Run and Hide (13 page)

At that moment it felt sillier than ever that he still didn’t know my real name. I looked at him for a while, and he let his smirk take over his face. I took a breath and rang the doorbell, and it was too late to leave. He would stop me even if I wanted to. Hearing the bell ring, I forgot why I’d come there.

“She thinks I’m crazy,” I said.

“Just relax.”

The black fluff barked from inside Dr. Gomez’s cradle as she stepped down the spiraling steps that faced the front door.

“That’s her,” I told Eric.

She wore long black gauchos below a teal blouse, with black slippers on her feet that looked like two miniature clones of her dog. Eric and I watched her face fold into wrinkles as she saw and recognized me, Eric now a step behind me, clenching his fists. And then, she was at the door, face still wrinkled and brows lifted high.

The door swung open. “Yes, can I help you?”

“Hi,
um
, Dr. Gomez I came to apologize, I’m so sorry for before.”

“Aren’t you the girl I just saw in my yard recently?”

“That’s why I’m here, actually. I’m so sorry about that. I wanted to explain myself.”

“Forgive me but, am I missing something? What’s there to explain?” She eyed me down and up, her eyes concerned. I couldn’t think of a response.

“She has something she wants to speak with you about,” Eric said. Oh, yeah.

“Okay, and may I ask who you are?” she asked.

“I’m Eric,” he said.

“My friend,” I added.

“May we come in?” he asked.

Inside, the wooden floor glowed orange and rivaled the beige walls that caged perfectly cool air in from the heat outside. The entire home oozed with … space. Through the hall the dining room shined on the left, and we turned right before Dr. Gomez permitted us to sit atop the bright white loveseat in her living room. A lit fireplace—no, an image of a fire, flickered light below an elevated flat screen television as wide as the sofa Dr. Gomez sat on. The black fluff ran beneath the glass coffee table and into the kitchen as we sat, my hands in my lap, Eric’s on his knees.

“So explain to me what it is you needed to speak with me about, remind me of your name.”

“Ana.”

“Yes, Ana.”

“Well it’s just that, well … my mother passed.” I guessed that was the best place to start.

“Well I’m very sorry to hear that, Ana.”

“Yeah. I just, well my mother passed and she never knew her family. She was given away as an infant and never even met her mom.” Dr. Gomez shook her head as she listened. “And so my dad went, ah,
crazy
with grief. And it got to the point that I couldn’t stand it. And so I found you on the Internet.”

“You asked me if I had a sister. You believe us to be related?”

“I mean, my mom’s last name was Gomez. Common, I know, but she knew she was born in Pasto, in Columbia.”

“I see. So this makes you think she’s my sister?”

“Yes, I think so. Or a cousin maybe? It makes sense, you even look like her.”

“I understand.…”

“That’s why I came here, to North Carolina, to meet you, in hopes that you might—”

Her face cocked to the side then, and it threw me off.

“Yes?” she beckoned.

“I need a place to stay. A new start. I can work, I won’t be any sort of bother, I just can’t stay alone anymore. And I can’t go home.”

“What exactly do you mean, alone, Ana? Where is your father?”

“My dad lives in Georgia.”

Eric swallowed as I said the words, and Dr. Gomez’s eyes shot at him, then back to me.

“So where are you staying now?”

“That’s the thing …” and then the tears came. Nerves, anger, embarrassment flowed through them and my palms pressed into my eye sockets.

“She has no one, nowhere to go,” Eric said.

Dr. Gomez’s voice became louder, more concerned. “Have you been living here by yourself? Staying with a friend?” she asked, showing the first hints of a Columbian accent.

“Alone,” I pronounced, through sobs, “in an old, empty house about two miles from here.” I was weeping in the woman’s living room, all purpose in my statements lost.

“My
gooodness
,” was all Dr. Gomez could say before her hand covered her mouth. Eric placed a hand on my shoulder and tried to keep me steady as I shook from the sobs.

“You must know that’s extremely dangerous Ana,” she said. “What have you told your father?”

