Alma Underwood Is Not A Kleptomaniac Page 5

  I breathe a long, necessary sigh of relief once I’m inside the small bathroom with the door secured shut and lock flipped. I receive strict instructions from Alma to ignore any knocking, as it might be her siblings trying to use the bathroom. She believes they will retreat back into their rooms if I ignore their persistent knocking. I’m not sure that plan is going to work but I want a shower desperately enough to risk it.

  I make quick work of jumping under the spray, trying to move fast but also enjoying the smell of soap. I groan at the way the warm water feels on my sore muscles. If they could talk, they’d be scolding me for what I’ve put them through the last thirty-seven days. Sleeping on buses, in locker rooms, under bridges, and trains called Mo, hasn’t been great for my neck and lower lumbar support.

  Living as a hobo, showering in truck stops and brushing my teeth in a gas station bathroom, hasn’t exactly been glamorous, but there is no shower too disgusting, no alley too damp, and no night too lonely that would ever entice me to return to the place I was before.

  After my dad died, I learned firsthand that life is all about choices, some we regret, some we are thankful for, and there are some that stay with us forever. I used to believe I wasn’t ready to make choices so grand all by myself.

  Drowning in grief and late night pleas to the universe to bring my dad back, I learned quickly how to find solace in making choices alone. It came with freedom and a power I hadn’t known before. Clinging to that power and the pain I felt with my dad’s absence, I bought a bus ticket. I’m not sure if that choice is one I regret or one I’m thankful for, but I do know it’s one that will change me forever.

  After cleaning every crack and crevice of my homeless body, I step from the shower, dry off using a towel stamped with unicorns, and dress in a T-shirt and pair of sweats. Trying to channel my inner butterfly, I attempt to float back up the stairs, all while writing a mental note to ask Alma where the nearest laundromat is.

  Pushing back into her bedroom, I find her perched on her bed, that mysterious journal in her lap. She’s changed into a pair of pink pajamas with rainbows spread out across them. I click the door shut behind me and start to move. My feet falter and I halt, trying to mask the sudden hitch in my breath when I see it. I gulp hard, shocked and slightly embarrassed at the ring of moisture that impulsively forms around my eyes.

  There, right beside her bed, is a giant pool float shaped like pizza.

  6

  The Best Of Everything

  Alma

  “Girl, you have lost ya damn mind.”

  I nibble on my French toast stick, sucking syrup off my bottom lip, not bothering to argue with Arthur. Because he’s probably right.

  His ginger eyes pop wildly from his face, his mouth opening and closing like he’s unsure how to reply to my nonchalant attitude. “You brought home a stranger, Alma.” He leans close to me, full lips moving uncomfortably close to the tip of my nose. “A stranger.”

  I dunk my French toast back in my syrup. “I did, yes.”

  He sits backward, folding his arms over his chest in an annoyed gesture. “What exactly were you thinking?”

  “I don’t think she was thinking,” Echo chimes in, licking blue frosting off the top of a wrinkled doughnut. “I mean, really, what kind of friend are you?”

  I choke on my breakfast. “Excuse me? What does bringing home a stranger have to do with my best friend status?”

  Frowns form and eyes droop. My two best friends share a look I’m too tired to decipher. Arthur purses his lips and I know I’m in trouble.

  “Friends tell friends when they decide to harbor a runaway teenager with a missing hand. They don’t just drop a bomb like that a week before the start of senior year.”

  “As if I don’t have enough shit to worry about this year.” Pushing away her plate, Echo lets out a deep, drawn-out groan. “I have to worry about my best friend getting raped right before she gets her throat sliced open and toes chopped off.”

  I drop my French toast stick. It hits the table with a sad flap. “Thank you for ruining my breakfast with that image.” I suck maple syrup off the tips of my fingers. “Look, if he was going to chop off my toes, he would have done it by now.”

