Chapter Five

The Center for Youth Support was seven miles from my house. Still fuming, I turned into a small park and sat down on a bench. Thoughts raced through my head, anger, fury. My stupid mother who can't talk to me so she sends me off to some shrink. My father, too busy to even acknowledge that I exist. There was nothing really wrong with Dr. Jones. I apologized to her in my head, angry at my parents, not at her. She'll call my parents, they'll find me, she'll finish her day, go home, hug her husband and make supper for her children.

I sighed and pulled myself up off the parkbench. My face lit up as I spyed a bookshop, a huge building resting in a strip mall. Darting across a busy street, I jogged across the parking lot, through the heavy doors, and into the shop. The clean smell of thousands of new books relaxed me. I'd stick around for awhile, catch a taxi home later.

"Miss, excuse me," I jumped, startled, and stared up at the policeman before me. I closed my book and scrambled up, my back stiff from sitting against the shelf. "Are you Alice Hayes?" He has a hard face, toughened, but soft hazel eyes. I could have lied, but I needed a ride home, and I wasn't sure if six dollars would do it. "Dr. Jones and your parents are in quite a fit looking for you."

"How long have I been?" I asked, groggy, still getting out of book world. He replied with two hours. I was stunned, two hours?

He beckoned to leave, I dropped my book and followed. The policecar is small stuffy. We didn't talk, but I couldn't help but wonder about the people who had also sat in this car handcuffed. It is a very short drive, and as I stepped out of the car, three faces greeted me. Dr. Jones, worried, and tearstreaked, my parents.

Chapter Four

I do not do physiologists. I do not do counseling. I do not do 'family strengthening.' I don't need to talk to some stranger with spectacles and a big nose to make 'my life whole.' No. It's called self help books. Though, I don't do those either.



"I'm Dr. Jones, you can call me Blair," she held out her hand, expected me to shake it, give her my name. I didn't. Withdrawing her hand, she sat down in a poofy armchair, smiled. She wore small, delicate glasses, and her nose is a little button thing placed between two blue eyes. I sat back on the tan couch, staring at Dr. Jones. "We are here to help resolve some problems you might have. I've heard that you aren't doing so well in school. Do you want to tell me about that?"



"No."



"Why not?" She asked as she scribbled a few notes down in her notebook.



I quickly edit the first response that came to mind, one which included a few of the words that got me a detention with Ms. Ven last week. "Because I don't want to," I replied, crossing my arms.



"Okay, is there something else you'd like to talk about?" She leaned forward.



"Did your parents name you after the movie the Blair Witch Project?"



"No, why would you say that?" She took some more notes.



"You remind me of one of the characters,"



"I've never seen it," she smiled sweetly. I clenched my fists quietly. "How do you feel about your brother?"



I held back the flow of emotions that bombarded my brain. "Excuse me Mrs. Jones, but is there a bathroom here?"



"Yes, out the door, it's on your right."



I thanked her, slipped out the heavy door, and turned left.

Chapter Three

"Ms. Hayes!"

I jerked my head up, looked back up at the teacher, formidable, holding a piece of chalk in one hand, a yardstick in the other. Her long red dress swayed slightly as she made her way toward me. "Do you insist on getting detentions?" She glared.


"Yes," I replied, "More study time." I watched the blood rise to her face. She pulled her shoulders up, the way my mother does when she sees a speck of dust land on her precious glass table. I held eye contact, stared her down. Yardstick pointed at the door, Ms. Ven uttered through gritted teeth, "Out. Now. Principal's Office."


"Does this mean I don't need to take that quiz today?" I questioned, a small smile spread across my face.


"NOW!" Picking up my bag, I followed the yardstick out the door. I strolled down the hallway, whistling a tune. The endless lockers followed me to the stairs, where I met the blue metal again at the bottom. All alone, I leaned again the heavy exit doors, out into the sunshine. No reason to stay inside on a day like this.




