Dorothy Must Die
Page 6
It was too late now. Too late to get out of town—even if I’d had the money to do it. I had no car to get to a shelter. Mom hadn’t even thought to ask Tawny to drop me off somewhere. I was trapped here, and whichever way you sliced it, it was my mother’s fault.
I couldn’t even lie down in the bathtub. We didn’t have a bathtub any more than we had a basement.
Al Roker’s voice on the TV had been replaced by the buzz of static. I was alone.
“Star?” I squeaked. My voice barely made it out of my chest. “Star?”
It was the first time in my life that I’d been desperate for the company of my mother’s rat. I didn’t have anyone else.
As I sank onto the couch, I couldn’t tell if I was shaking, or if it was the trailer itself. Or both.
My mom’s stupid Snuggie was rancid with the stench of her Newports, but I pulled it over my face anyway, closing my eyes and imagining that she was here with me.
A minute later, when something snapped on the right side of the trailer, everything pitched to the side. I gripped the cushions hard to keep from falling off the couch. Then, there was another snap, and a lurch, and I knew that we’d come loose from our foundation.
My stomach dropped and kept dropping. I felt my body getting heavier, my back plastered to the cushions now, and suddenly—with a mix of horror and wonder—I knew that I was airborne.
The trailer was flying. I could feel it.
Dreading what I would see, I peered out from under the blanket and toward the window, squinting my eyes open just a crack to discover my suspicion had been right: Pink light danced through swirling clouds. A rusted-out car door floated by as if it were weightless.
I had never been on a plane. I had never been higher than the observatory, the tallest building in Flat Hill. And here I was now flying for the first time in a rusty old double-wide.
The trailer bounced and swayed and creaked and surfed, and then I felt something wet on my face. Then a squeak.
It was Star. She had made it onto the couch and was licking me tenderly. As her soft squeaks filled my ear, I let out a breath of something like relief just to have her here with me. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Mom was probably on her third drink by now, or maybe huddled with Tawny in the basement of the bar, a stack of kegs to keep them happy for as long as necessary. I wondered what she would do when she got back—when she saw that the trailer was gone, and me along with it. Like we were never here. Would her life be better without me in it?
Well, I had wanted to be gone. I’d wanted it for as long as I’d known there was anywhere to go. I wanted other places, other people. Another me. I wanted to leave everything and everyone behind.
But not like this.
I scratched my index finger against Star’s furry spine and waited for the falling part. For the crash. I braced myself against the cushions, knowing that my tin-can house wasn’t going to protect me when we hit the earth. But the crash didn’t come.
Up and up and up we went. More white-pink light, more pink clouds, and every kind of junk you could imagine all swirling around in the surreal air blender: an unbothered-looking Guernsey cow. An ancient, beat-up Trans Am. An old neon service-station sign. A tricycle.
It was like I was on the world’s most insane amusement park ride. I’ve never liked roller coasters. Going up would be fun if you didn’t have to think about what always came next.
When I came to, the first thing I saw was the spongy gray floor of the trailer above me. Star was scampering around my achy body like it was a racetrack, trying frantically to wake me. It took me a second to realize that I was lying on the ceiling.
Light streaked through the dirty windows—normal, bright, white light again, not the blushy pink I’d seen during the tornado or the watercolor brown just before it.
I was alive. And someone was talking to me.
“Grab my hand,” he was saying. “Step lightly.” I turned my head and looked up to see a torso leaning in through the open door, half-in, half-out, and an arm reaching for me. It was a he, silhouetted by light pouring in from behind. I couldn’t make out his face.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Just take my hand. Try not to make any sudden movements.”
From my side, Star squeaked and scrambled into the pocket of my hoodie.
I rose slowly to my feet and dusted myself off. Nothing seemed to be broken. But everything hurt like I was a rag doll that’d been thrown around in a giant tin can. When I took a step, the double-wide lurched beneath me. I rolled back on my heels, trying to get my balance, and it rocked with even more menace. I stopped.
“Just two steps and you’re home. Hurry,” he said. The distance between his hand and me seemed farther than two steps. I wanted to move again. But I didn’t.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t panic. Just move.”
I took another step, careful not to upset the equilibrium, and then another. I put my hand in his.
As my skin touched his, I saw his face, and I felt electricity shooting through my body. His eyes were the first thing I noticed: They were emerald green with flecks of something I couldn’t even describe to myself, and they seemed to be glowing, almost floating in front of his face. There was something about them that seemed almost alien.
Was he a rescue worker? And if so, how far from home was I, exactly?