  “That’s not true at all, and you know it.” Arthur pushes his round sunglasses up his nose and adjusts them once they are in place. Smooth, brown skin warms underneath the harsh rays of the morning sun, and his thin mustache wrinkles when he scowls at me. “There are plenty of serial killers who wait to kill their victims.”

  “It’s totally true.” Cradling her head in her hands, long red hair falls around Echo’s shoulders, masking her face. “You need to be more careful.”

  “I need new friends,” I mumble, using a flimsy restaurant napkin to wipe the sweat pooling on the back of my neck. It’s not even ten in the morning and the sun has already decided its mission is to roast the earth’s patrons like a couple of wieners over a campfire. “How could you even suggest I kick out Rumor? He literally doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  Reaching across the table, Arthur places a hand on my arm, his thumb whispering across my wrist. “A, we aren’t suggesting you kick him to the curb. It’s obvious he needs help but bringing him into your house? Your bedroom? Wouldn’t it have been a smarter choice to put him up in a room at the motel?”

  Probably.

  Giving him a room in the motel would have provided him with an actual bed to sleep in and the chance for more privacy, but truthfully, I didn’t even consider that option until the suggestion slipped from Arthur’s lips. A week ago, back in the old boxcar I love so much, I hadn’t even contemplated taking Rumor somewhere that wasn’t home.

  When I was a little girl, my parents used to say I suffered from a hero complex. I struggled when my siblings argued or when other kids were injured on the playground. With each situation that needed resolving, a powerful dose of desperation took over my body and I wouldn’t rest until it was solved. Perhaps that’s why I save my lost treasures and introduce them to a somewhere that’s worthy.

  I’m not sure.

  What I’ll never understand is why my parents thought I suffered from this so-called hero complex I’m still not sure is a real thing. There is nothing unpleasant or bad about wanting to save or help someone, and I used to say that if I only ever helped one person in life, that’d be okay.

  Rumor Rawlings is my one person.

  I feel it.

  It’s almost like I was struck with a calling when I saw him sitting in that train car, duffle bag packed so full it was bursting at the seams, with nothing but a quilt to keep him warm. I felt something at that moment. Something that runs much deeper than sympathy or empathy or even both. It’s just something. Something I feel in every speck of my body, something that affects each beat inside my chest.

  And even though I know the decision wasn’t smart, what I feel cannot be pushed aside. It is life’s biggest fight, the clash between what you know and what you feel.

  I am a girl who follows her feelings. How else would I get to the source of where they’re coming from?

  “Listen, guys, I get what you’re saying. I do.” Pushing away from the old picnic table, I gather my trash. “And I’m not trying to dismiss your concern, but there’s nothing you can say to me that is going to make me change my mind.”

  Spinning around, I toss my trash into the slim garbage bin padlocked to a light post. Echo falls into step beside me, letting her half-eaten doughnut drop into the bin. Her silvery, magnetic eyes narrow skeptically. “And if he turns out to be a murderer?”

  “I’ll die.”

  “Really, Alma?” She sighs, a smirk betraying the look in her eyes. “Must you be so morbid this early in the morning?”

  “It’s ten,” I remind her, linking my arm with hers. “Besides, you and Arthur started this whole conversation. You have zero faith in my talent of selecting non-threatening homeless teens.”

  “I’m sorry, is that a talent? Did you take classes for that?�
�� Arthur teases, his right arm linking with my free one.

  Together, the three of us leave our favorite doughnut shop and stroll towards the high school, eyes watering and cheeks reddening beneath the fierceness of the sun. It’s become a tradition for Echo, Arthur, and I, a pact we made at the end of eighth grade that every year we would brave the day we picked up our books and received our locker assignments together.

  It was only intimidating the first year. After we were no longer considered fresh meat, and we stopped floating around the large, unfamiliar building like a couple of my lost treasures, the whole experience became quick and painless. More so with my best friends in tow.

  Arthur’s head comes to rest on my shoulder as we walk. “Tell me more about your new roommate.”

  “What is it you’d like to know?”