“He thinks I’ve been staying with you. Everyone does.”

“Who else thinks that?”

“Everyone at school.”

She nodded and leaned back into her sofa. “School?” she repeated.

“Yes, I’m already enrolled up at Rock Bridge, and they’ve been asking me to prove I have a guardian.”

Eric looked at me and squinted, but I was unsure as to why.

“So, taking a step back,” Dr. Gomez said, “you were hoping we were related so you could live here with me, and you’ve told the school you live with me, and your father, and that’s why you came here before, too.”

“Yes,” Eric answered for me. I couldn’t stop the shakes from my sobbing. “So everyone’s already thinking she lives here with you, and everything would be so much safer for her if she actually
was.
Do you think you might consider the idea?” I was useless in my tears, giving all that was in me to keep from ripping my hair out. I sniffed to mute my crying.

She sighed, and sighed again. “Honestly this is a lot for me to take in. I have a life I am living and all of a sudden you walk into my door. I’d love to help you figure this all out, Ana.”

Help me? Eric rubbed me on my back as she said this, and I looked up at her between two sniffs, feeling hope for the first time.

“It sounds like the first thing we need to do is contact your father immediately.”

“But he thinks I’m already living with you.” I released my hands from my face to plead with her.

“Which isn’t true, Ana. We need to call him and tell him the truth. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you move in and live with me here. It’s just impossible, and would be completely irresponsible, you must understand.”

“She could be your family.” Eric said, and she cringed when he said it.

“I won’t cause any trouble.”

Dr. Gomez looked down as I noticed her eyes being covered with a thin film of liquid. “We have to call your father.”

“No!” I shouted.

“You are his child Ana, and it might be a tough time, but you cannot stay here, lying to him.” She stood then, and looked down at us. She stepped to the kitchen counter where a black telephone lined the wall. “Just tell me his number and I’ll do my best to help you through the talk with him.”

I never felt more like a child, or less rational. “No,” I shouted again, “just, never mind!”

Pity and astonishment polluted her face as I stood from the loveseat, sobbing and raising my hand in protest. “I’m going,” I said. I moved toward the door. “I’m gone.”

“Hold up, Ana,” Eric called.

“Please, wait.” I heard from Dr. Gomez, and her rushed footsteps followed.

But her door was already shut behind me and I was running toward the main road.

“Ana,” Eric wailed, running after me as I sprinted full speed. “Ana!”

We lay on our backs, on the blankets, watching the ceiling. Cobwebs, dirt, cracks.

“You should come live with me. If Mom gets a live-in guest, why can’t I, right?” Eric’s hand brushed hairs from my troubled forehead. I didn’t laugh, but burrowed into his chest, the cotton of his t-shirt aiding my tear-sore eyes.

“I’m sorry about today,” he said.

“Not your fault.”

“Kind of was. I pushed you into doing it.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Still. Sorry.”

“Any ideas on what I should do now?”

“Honestly, this time I really don’t know, Ana.”

A suffocating lapse of speech ensued, and we were separated, each staring at the ceiling.

“I guess I’ll just have to keep on going. Think of something else. Hire a fake mom, maybe.”

“I’ll dress up and be, Erica Smith. It’ll be perfect,” Eric said. And I actually chuckled. I rolled onto my side to watch his eyes dart across the ceiling.

“Hey Eric,” I said.

“Yep?”

I wanted to say, “My name’s Sydney.” As simple as that.
Sydney, Sydney, Sydney.
But it didn’t come out.

“Thanks for being a friend.”

After that, some hours passed, it had been dark for a while when Eric fumbled for his keys, but I found them behind my back and held them, crunched them with my fist.

“I’d better be going now,” he said. “You should sleep, too.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“We’ll get you out of this shit situation. Don’t worry.”

“Your optimism is getting exhausting,” I said. “I don’t know how much longer I can play this game.”

He watched me place his keys in front of me, and he grabbed them.

“Well, I’m here. All the way through.”