“Am I dead?” I asked. It certainly seemed possible. Likely, even. It was hard to believe that I had survived any crash.
“Of course not. If you were dead, would we be having this conversation?”
I couldn’t even lie down in the bathtub. We didn’t have a bathtub any more than we had a basement.
Al Roker’s voice on the TV had been replaced by the buzz of static. I was alone.
“Star?” I squeaked. My voice barely made it out of my chest. “Star?”
It was the first time in my life that I’d been desperate for the company of my mother’s rat. I didn’t have anyone else.
As I sank onto the couch, I couldn’t tell if I was shaking, or if it was the trailer itself. Or both.
My mom’s stupid Snuggie was rancid with the stench of her Newports, but I pulled it over my face anyway, closing my eyes and imagining that she was here with me.
A minute later, when something snapped on the right side of the trailer, everything pitched to the side. I gripped the cushions hard to keep from falling off the couch. Then, there was another snap, and a lurch, and I knew that we’d come loose from our foundation.
My stomach dropped and kept dropping. I felt my body getting heavier, my back plastered to the cushions now, and suddenly—with a mix of horror and wonder—I knew that I was airborne.
The trailer was flying. I could feel it.
Dreading what I would see, I peered out from under the blanket and toward the window, squinting my eyes open just a crack to discover my suspicion had been right: Pink light danced through swirling clouds. A rusted-out car door floated by as if it were weightless.
I had never been on a plane. I had never been higher than the observatory, the tallest building in Flat Hill. And here I was now flying for the first time in a rusty old double-wide.
The trailer bounced and swayed and creaked and surfed, and then I felt something wet on my face. Then a squeak.
It was Star. She had made it onto the couch and was licking me tenderly. As her soft squeaks filled my ear, I let out a breath of something like relief just to have her here with me. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Mom was probably on her third drink by now, or maybe huddled with Tawny in the basement of the bar, a stack of kegs to keep them happy for as long as necessary. I wondered what she would do when she got back—when she saw that the trailer was gone, and me along with it. Like we were never here. Would her life be better without me in it?
Well, I had wanted to be gone. I’d wanted it for as long as I’d known there was anywhere to go. I wanted other places, other people. Another me. I wanted to leave everything and everyone behind.
But not like this.
I scratched my index finger against Star’s furry spine and waited for the falling part. For the crash. I braced myself against the cushions, knowing that my tin-can house wasn’t going to protect me when we hit the earth. But the crash didn’t come.
Up and up and up we went. More white-pink light, more pink clouds, and every kind of junk you could imagine all swirling around in the surreal air blender: an unbothered-looking Guernsey cow. An ancient, beat-up Trans Am. An old neon service-station sign. A tricycle.
It was like I was on the world’s most insane amusement park ride. I’ve never liked roller coasters. Going up would be fun if you didn’t have to think about what always came next.
When I came to, the first thing I saw was the spongy gray floor of the trailer above me. Star was scampering around my achy body like it was a racetrack, trying frantically to wake me. It took me a second to realize that I was lying on the ceiling.
Light streaked through the dirty windows—normal, bright, white light again, not the blushy pink I’d seen during the tornado or the watercolor brown just before it.
I was alive. And someone was talking to me.
“Grab my hand,” he was saying. “Step lightly.” I turned my head and looked up to see a torso leaning in through the open door, half-in, half-out, and an arm reaching for me. It was a he, silhouetted by light pouring in from behind. I couldn’t make out his face.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Just take my hand. Try not to make any sudden movements.”
From my side, Star squeaked and scrambled into the pocket of my hoodie.
I rose slowly to my feet and dusted myself off. Nothing seemed to be broken. But everything hurt like I was a rag doll that’d been thrown around in a giant tin can. When I took a step, the double-wide lurched beneath me. I rolled back on my heels, trying to get my balance, and it rocked with even more menace. I stopped.
“Just two steps and you’re home. Hurry,” he said. The distance between his hand and me seemed farther than two steps. I wanted to move again. But I didn’t.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t panic. Just move.”
I took another step, careful not to upset the equilibrium, and then another. I put my hand in his.
As my skin touched his, I saw his face, and I felt electricity shooting through my body. His eyes were the first thing I noticed: They were emerald green with flecks of something I couldn’t even describe to myself, and they seemed to be glowing, almost floating in front of his face. There was something about them that seemed almost alien.
Was he a rescue worker? And if so, how far from home was I, exactly?
“Am I dead?” I asked. It certainly seemed possible. Likely, even. It was hard to believe that I had survived any crash.
“Of course not. If you were dead, would we be having this conversation?”