  Echo pokes me in the ribcage with her elbow. “Will we be seeing him in the halls this year?”

  “Are you crazy? No. He’s homeless with a dead father. How is he supposed to register for school? He’s planning to get a GED after he turns eighteen.”

  “Beauty school dropout, huh?” Arthur’s lips smack together. “I want that life.”

  Echo bends her upper half and peers around my body, assessing Arthur with furrowed brows. “The life of the homeless?”

  “No. The life of a person who doesn’t have to attend high school anymore.”

  Patting his head, I wrap my finger around a few of his tight, springy curls. “It’s less than a year, Art. You’ll be fine.”

  “Easy for you to say. Your parents are beyond chill and don’t give a rip what you do with the rest of your life as long as you’re happy. Bleck. My parents are obsessed with me becoming like the first black Jesus or whatever.” He stops suddenly, his feet frozen against the pavement. I slow my stride and give him my attention, noticing his eyes are sporting a crazed intensity. “The other night at dinner, my dad asked me what my college plans were and I literally had to pretend to choke on a meatball to get out of answering.”

  I bite my tongue to muffle my giggle.

  Echo isn’t as successful at hiding it. Pushing her face into the crook of her elbow, her shoulders shake with silent laughter.

  Arthur appears less than amused. “It’s not funny. It’s tragic.”

  “It’s both.” I decide, linking my arms around theirs, making us one unit again. I tug to keep us moving.

  Reluctantly, Arthur starts walking, his steps short and stiff. “It’s like they want me to become the next big thing, and I’m totally fine with being average.”

  “Oh, you are not,” Echo spits. “You’re dressed in cheetah print skinny jeans. There is nothing about you that’s average. You just have to find your niche, and you will. I really believe that.”

  “I feel like everybody knows but me.”

  “Maybe that’s because you spent more time trying to get Spencer to notice you last year than actually looking into career possibilities and college options.” I wink at him so he’ll know I’m teasing.

  He holds up his hand, fingers crossed. “Here’s hoping this is the year he realizes I look exactly like Lenny Kravitz during his Hunger Games run.”

  I snort.

  “You’re number one in our class, there’s probably a dozen scholarship options for you.” Echo tosses out, pulling a pack of gum from her back pocket.

  “There is, but I can’t choose a college program until I know what I want to do.”

  I take two sticks of Juicy Fruit from Echo and pass one to Arthur, shoving the other in my mouth. “Well, what was your favorite class last year?”

  “The ones that had Spencer in them.”

  “You’re hopeless.” I grin.

  “I’m over talking about me.” Cocking his head, Arthur flashes me a smile laced in trouble. “Are you working tonight? Let’s drive to Ann Arbor and bug Shepherd at college.”

  “As much as I love forcing Shepherd to drive us around campus, I can’t. I promised Rumor I’d help him start studying for the GED.”

  “Studying for the GED, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “What is that code for?”

  “Yeah.” Echo nudges me with her hip. “Is that like the new Netflix and chill?”

  I slap them both in the gut.

  Echo pops her gum. “We need to meet him.”

  “Agreed,” Arthur blurts. “When can we meet him?”

  “When you learn how to act.”

  “That’ll be never.”

  Rolling my eyes, I move ahead with long, purposeful strides. Truth is, I hadn’t thought about introducing Rumor to my friends. I wasn’t even sure I was going to tell them who he was until I sat down at a picnic table in front of The Donut Hole and the confession just sort of barreled out of my mouth like a spontaneous case of projectile word vomit.

  It isn’t like me to keep secrets. Not from Echo or Arthur, and especially not from my siblings who remain clueless to the fact that a stranger is living above their heads.

  “I’ll ask him, okay?” I say after only a few steps. “He can hold his own but I don’t want to just bombard him with you two hooligans. Not after I practically kidnapped the dude.”

  Arthur clutches his stomach, wheezing with sudden laughter. “I can just see you standing inside Mo, hands on your hips and chest puffed out, barking at the poor dude to follow you home.”

