went on for a while about the history of the place, how it had belonged to her grandparents, how she'd quit a graduate program to come back and help run it when her grandma died and, within two months, her grandfather had had the first of his strokes. It was boring, and Lauren couldn't see how any of that had anything to do with the work they were going to have to do.

Then Grace spent a whole lot of time, long enough that Lauren's legs started to get tired and she would have sat down if there had been any place to sit but right on the ground, explaining about the CSA. Community Supported Agriculture—Lauren remembers that part. Pretty much, it was about how they get their money, how they have these people pay for the food before they get it, buy a membership and then get this basket full of whatever is ready that week all summer long. The main part she heard, though, is that, if they're going to keep those baskets filled, and also sell extra stuff at the farmers market each week, they all have to pitch in.

And that wasn't even all of it. Then they had to hear about what it means to be organic, how the farm is like nature, a system all dependent on the health of the soil. They'd all had to kneel down and supposedly touch the soil, hold a chunk of it in their hands. Lauren had knelt like the rest of them, but she sure as hell wasn't going to touch that dirt any more than absolutely necessary. It was bad enough how it clung to the sides of her flip-flops and got inside, making the bottoms of her feet brown.

They'd looked in the greenhouses next, all hot and steamy from the sun and packed with all these different kinds of plants, floor to ceiling, some of them on these shelves that Grace could raise and lower with this rope thingy she'd invented. Lauren had just been wondering how the plants turned into food when Sarah asked if all of them were going to have to be moved to the garden. Lauren doesn't know how she knew that, figures Sarah was probably just trying to get on Grace's good side, but the answer was yes. The greenhouse is just a temporary place for them, where they can be coddled while they are still babies, Grace had told them. Nobody said a word for quite a while after that, like the sheer immensity of the undertaking, the amount of hard work headed their way, had just dawned on them.

Then Donna had been out feeding the kitchen scraps to the chickens and so Ellie had asked her to tell about the chicken tractor, a pen with rollers they keep the chickens in, and how they move it from place to place to add the waste and fertility to all the fields and get weeding help from the chickens besides, plus healthy chickens and eggs with all the greens they get to eat. Lauren actually got a little sick to her stomach then, tried to imagine how these disgusting creatures with that floppy red skin around their faces and those creepy yellow feet scratching around in the dirt could actually become something someone wanted to eat. She decided that the animals they use to get chicken at the grocery store or for KFC must be a completely different kind of bird.

They were supposed to walk around the other side of the house to the marsh, but Ellie said it was getting pretty late and maybe they should just have their lunch. Grace seemed like she didn't agree, was already headed in the other direction when Ellie said that, so, for just a second, it was kind of a standoff but then Grace gave in and just followed along, though not right up with the group. From that point on, Ellie was the one in charge, leading them back to the river, handing out sandwiches, passing around the chips, filling cups from the thermos Donna had left sitting in the shade along with the picnic basket containing their lunches.

While they were eating, Ellie told about when she first moved here to the farm herself, how she didn't know the name of a single bird or tree, or have any idea where most of the food she ate came from. It seemed like she was trying to tell them how anybody can adapt, that any city kid can just come out here and become a farmer, and it really pissed Lauren off. It was like she wanted them to believe that pretty soon they'd be all excited about callouses on their hands and heat stroke.

Then Ellie told them how, after she got used to things here, she could barely stop herself from sneaking back to the river to swing into the cool water from the rope swing, even when she could see the million things there were to do. God, what a joke. As if anybody couldn't figure out in the first ten seconds of knowing her that Ellie wasn't the type of person to ever really break the rules, wouldn't inconvenience someone or avoid her duties for all the tea in China, as Lauren's grandma used to say. She was trying to make them believe that she could possibly have a single thing in common with juvenile criminals who have been pulled off the streets for things like drugs and prostitution. It was completely transparent and, in fact, Lauren can't imagine why she would want to, and is going to do everything she can think of to prevent anyone from confusing
her
with the rest of them.

She also can't imagine why Ellie doesn't realize that they can all see her for exactly what she is: a person who wants to be at the center of attention. She just has this program, Lauren is certain, so she can be some kind of hero, have all these girls who will love her and shower her with affection and tell her how she saved their lives. And, wouldn't you know it, that was exactly when they started talking about the group sessions Ellie was planning for a couple of days each week. Lauren hates therapists, psychologists, the whole concept of counseling, has ever since she was a kid and her parents made her go “talk to someone” about what they called her “social problems.” It's clear that Ellie is just another one, right out of the same mold as all the others, just as self-absorbed and manipulative, but maybe even more dangerous, a woman, Lauren realizes now as she lurks in the living room, who likes girls.

