CHRISTINE “CHAOS” ROE:
All day Andi and Ivy worked on their “alarm”. Andi walked back and forth from the front door, carrying a jumble of wires, a garden spade, that old megaphone. Ivy followed behind with her notebook, holding it out so he could see what to do next.
I spent most of the day at the kitchen table, watching.
Andi and Ivy installing the megaphone. Andi and Ivy holding opposite ends of the wire, stretching it out to its full length. Andi and Ivy laughing.
“Chaos, tell me if you can hear it!” Ivy’s voice, muffled through the door.
She was gone before I could tell her I wasn’t in the mood. Grumbling, I stood up. Stared at the megaphone mounted on the wall.
Ivy stepped on the pressure plate and an obnoxiously loud noise blasted out of the speaker. I threw my hands over my ears until she came back through the door and shut off the alarm.
“Any suggestions?”
“Does it have to be that loud?”
“I think so.” She checked her notes. “Andi wanted it loud.”
I scoffed. “Is Andi deaf or something?”
Andi stood right behind me. Gave me a look. “It needs to be loud so you can hear it from every room.”
“You’re acting like we live in some huge house.”
Andi sighed. Ivy’s eyes flicked to me, back to Andi. Maybe half a second before they started talking again, walking out the door to continue their project. Like I hadn’t said anything at all.
Somewhere, miles away, Elise was sorting files. Was she sick of being alone, never finding anything important? Was she missing me?
Things would always stay the same, wouldn’t they? Nothing would ever get better, and Andi and Ivy would do their projects together, and Elise would always be far away. And I’d always be stuck somewhere in the middle.
When Ivy came back inside, I told her, “I’m going to the Greenhouse. Tell Andi I left.”
Her eyes widened.
Before she could tell me to stop, I ran. Out of the kitchen, out the door. My duffel bag swinging at my side.
The blistering sun, and the gravel in my shoe, and the letters plastered to a window that said Everything Must Go, but the M and the G had peeled away. It all blurred past.
I didn’t stop running until I reached the Greenhouse. Didn’t catch my breath until a few moments after.
If I was smarter, like Andi or Ivy, I would’ve noticed the new footprints on the floor. Would’ve felt like someone was watching me. Would’ve gone back home.
Instead, I fumbled with the lock and pulled open the door.
Just me and the plants and the silence. My breath slowed. I didn’t feel so angry anymore. I lowered my hand, let the door shut.
It never clicked closed.
A voice behind me: “Stay right where you are.”
Did you know you could be so scared, you can’t even feel it?
“What do you want?”
I tried to imagine the person behind me. Low voice. Was he tall? Strong? Could I get away if I tried?
“I want to make a deal.” His voice sounded almost bored. “Turn around slowly.”
No preventing, or running, or attacking. I was doomed.
But technically, he didn’t know about the knife in my pocket. I still had the element of surprise.
I spun around, raised my knife, and ran at him. His eyes went wide. He shoved me backward. I managed to cut his arm before falling.
Hands and knees. I scuttled to the furthest corner and pressed my back against the wall.
We stared at each other.
The man: Dark-skinned, tied back dreadlocks, blue scrubs, fraying at the sleeves.
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
My palm. Red. My knife must’ve sliced it open when I fell. If I got back home alive, Andi was gonna kill me.
I pressed my palm against my jeans and sneered, “You’re bleeding, too.”
The man pulled a bandage from his bag and applied it to his arm. “Butterfly bandage. Keeps the wound closed.”
His back was against the door. I was trapped. My heart hammered inside my chest. Could he hear it too?
“What’s your name?” the man asked.
“Chaos.” I tried to sound tough.
“So, we’re using pseudonyms? In that case, my name is Patch.”
I stared at Patch. Why was he here? What was going to happen to me?
“Chaos, I’m desperate,” he said, “and stronger than you. Not a good combination.”
My pulse in my palm. Already I could feel the ache.
“I’m also not stupid.” He continued, “We can work together. I’ll protect your garden. Prevent someone else from breaking in. All I need is enough food to survive.”
My knife was on the floor in front of me. I’d have to move from my corner to reach it. But even if I had my knife, I wasn't strong enough to fight my way out.
Patch dug around in his bag and tossed some gauze in my direction. He told me to wrap it around my hand.
“If I agree to your deal—” I pressed the gauze against my cut— “You’ll let me go?”
“Yes.”
“What if you’re lying?”
“I am not lying.”
He must’ve been from the Run-downs. The place people go when they’ve lost everything. Houses. Families. They sleep on the ground, in the dirt. Nothing to lose.
If I messed this up, I was going to die.
I pulled myself to my feet and picked up my pocketknife. Patch stepped to the side of the door.
“I don’t believe you,” I told him.
But he let me turn the handle. Let me step out. Didn’t try to stop me. I ran. Couldn’t stop. My palm was numb, the gauze was already red, dripping. Blood on my jeans. Blood on the cement.
Home.
I slammed the front door behind me, leaned against it. Pressed my palms against my eyes. Now there was blood on my face, too.
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“I’m okay,” I said to myself. “I’m okay. I can handle this.”
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