  “That is not how it happened.”

  “I’ll ask him when I meet him.”

  I groan.

  Echo kisses my cheek. “Smile, A. We’re just teasing.”

  “Uh-huh.” I tsk, swaying my hips to knock into them both. “You two are trouble.”

  “You love us for it.” Arthur smacks my butt. “Maybe Rumor can join our squad. I need all hands on the wingman deck if I’m going to get Spencer to notice I’m alive.”

  I nod like I’m on board when I really want to jump ship at his suggestion. It isn’t in my nature to be selfish, but his comment ignites a possessive side in me, and I realize I’m reluctant to share Rumor.

  I’m unsure why or how I come to this conclusion. In the ten days of Rumor’s residency, he has helped me alphabetize my Funko-Pop collection, beat me in twelve million games of thumb war, and let me hold the prosthesis he doesn’t wear very often.

  Nothing spectacular or overly phenomenal has happened that I must keep covert and all to myself. I actually haven’t learned much more about Rumor’s past aside from his father’s passing and his quest to find his mother.

  Rumor Rawlings isn’t super keen on talking, especially when it comes to himself, so I try to do all the talking for him.

  Sharing him with my friends before I get a chance to really understand how he ended up in my attic irritates me in a way that makes me feel childish. It’s almost as though I’m not ready for someone to burst the secret bubble we’ve created.

  Like we’re in preschool and we’ve just become best friends, inseparable and sharing Goldfish crackers at lunch until someone else comes to join our friend group and messes up the whole vibe before there’s even a chance to have one.

  It’s with that thought I realize I’m just as kooky as my best friends.

  “I’ll talk to him about meeting you.”

  “Where is he, anyway?” Echo wonders, tucking her thick hair behind her ear. “Just sitting up in your room all alone?”

  “No. I dropped him off at the library before meeting you guys this morning. He said he’s going to try to find some books on GED prep. I’m supposed to meet him inside Mo later this afternoon. In the meantime, we are one block away from laying the foundation of our senior year.”

  Out of the three of us, I’m the only one excited. I’ve never minded school, and my parents have always taught me it’s a life-changing stepping stone to everything great that’s awaiting me.

  I’m ready for greatness.

  “I’m just hoping I don’t get stuck with a shitty locker assignment again this year,” Echo grumbles, kicking a loose pebble. “Next to the bathrooms is the worst.”


  “We’re seniors now, babe.” Arthur grins. “We get the best of everything.”

  We come to a stop in front of Flat Rock Community High School. There’s already a steady stream of students filtering in and out of the tall double doors built inside the vast brick building.

  Arthur bounces on his toes in anticipation, reaching across me to bop the tip of Echo’s nose. Her eyebrows dip and the makings of a silly smile unfold across her pink stained lips.

  Soon, I’m grinning too, baring all my teeth and bouncing in time with Arthur.

  The best of everything doesn’t sound so bad.

  7

  Butterfly Kisses

  Alma

  “So, I told my friends about you today. They want to meet you.”

  His head is buried in a textbook, and he doesn’t bother to look up and acknowledge my confession. “Why?”

  “Well, it seems they are both intrigued and frightened by the idea of you. They’re worried about the possibility of me getting murdered in my sleep.”

  Rumor lifts his chin a smidge, eyes finding me through thick eyelashes. “I did try to warn you that might happen. You let me in, anyway.”

  I lay back, propping myself up on both elbows. “I tried to tell them it’s been a lifelong dream of mine to get murdered but they didn’t listen. They chalked me up to be a crazy person and demanded to meet you.”

  “I can’t say I disagree with their assessment. You are a crazy person.” He begins to gnaw on the tip of his pencil, eyes still cast downward. “Is meeting them really the best idea? I mean, aren’t we supposed to be keeping this low-key? What if one of them blabs to their parents about the freak sleeping on a pool float beside your bed?”

  “Echo and Arthur know how to keep a secret, but if you don’t want to meet them then I won’t force you. They’re good people.”