Okay. This is starting to make sense. Ellie doesn't exactly fit the bill, but Grace does. She's certainly masculine enough—the big muscles, the short hair, the way she walks with her feet apart, wears clothes that hide instead of define her figure. Today, back at the river, she'd sat off from the rest of them on a big tree stump while the girls and Ellie arranged themselves along the length of the prone trunk that Grace said came down in a storm last fall. Lauren noticed how closely Grace was watching Jenna. Lauren herself couldn't help but see how the girl wolfed down her food, like she didn't want to get caught eating. When she was done, Jenna had sat there perfectly still, almost like a statue, watching every bird and following every dragonfly with her eyes, studying the ripples in the water so intently that Lauren wanted to look too, see whatever Jenna was seeing there. Grace tried to look like she was busy eating, but her eyes kept coming back to Jenna. It totally gave Lauren the creeps, like Grace was some kind of Peeping Tom or something, her gaze trying to invade the invisible wall that girls like Jenna always erect around themselves.

Jenna set herself apart, leaving a bigger space between the edge of her body and Sarah beside her, letting her hair fall down along the side of her face, effectively blocking her view of the rest of them, and theirs of her. And Lauren realizes now that, in an odd way, by setting herself apart, Jenna had made herself the center. It was as if the wall that she erected was a comment on them all, a strategy that Lauren has seen so many times before among girls who think they are tough, too full of themselves to realize what total losers they are.

And Ellie is just the type to get totally drawn in by it, to feel like she has to close the distance and pull Jenna into the fold. She'll believe herself the white-horsed hero, ready to scale the wall or find the opening that will let her inside. Just thinking about it now, Lauren feels thoroughly convinced that it will become all about Jenna, that the rest of them will be left in the dust, expected to flounder along on their own while Jenna gets all the attention as the pet headcase.

Lauren has heard enough for one night, is just about ready to sneak away and climb the stairs back to her room, when she hears Ellie say, “Dinner was great, Donna. The girls actually ate something tonight. Even Lauren. I guess we made them hungry.” Ellie laughs.

“That Lauren. She's going to be a tough nut to crack.”

“You think so? I don't know. I don't think she's much different from the others. Just needs some affection, to know that someone really cares about her.”

There is a short pause and then Lauren hears the scrape of their chairs and the groan of the swing as the women get to their feet. She jumps up and scrambles through the darkness, barely missing the corner of an end table with her knee, dashes up the stairs and into her room, shutting the door.

Lauren dives into the bed, pulls the covers to her chin, and lies with her eyes open.

Just like the others, huh? She is shaking with fury. There is no way, no fucking way, she wants one single thing that woman has to offer. Affection? God, the woman is just fucking sick. Lauren has got to get out of here.

Lauren's eyes are still open, but she is not seeing the shadowy room around her. Instead, she pictures the scene at the river, Ellie, the other girls, Jenna and Grace.

Jenna and Grace. Ellie and Grace. Lauren's mental wheels are turning. Oh yeah, she could just take off, find some way out of here. But wouldn't it be fun to bring them down first? And she can do it. Absolutely no problem. They've already given her the weapon. Now all she needs is a little ammunition.

THURSDAY, MAY 17

THIS IS GOING TO BE EVEN WORSE THAN JENNA
thought.

She is standing between Cassie and Lauren, and they are watching Grace emerge from the little shed tacked to the end of the barn. In one hand Grace is holding one of those giant plastic bats, blue, in this case, and in the other she has cradled two Wiffle balls.

Jenna thinks Grace has to be kidding. She hasn't played Wiffle ball since she was about ten at some church picnic a foster family made her attend, and she doesn't remember it being all that much fun even then. She can hear Lauren beside her, muttering at first then saying the words louder and more clearly, “No way. There is no fucking way.” Jenna can't say she disagrees.

This must be some therapeutic strategy they teach you in psychology school: build rapport, establish relationships, learn sportsmanship by playing some stupid game together. Jenna figures she could probably write one of those textbooks just with all the lame tools she's seen used on her own supposed behalf. Jenna has learned a lot from these activities—how to keep her distance, when she can escape without attracting too much attention, how to give them just enough of what they want to keep them off her back.