He pressed his lips against my forehead and I slid under the top cover as he stood.

“Ana?” he called as he stood in the bedroom doorway. I wanted to tell him,
Call me Sydney
.

“
Mhm?
”

“We’ll figure this out, okay?”

No we won’t, Eric.
“Okay.”

When my alarm sounded, too soon it seemed, I stretched my arms, meeting the stiff pain my back had developed after nights of sleeping on the shack’s hard floors. My usual dull headache of worry had grown into a throbbing migraine, and I felt a sudden urge to run, to buy a bus ticket somewhere else. I could go somewhere, anywhere else, start all over, find a runaway shelter or something. I could do it all over again.

My phone buzzed on the floor. I picked it up to read a new text from Eric.

Back to the drawing board today I guess.

When I was dressed and ready, I walked out of the shack’s doors prepared for everything and nothing.
I’ll think of something. I always do.
The thoughts ran laps in my head.

An hour later I arrived at school. The utter failure still dictating my mood, I skipped the usual morning meeting with the girls, the second day in a row, and decided to head to homeroom early. The last thing I wanted that morning was to have the girls probing me about my dismal mood. Or prodding about the kiss between Eric and me.

I waved at Mrs. Daniels as I entered homeroom, and she smiled at me before continuing organizing the scattered array of papers on her desk. I sat in my seat without a word and lay my head atop crossed arms, watching the lines on the walls run up to the ceiling and then back down. Though I definitely felt discouraged, scared even, somehow in the safety of the school’s walls, the concrete prison walls they were, I felt a foreign wave of light come over me. Maybe I had been through the worst of it now. Eric and I might just figure something out.
I’ll think of something. I always do.

The screamo-rock headphones guy was the next to come in, and I let the screeching that came from his headphones drown out my thoughts. Students came in one by one after that, until the room was full and the usual hum of homeroom spread its presence. I was preparing to begin a casual eavesdrop into the conversation to the right of me, when Mrs. Daniels addressed the class.

“Okay guys, if you remember, today we have a guest speaker who will be speaking in the gym. So when the bell rings, we’ll all head over. We’ll stay together and sit together in the gym, and to be sure of this I’ll take attendance once we’re seated in the gym. So sit tight, we’ll be …”

Her speech quieted to none as she saw Mr. Ludlowe appear in the classroom doorway.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Daniels. May I speak with Ana Smith, please?”

I was suddenly alert to the dreaded words, the terrifying twang with which he spoke them. I sat up in my chair and glanced around the room, catching each pair of eyes that watched me.

“Yes of course,” Mrs. Daniels responded.

“You can bring your bag, Ana,” he added.

I stood from the chair, weak, gulping down an attempt to keep from vomiting, and pulled my bag around my arms. Watching Mr. Ludlowe, I was unsure where the steps I took toward him were leading me.

He cleared his throat. “Right this way, Ana.”

The words were final. I left the room, hesitantly following his lead and watching for any clue as to why I was pulled from class, but he walked swiftly down the hallway and didn’t turn around to know I followed. As we turned down the hall that led to his office, the bell rang to begin homeroom, pouring students and staff into the hallways in drowning waves as classroom after classroom left for the speech in the gym.

              “Right in here,” he said as we reached the door to his office. He held the door open for me to enter before him.

Two middle-aged men wearing long-sleeved blue shirts and black pants stood inside, their hands on clunky belts that wrapped their waists. Catching sight of the silver badges and patches that decorated their shirts, my sight blurred with tears and I lost my breath. My feet stopped where they were, and my hands rose to my temples.

              “Whoa, what’s going on?”

              “Ana,” Mr. Ludlowe announced, “these gentlemen are here to take you home.”

              The barely comprehendible words fell through my teeth. “What do you mean, home?”

              “It’s all right, Ana. Dr. Gomez called us, and she told us you came to her, and what’s been going on. We’re going to get in touch with your father and get you home. We need you to call him now.” Mr. Ludlowe delivered the tray of words, too hot for me to take from him.

