Penny totally shut down my Twitter and Facebook. Which means I have to, like, make new accounts, but then she’ll sneak in and shut me down. Again. I tried to get my own credit card a bunch of times, but I always make a mistake and get busted. I should not have said I was a neurosurgeon, probably.
This CD is like an old-fashioned diary, but I talk it instead of write it. My teachers all say I’m a very good writer for my age, but talking is faster and I can hide a CD easier than a notebook. I can even make a copy in case Penny finds the original. Hide the copy in the attic where Penny hates to go. Because of mice.
I’m outta here.
After a few seconds’ pause, the recording clicked off.
Then on again. A shuffle of what sounded like papers, a quick patch of static, then Daley Rideout’s clear, articulate voice again:
I’m back!
So, the reason I’m making this CD is because I don’t have anyone to talk to about certain. Very. Personal. Subjects.
I mean, Bellamy and I are best friends forever, but I’ve moved a lot so I know that forever isn’t long since Penny keeps blocking my social media. And there are some things I don’t want Bellamy to know. We are, like, the two different sides of one coin. She can be very judgmental, especially about boys.
For example? James, who I want to talk to but he’s always got other girls with him. He’s older. I don’t know why I like some boys, but I do. Not all. But the ones I like, they make me feel happy when they’re around. Powerful, too. One thing that I know about boys? They’re faster and stronger than girls, but inside they’re weak. So, when I look at James, I like him even more. Today? I pulled a small leaf out of his hair. His hair is brown, and wavy. I didn’t actually touch him — I did not — only his hair. But it made me feel good and, like, fizzy, and this is an example of why I can’t tell Bellamy, who is against boys. Or my sister, who is afraid of everything. So I will tell my secrets only to you, my little CD. My compact diary.
I’m outta here.
Penelope stopped the player with the remote and looked at me. Hair back in a clip, a black tank top and capris, bare feet.
“First of all, Roland,” she said. “You can believe what you want about me. But the facts will always be facts and your beliefs don’t change them. I’m a fact.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re a hard and immovable man.”
“But upgraded from ox.”
“That didn’t really bother you. Did it?”
“It was funny.”
“You win, Roland. I’m done apologizing.”
I looked at her with all the impartiality I could muster. I earnestly tried to view her as she was. Only as she was. A subject to be identified. All fact; no fiction. Get to the truth of her.
“Where did you find this CD?” I asked.
“I was going through her room, looking for some clue, anything that might lead me to her. I flipped through her music, thought I’d like to hear the Jewel album I gave her. No Jewel in that jewel case, though — just sixty minutes of Daley. I opened every last case and found another disk she’d made. Recent. From last year, when she was thirteen.”
“Have you contacted Bellamy?” I asked.
“Yes. She hasn’t communicated with Daley since the move. Since just after that recording was made.”
“Why did you leave Phoenix?”
“Pastor Atlas had found us again,” said Penelope. “He drove past our house. I saw him five times. Once in his bus, the fancy big one. The Silver Eagle. The other times in one of his cars. He loves cars.”
I thought again of Penelope’s story about Reggie Atlas. Its plausible and implausible horrors. I thought again of the preacher’s story about Penelope Rideout. And I recalled the cliché about clashing stories: her version, his version, and the truth.
And of course I thought of Daley’s secret sharer, courtesy of Carrie Calhoun and Alanis Tervalua.
A man old enough to be Daley’s grandfather, to whom she felt a spiritual connection. Who had told her that they were like ghosts flying through each other.
Whom Daley had known for years, “off and on.”
And with whom Daley had started to talk in earnest a few months ago.
I thought of Daley feeling like a puppet in the rain.
And how talking to her secret man was like turning off the rain so she could turn into a woman.
I remembered what Penelope had said about Atlas, her alleged tormentor: “He’s more evil than you understand.”
“Here she is again,” said Penelope. “Age twelve.”
She pointed the remote control at the boom box. Stood and began circling her way around the toys and CDs and clutter as Daley’s voice took over.
I’m back!
I’ve got a few minutes before Penny comes home from work. I think it’s smart to hide my CD in the Jewel CD case, because that means Pen has to look through every single case if she suspects something. Why should she suspect me of this? Because she suspects me of pretty much everything! But what if she finds the actual Jewel CD between my bed and the springs? She’ll go see what’s in the Jewel CD case, and I’ll be cooked! So I’ll just take the Jewel disc to school and throw it away. Tomorrow. Not a problem.
Penny says she got a better job in California. I looked up Oceanside and it looks like a really great place. It’s on the water, duh, and it’s got a surfing museum, a super-cool library, and it’s, like, always in the seventies. Degrees, that is. Pen says her technical editing job there will pay two dollars an hour more than here in Phoenix. And there’ll be the beach and good schools.
When I’m doing my homework at the dinner table, Penny pretends she’s reading on the couch and she looks out at the street and parking lot every few seconds. This is totally not unusual. This is what she always does, every place we’ve lived. But we’re in a condo complex now, so there’s cars coming and going a lot, so Pen looks up from her book all the time. Here I am trying to figure out a math problem or read something but I have to look up at her looking out at the car. I don’t know what she’s expecting to see. Why look at every passing car? All I know is that she’s afraid. And I get afraid, too. And, like, totally distracted. Not that I care about my grades. So I go in my room. But I know she’s there, looking out that window.
So it’s goodbye to Phoenix and Bellamy. Goodbye to Mrs. Herron, who for a teacher is pretty cool. Goodbye to the Yogurt Yurt and the extra sprinkles.
I saw Pastor Atlas yesterday. He’s in Phoenix to preach at a convention. He always lets me know his schedule when he’s going to be nearby. He sends a postcard with his picture and the info on it. Drives Penny insane that Reggie always has our address. With her taking away my Facebook, it’s harder for him to communicate, so sometimes he just calls. Of course I can’t tell Pen, and the pastor and I talk even though I’m like totally banned from talking to him because there’s an illness in him, she says, but when I ask her what illness is that — like a heart or gallbladder problem — she just says he has cancer of the soul.
Which is strange because, like, everybody loves Pastor Reggie. And he’s got his podcasts and his streaming Four Wheels for Jesus sermons that Penny won’t let me watch or listen to. But I do. There are ways. Bellamy loves him. Her mom does, too. And when Pastor Atlas is preaching near home, I always seem to run into him somewhere. Really funny how that happens. Small world! He’s usually with his wife and kids. He smiles and stops and we talk. He’s always got fans around him, but when he talks to me I can feel all of his attention totally one hundred percent on me. One time when we were alone for a minute at the mall he said that we were like ghosts flying through each other, which I thought was so beautiful. And when he said we could fly together sometime, side by side in Jesus, I said okay, Pastor Reggie, get me a ticket! And he said he had a ticket for me and I just had to pick it up. Whatever he meant by that. He does have a way of making you feel good inside. And that you’re close to Jesus.