Grace is heading directly for them, and Jenna wishes Lauren would shut up, takes a step away from her, having already decided that there can be no benefit in an association with this girl. Accidently, she bumps into Cassie who she forgot was standing rigidly beside her, a look of sheer terror on her face.

“Sorry,” Jenna mumbles and Cassie's face instantly transforms, brightly lit by a smile that makes her, well, absolutely beautiful. Jenna quickly looks away, her stomach instantly queasy with how pathetic this one is, so completely thrilled to have simply been spoken to. To avoid further interaction, Jenna leans forward just enough to see Sarah standing a little way off, intently chewing the cuticle of her thumb.

Grace drops the bat, balls, and the pieces of rubber matting Jenna didn't notice at first tucked under her arm on the ground at their feet and says, “You guys want to help me lay these out? Small field. That's why we play with the Wiffle ball, so it doesn't go too far into the gardens.”

Jenna wonders who “we” are, imagines with a bit of a smirk Grace and Ellie and Donna coming out here after supper, just the three of them, playing a stupid kids' game for evening entertainment.

Grace picks up a mat and hands it to Cassie, who clearly has absolutely no idea what to do with it. Before she can say anything, Lauren has announced, “I'm not playing,” and begins to stalk off toward the house. Grace completely ignores her but Ellie, who has just arrived in the yard, trots after her and the two of them carry on a conversation that Jenna can't quite hear but that involves Ellie smiling a lot and moving her hands like she is demonstrating the motions to a graceful dance and Lauren shaking her head emphatically.

As Jenna watches furtively out of the corner of her eye, she sees Lauren finally throwing up her arms in exaggerated submission and stubbornly following Ellie back over to where the rest of them are standing. If Jenna had been going to protest or refuse to participate herself, she certainly can't do it now.

Ellie says to Grace, sounding a little amused, “Lauren's going to be full-time catcher, okay?” Grace scrutinizes Lauren for a moment or two, then proceeds to ignore her, continues explaining the game and giving instructions for how to place the bases.

No big surprise to Jenna, the game is not competitive. They are supposed to rotate through the positions, including batter and pitcher, though it's obvious to Jenna right away that if the bases get full, the fielders are at a pretty extreme disadvantage. Grace tells everybody to choose their initial positions and then heads for the center of the diamond, making it clear that she intends to pitch first.

That makes Jenna more incensed than ever. She doesn't want anybody thinking they need to show her how to pitch a fucking Wiffle ball. She's pissed at the necessity for goodwill after Lauren's outburst and pissed at having been trapped into playing this ridiculous game. She has a sudden image of herself running over homeplate and then continuing on running, out the driveway, down the road, through the forest of trees and past the little farms she saw on the way here. Maybe she'd just keep going, disappear into the jade wilderness, until it would, she is sure, open to a town, the edge of a city, someplace where no one would know a thing about her.

Jenna jogs over to third base while the others are still milling around but doesn't quite get there before she notices Grace motioning her over to the spot on the field pathetically designated as the pitcher's mound.

“Hey, do you mind batting first? Cassie has never played baseball before, and I want her to see how it's done. Then we'll have a stand-in runner for you if you don't get all the way around so you can pitch to Cassie.”

Jenna raises her eyebrows, concentrates on keeping the rest of her face expressionless. She has no idea why Grace is so sure she knows how to play or assumes she'll hit the ball but nods dumbly and heads for home plate where Lauren is sitting on the ground, angrily plucking blades of grass. Lauren stands with apparent great effort and says to Jenna, “You'd better not let it get past you because there is no way I'm running after it.” Jenna doesn't answer, just picks up the bat and positions herself at the plate, suddenly nervous.

Grace calls out, “Can I have a couple of practice throws?” to which Jenna responds, “No,” but with a grin she can't suppress. Grace shakes her head in feigned disgust, grinning, too. “Okay, Lauren, this one's for you.”