              “I can’t …”

              “Ana, you’re just going to need to cooperate with us now.”

              “No!” I screamed a more passionate scream than I’d ever screamed. “You don’t understand!”

              “Ana, calm down now,” Mr. Ludlowe called out. I was backed up toward the door, holding the straps of my book bag.

“Please,” I shouted, “just give me more time.”

              One of the officers grabbed hold of my arm, and it stung.

              “No!” I slapped the man’s arm from mine. “I’m not leaving, I can’t!”

He reached for me again as I tried to turn to leave, catching me by a strap on my bag. I fought to get away from him. I flailed my arms, and shouted and cried. I slid out of my backpack to get loose from the officer’s hold, only for him to grab me on my shoulder and grip my wrist.

              “Find her phone,” he ordered the other officer.

“We’ve got ‘Dad’ and ‘home,’” the second officer said a moment later.

“That’s all we need,” his partner blurted over my yelling. “Call him.”

The officer was now holding both my arms. I tried violently to wring my arms loose, shaking my head in protest. “No, please!”

              “Hello sir, is this the parent of Ana Smith?”

              I stopped struggling. I watched Mr. Ludlowe’s face wrinkle as my father responded. My way out. A simple name change, and Dad wouldn’t be able to identify me.

              “Check her legal ID just in case,” said the officer restricting me.

              The other officer still had my wallet in his hand from when he’d searched my book bag for the phone. He opened it, turned it sideways, and I knew he was reading my driver’s license. He looked at me, grinning in triumph, then looked at Mr. Ludlowe. “Try Sydney Collins.”

              “Sorry for the confusion, sir, but are you related to a Sydney Collins?”

              “No,” I cried, but it was almost a whisper. I hung my head as far down as it would go because there was nothing left in me to help me keep it up. Mr. Ludlowe nodded to the officers.

              “Yes, Mr. Collins, we have some information regarding your daughter.…”

I flung out my arms and tried to plunge past the officer, was rewarded with my hands being cuffed, and all I could do was watch the second, heavier officer pack my things back into my bag. Within the minute, Mr. Ludlowe had told Dad about everything I’d done, the lies I’d told them. He told the officers to take me to the police station, where my father would meet us before nightfall.

The second, heavier officer left first through the door, my bag in hand. The second pulled me through ahead of him, guiding me from behind.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Mr. Ludlowe called from behind. His voice shook, yet I didn’t know if he spoke to the officers, or to me. I was choking on tears as I was brought through the door. Seeing the roaring waves of students swarming the hallway, I knew they would all finally get to meet Sydney.

              Everything was over: the new hair, the new place, none of it would let me escape the miserable fate of Sydney Collins. I would be thrown back to a dad who didn’t want me and couldn’t father me. I’d be taken from the only people I’d actually learned to have fun with since Mom. From the only feeling that could make me forget the dark ones.

              “Oh my God, Ana?” I heard from the mass of students who’d gathered in the hallway. Kylie was watching me, wide-eyed and open-jawed. I shook my head at her, coughed on another sob, and let my head fall so I wasn’t facing her. “What happened?” I heard her call from behind me.

              “Come on,” the officer that held me called out, and he sped to pass the officer that held my bag. We were almost out of the one-way hallway of witnesses that now watched and gasped at the spectacle I’d created. I could see the door to leave the school.

We were almost out of it; it was almost over.

              “Ana!” The last and only voice I wanted to hear.

              Eric pushed through the flooding students and marched toward me, not slowing until he collided with an English teacher who caught him and held him, grasping him at his chest.

              “What are they doing? Stop!” Eric roared in a deep, infuriated roar at the sight of the officers leading me from the building.

              “Calm down,” I heard the teacher say, “get back with your class, now!”

              “Ana!” Eric called once more. The officers had almost gotten me through the front doors, and I couldn’t speak. So I bit my lip, shook my head through blistering tears.

              “Wait. No, Ana!” he called, blinking at the gloss that covered his eyes. The first officer opened the door to leave.

“Ana!”