My parents however, did not agree that I required some fresh air. My dad, home for once, glared at me from the other end of the table. I shoved some peas down my throat, eyes passing from one parent to the other. My mother remained expressionless, her high set eyebrows arched perfectly over light pink eye shadow. She wiped her mouth delicately with her cloth napkin.


"Sweetie," she began as I arched my eyebrows, "we have come to a decision after that little..." she searched for a word. My father found one.


"...stunt you pulled off today."


She thanked him and continued, "The missed homework, detentions for tardiness, disrespect, and all this other nonsense you've been at has led us to a conclusion."


Her pause gives me time to stuff another fork full of beans into my mouth.


"We are taking you to a psychologist."

Chapter Two

"Late. Detention!" My teacher's shrill voice cut through my ears. Inwardly groaning, I slumped into my seat, ignoring the stares of my classmates.

She turned back to the board. "Now," Mrs. Ven began, "the atom drawing is comprised..."

Who cares anyway? I stared at the board, not seeing, not hearing, letting my thoughts drift, drift....

He smiles at me, his seven-year old grin spreading from ear to ear. "Look!" He crys out, pointing to a muddy spot near the pond. A small frog, no larger than the palm of my hand, sits sleepily between the reeds. I smile a small smile, tell Jimmy that the frog is cute. His little finger reaches out to poke it. The deep green frog croaks and jumps away, disturbing the quiet. "Come on Jimmy, we'll be late if we don't get going. Mum'll be mad," I tug at his hand. As we scramble up, he looks back wistfully at the spot where the frog was.
"Alice?"
"Mm?"
"I want to be a frog," he tugs again at my hand. I am a big ten year old, and I know the facts, yet I don't spoil his fun.
"Why don't we try?" The trip to the schoolbus goes quickly as we hop down the streets, away from the pond. Our throats are sore from croaking by the time we reach the bus.

~

Running, I hurry him into his classroom, hugging him quickly before dashing to my own room.

That was the last time I saw Jimmy. I didn't even say bye. Just a hug, quick, only out of habit. I didn't tell him to have a good day at school. I was so rushed, I didn't even mention that we were going to be picked up that day, Jimmy, meet me in the gym, not the bus circle. I didn't mention that. Just a hug. Just a hug.

Chapter One

I stepped off of the school bus, hitching my faded blue backpack up higher up on my back. I paused, looked around. It's sunny, too sunny. It's always to sunny. I squinted, the bright light hitting my eyes.

"Yo!" The kid behind me jabbed at my neck, "Move!"

I turned and glowered. Taking my time, I strolled away from the bus doors. I didn't bother to admire the scenery around me, mostly because there isn't any. House, house, tree. House, house, tree. Tree, tree, pond. House. Once upon a time I would have searched behind every tree on my way home, examined every piece of trash, each footprint in the snow. But I'm done with that. He's not here. Get over it Alice.

Soon enough, I'd reached my house. It looked exactly like every other house, except tidier. Small stepping stones led up to the red door, perfectly trimmed hydrangeas lined the brick house. A white picket fence held in a precisely mowed lawn. Honest, when my mother has the garden done, she gets down on her hands and knees to make sure that the grass is all the exact same length.

I swung open the front door. The doorknob banged against the pale orange wallpaper. It left a small black smear. Oops. I heard my mother's footsteps. She appeared quite suddenly from the kitchen. Her back stiffened as she viewed the mark I'd left on her beautiful living room wall. "Hey," I muttered as my bag landed with a flump on the carpet.
"Please remove that bag from the floor Alice. You are not four years old." I rolled my eyes, slinging the bag onto one shoulder.
"Nice to see you too," I grumbled under my breath, heading to my room.

Prologue

Five years ago, my brother stepped off the school bus and never reached home. End of story.

Well, it's not exactly the end of story. I could tell you how my mother grew tense shoulders and became a clean freak. If I felt like it, which I don't, I'd explain about my father, who got a promotion five years back and works overtime every single stupid day. I have no desire to report on the citezens in our town who bonded together and set out to look for my brother.

And I really am not going to tell you about me. Get over it.