The ball comes in straighter, and much harder, than Jenna thought possible, but she swings the oversize bat with an accurate swat, stands briefly stunned as the ball flies over Grace's head and heads directly for Sarah at second base. Jenna tosses the bat and runs toward Donna, who has just in the last few minutes come out of the house to play and is now jumping up and down, clapping her hands and shouting encouragement to Sarah, who has run away from her base to capture the rolling ball. Jenna swings past Donna and runs for second, gives Sarah a little wave as she dashes by. Sarah is now holding the ball but is seemingly deaf to the shouts to “tag her, tag her,” and then “throw it to third, to Cassie.”

Jenna is pretty sure Cassie won't catch the ball, so she confidently rounds third and heads for home. She glances back at Ellie helping Cassie recover the ball, which has rolled into the weeds next to third base, and then turns in time to see Grace standing beside Lauren at home plate, her hands on her hips and a wide smile on her face. She holds out her hand for Jenna to shake, and Jenna takes it while Grace leans forward and whispers, “I just figured you'd show them how to do it.”

B
Y HER THIRD
turn at bat, Jenna has nearly forgotten her original resistence. The game is actually fun and, despite the absence of team loyalties or point totals, feels vibrantly competitive. She is just starting to relax into the rhythm of it when a stray pitch by Donna hits Lauren directly in the face, and she falls to the ground clutching her eye with a dramatic swoon. Everyone rushes forward, Grace arriving first from third base, but when she bends over to check the damage, touches Lauren's arm with her hand, Lauren wrenches it away and screeches, “Don't touch me! Don't. You. Ever. Touch. Me.”

Everyone is frozen, the air reverberating with the venomous fury of Lauren's words. Grace turns sharply away, slowly but deliberately walking back to third base and standing there with her arms crossed while Ellie tries to get Lauren to remove her hands so she can see her eye. Not surprisingly, there is nothing to see, maybe a little redness on her forehead above her eye, but nothing that will even turn some lovely shade of black or purple. “Do you think you can still play?” Ellie asks, though Jenna knows what the answer will be even before Ellie is done asking the question.

Jenna thinks they could have kept playing, even without Lauren, but all the enthusiasm is gone, the fragile veil of goodwill snatched away and dissolved into the growing darkness of night. Glancing back once to determine that the gathering of equipment is being managed by the adults, Jenna moves toward the house, is irritated to find that Lauren has fallen in beside her.

“I guess I took care of that, huh?”

Jenna doesn't answer.

“God, I hate this time of day. Especially out here—no lights, no cars or people, no nothing.” When Jenna fails to respond, Lauren adds, “It would be the perfect time though. You know how they always say it's hardest to make out forms at dusk. And the road, it's like right there and, with all those trees and stuff, they wouldn't be able to see you like five feet away.”

Jenna walks a little faster but Lauren just trots to keep up. “It would be so easy. There's, like, not even any walls or fences or anything,” Lauren says, a little breathlessly.

Jenna doesn't want to be having this conversation, is annoyed less by the fact that Lauren is trying to have it with her than she is by the realization that she had these exact same thoughts hardly more than an hour ago herself.

“Well, there sure are walls and fences at detention, which is exactly where you'd find yourself if you tried to run away from here,” Jenna says acidly.

Lauren ignores her, sweeps her platinum hair back from her face. “How far do you think it is to the nearest town? You could probably catch a bus there, and nobody would ever have the faintest idea where you went. If we left right after bedtime, they wouldn't even know we were gone until morning.”

“We?”

“Oh, don't tell me you haven't already thought of it. Wouldn't be the first place you voluntarily excused yourself from, I bet.”

Lauren is, of course, exactly correct, but Jenna would never give her the satisfaction of saying so. “Listen, Lauren, I don't care what you do. Just don't try to include me in your little plans.”

“What, so you have to think of everything yourself? Okay, we'll pretend like it was your idea.”

Jenna stops and faces Lauren, though she can barely make out her features in the dusk.

She swallows hard, angry at Lauren, angry at herself, furious at that tiny vestige of hope she always carries that the next place, or the next one, or the next, will be better. With Lauren's privilege and her snobby attitude and her fancy clothes, she would never understand. For a second, Jenna imagines herself saying that some people don't just run away from food and beds and apparent decency, no matter how annoying, because there's just as good a chance that the next place might be even worse.

Instead, she simply tells Lauren, “There is no ‘we,' okay? Whatever I do, I do it on my own.” Jenna walks away, vowing to do what she always does, what she does best: stay on her toes, watch her back, and be ready for anything, which, in this case, is danger in the guise of friendship.