I glance at Finn’s desk as I take a seat at my own. I sit behind a girl with a big, red braid and a lime green bow at the end. My heart lurches when I see how thick and pretty her hair is. The girl sitting beside her leans over, glancing at me as she passes a folded piece of paper to the red-haired girl.
The girl reads the note, peeking back at me and snickering. My eyes fall to my lap and my behind slides down the seat of my plastic chair as I try to make myself smaller. What are they talking about?
The re-folded note lands on my desk. I don’t know which girl tossed it there, because their backs are turned now. I don’t want to know what it says, but I also really, really do.
Grabbing the note, I open it and read, my cheeks reddening.
You have boy hair.
My hand flies to my horrible hair cut, the one my mom forced me to get. She was sick of dealing with my hair, hated the time it took to brush out the tangles, and so she told the hairdresser to cut it off. After, it wasn’t even long enough to tuck behind my ears. I cried. I still cry at each trim.
Tears burn my eyes right now, too, but I refuse to let those girls see me cry. I capture the tip of my tongue between my front teeth and bite down, waiting until the burning feeling in my eyes disappears.
Miss Landry calls the students to order and starts class. I have no trouble keeping up. It’s the same work as my old school. New school, same third grade.
When it’s time for recess, we stand as one and file out the door the same way we did yesterday. Brady walks beside me. I guess he doesn’t think his duties from yesterday are finished. After I’d spent the rest of the school day hardly saying a word, I thought he’d be more than ready to get rid of me.
My hand slips into my pocket, curling around what’s inside. Last night I’d waited until I was certain my mom was sucked into her soap opera, then I snuck into her purse.
Today, Brady doesn’t ask if I want to play with him. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll say no. He takes my hand and pulls me along with him to the sand in front of the monkey bars. Finn is already there, on his knees and digging through the sand. He looks up when we sit down, holding out an open hand into the space between us.
“A ruby,” he announces, the dark red jewel shimmering in the sunlight.
I wonder if he knows it’s fake?
Without saying anything, I join in the sifting. When Finn says he’s thirsty and stands up, I realize this is my chance. The second he’s gone I reach into my pocket, grabbing the five-dollar bill and shoving it into the sand where Finn had been digging. I meet Brady’s eyes. He says nothing, just looks away and keeps digging. I go back to my little square of sand, waiting with an excited feeling in my tummy. Will Finn find it? Will he know it was me?
Finn comes back, plops back down onto the sand, and starts digging. It doesn’t take long for him to find the money. He snatches it and lets out a loud yell. It gets the attention of other kids, who come running.
“I knew it,” he says, looking around at our classmates. He looks so satisfied, I almost feel bad for putting the money there. What if I’ve done something wrong again?
Soon all the kids are on their knees, digging through the sand. Nobody else finds any money. I fake my disappointment so that my expression resembles theirs.
On the way back into class, Finn walks beside me. He holds out a palm, the ruby dull in the shadows of the hallway. “Want this?”
I look from his palm to his eyes, which are sparkling with his excitement. I nod and slip it into my pocket.
4
Now
It turnsout I’m not riding into town on a black sheep. I’ve borrowed Laine’s shiny white Mercedes SUV, because my old clunker probably wouldn’t make the trip, and being stuck on the side of the road in the middle of the hot, dusty desert between Texas and Arizona doesn’t sound like my idea of fun.
Laine handed me her fancy keys, with the little black key fob, and I handed her back a single car key for which she’ll have to use to get in the dooranddrive the car. I asked her if she knew how to use a key like that, and though I was joking, she replied seriously, “I’m sure I can figure it out.”
After I crossed the Arizona-New Mexico border I called my boss and left her a message, telling her about a family emergency and my plans to use bereavement leave. I didn’t tell her when I’d be back, because I have no idea what I’m getting into and I don’t want to set up an unrealistic expectation.
After my phone call to her, I drove on, stopping once for gas and then continuing until the mountains gave way to flat desert.
Agua Mesa is a suburb of Phoenix. Ninety percent of it belongs to the elite, to golf-club-swinging retirees, and stay-at-home moms shopping at Whole Foods in their yoga pants while they sip post-workout smoothies.
I’m not knocking them. If somebody offered me that role, I’d snatch it up in a heartbeat. My days are spent trying desperately to place innocent children into homes where I hope and pray they will be loved. It pains me to say it often doesn’t work out that way. So, yeah, I wouldn’t mind going to yoga and drinking expensive smoothies.
Laine’s car glides smoothly over the road. Native American symbols decorate the walls of the freeway, and big green signs hang from the overpasses, warning me of my upcoming exit. This place doesn’t appear to have changed in the time I’ve been gone. The same landmarks, the same relentlessly sunny sky.
Agua Mesa might belong to the well-to-do, but a tiny fraction of it is inhabited by people who don’t drive luxury cars and cultivate their appearance like it’s a second job. People like me, and Finn. Although Finn is even more of an anomaly than me. He ended up in our school because of zoning. At some point in time, someone in the city planner’s office drew some lines, and those lines put Finn's run-down neighborhood inside the boundary of Agua Mesa public schools, much to the dissatisfaction of its high-class residents.
Teetering on the edge of ritzy Agua Mesa is the small mobile home park Finn called home. When we were younger, we didn’t know or care where Finn slept at night, but as the years passed, it became something notable, and the chip on Finn’s shoulder grew and grew.
