Something was wrong. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but it seemed like she had something else on her mind.
Instead of trying to force it out of her, I wanted to give her space and time.
I hoped it wasn’t the wrong choice.
Chapter 69
Pixie
THEY WERE LEAVING, and I knew that Gaze was concerned. We knew each other too well to hide emotions from each other. I’d kept my run-in with Bic to myself. I’d eavesdropped a few more times when I was alone in Gaze’s room, and fortuitously, Bic’s big, stupid voice and Dreama’s shrill pierced through the space between the buildings like a well-placed arrow.
Bic had to talk to a lawyer about the insurance payout and the continued social security checks. Dreama mentioned that she was getting her nails done. It’d coincide with Gaze being out of the apartment.
After I ushered Gaze and Austin out of the door, I had the place to myself. I was able to spy while preparing myself to go across the ramp.
It was a shitty idea, I understood that. But the ramp had served its purpose many times over the years.
After I heard the door to my old apartment close, I tossed an empty backpack on my shoulders and stuck my phone into my pocket. I’d put a lot of thought into how to get across the ramp. Running would be a poor choice. Five stories up was a real courage tester. I knew just how far down the fall was from all those ball games Gaze and I played together. I also remembered the last time I crossed it—to save Gaze. Well, this time, I was saving myself.
I knew Gaze was worried about what would happen to me after high school. And the truth was, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Most likely follow in my mother’s footsteps and work a job or three to make ends meet.
I pushed open the window all the way and sat on the windowpane with my feet dangling. The ramp seemed far skinnier than I remembered. Flimsy, too. It was metal, sure, but old metal had a certain patina that made it seem fragile. Eggshell-like.
I stretched my right foot out and pressed down. Sturdy feeling. I did the same with the left. I turned my body so I could still hang on to the sill. Was there always so much wind whipping through the alley? We were crazy then. I was crazy now.
I took a deep breath and held it as I let go of the sill. Still okay. I turned slowly. I was there, teetering on this metal ramp Gaze and I thought was a good idea when we were twelve. I put my arms out to help me balance. It wasn’t a far scramble. But my legs felt way longer, harder to balance on—the risk super real. I heard the wind whistle from down below, but I didn’t look. I couldn’t look. I kept my eyes fixed on the prize. My old window. When I got to the center of the ramp, it started to bow inwards and get a little bounce to it with every step. I knew then if I made it all the way across, I’d be walking out the front door, not climbing back the way I came. Two more feet. One more foot. I grabbed the sill of my old window. It’d never had a lock. It didn’t need one. It wasn’t near the fire escape, and the building was so old, these kinds of things were just not done. But I had a sinking feeling that maybe Bic did something, like add a lock or something, but I was still able to push the window open.
I scrambled into my room, thinking about being back here in this place that had been so evil but loving the firm floor under me. It smelled awful in here. When my eyes pricked with tears, I realized I wanted to remember something of my mom. Instead, it smelled like old onions and sweat.
My old room was a catch-all for crap now. I was overwhelmed by the accumulation of stuff. Trash, clothes. Dreama and Bic were absolute pigs. After screaming silently, I tried to calm myself. I had to make the most of my time here.Focus, think, and find what I needed. I wanted whatever Bic had from my mom. I wanted to destroy any other paperwork that I found that helped them. And dammit, if there was time, and the internal “oh shit” meter I was currently using to make my decisions wasn’t going off, I wanted to see if I had left anything of Mom’s. Maybe a few pictures. A video or something.
I knew that Mom and I had kept the important papers in the living room, in the drawers of the desk we found in the trash one day long before Bic. We’d carried it all the way up five floors by ourselves and eventually painted it. I pulled open the door and revealed the drawers and touched our signatures in paint there. I took out my phone and snapped a picture. I couldn’t take the desk, but the image was mine now. It started a frenzy. I rushed around the apartment, flinging open cabinets and closets to see if I could find any more traces of Mom. An old magnet calendar was on the side of the fridge. I flipped through it. It had Mom’s handwriting marking mundane chores, but also birthday celebrations with little balloons scrawled to make the day seem special.
Back to the desk, I pulled open the drawer, and at first, I thought I had the wrong impulse. All I saw were piles and piles of takeout menus. But then farther down, I found the file folders Mom had set up and I had learned to do the bills with. The last folder in the stack was important information. It had social security cards and my birth certificate in it. And then, behind all that, an envelope I had never messed with. It was titled My Will. I jammed it and all the other papers that were mine into my backpack. I didn’t think this was what Bic had been trying to lure me upstairs with. But my internal alarm was starting to sound. Heart pounding, palms getting clammy. I was just being paranoid, because surely a trip to the lawyer’s office would take longer than the time I’d been here sneaking around.
I rushed to the folding table that was placed by the front door to collect random stuff and hold keys. It was still doing the same job, just holding overwhelmingly more things. I rifled through the papers and junk mail. Nothing of note. Some of it spilled to the floor. Just as it hit the wood, I heard what sounded like the tiniest baby cry.
I froze, stock-still, and waited to see if I heard it again. And there it was again. I peeked under the table. Nothing.
I heard it again. It actually sounded more like a high-pitched kitten meow. I followed the noise to the small linen closet. After I opened the door, a little striped furball tumbled out. His wide open mouth had sharp-looking baby teeth. His green eyes took up his whole face practically. I noticed the setup that Bic and Dreama had—just a cereal box with some newspaper in it as a litter box and an empty can of tuna.
I reached down and scooped up the kitten. He wouldn’t have it any other way anyway because he was climbing up my leg.
He kept headbutting me and making his claws go in and out by my neck. I was going to steal this little guy. Screw Bic and Dreama and their asshole version of pet ownership.
I put him into my backpack with my other papers.
The thing my mom wanted to show me wasn’t lying out. Hell, Bic might have had it with him at the lawyer’s office.
The lawyer. To discuss the will and stuff. Without the will that I had pulled out of the important stuff file.
My stomach sank to my feet. Maybe he’d been lying to Dreama about where he was going. Which meant he could be home any second.
I took one last glance around and then opened the door to leave. Just as I did, I heard heavy footfalls on the stairwell.
Bic.
Bic walked that way. I knew the terror of the cadence of his footsteps in my very DNA. After closing the door, I kept my eyes on it as I backed up. There was only one way out. The window. Across the ramp again.
I had to do it. The little kitten meowed from inside my backpack. As I hurried into my old room, I felt the change in the space, the open gap of the door.