No Use For A Name

NO USE FOR A NAME

Published by Reputation Books, LLC

reputationbooksllc.com

Copyright © 2016 by Penelope Wright

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission from Reputation Books, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact the publisher at [email protected].

Book Design by Lisa Abellera

eBook Design by Mary C. Moore

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidences are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 978-0-9862031-4-5 (paperback)

ISBN 978-0-9862031-6-9 (ebook)

First Edition: April 2016

For my mom and dad, Patricia Catterton White, and Eugene White. Thank you for always believing in me and for being wonderful parents.

Now serving…ticket number…one…five…two…at window number…nine.

I looked reflexively at the little scrap of paper in my hand for about the thousandth time, but my heart still leapt when I saw the 152 in bold black font. Jumping up, I hurried over to the last stall on the right. I grinned when I saw who it was.

My next door neighbor refused to even look at me, just tapped away with her long green fingernails on her keyboard, chewing her gum about as fast as her fingers flew, and she was probably typing ninety words a minute.

Finally she swiveled her head to face me, and her look of mild annoyance melted away into a smile that went all the way up to her dark brown eyes.

"Baby Anderson! I wondered when I'd see you here."

"Hi, Mrs. Dutton."

She blinked rapidly. So much mascara coated her lashes I was surprised they didn't make a clicking noise when they beat together. "Any other member of the Anderson clan walks in here, I'm taking out extra insurance, but you behind the wheel? Now, that doesn't scare me at all."

"Any of the Andersons? Including my mom?"

"Now don't go putting words in my mouth, young lady," Mrs. Dutton said sternly, but since she winked at me at the same time, I'm thinking that was actually a yes.

"You have your social security card?" she asked.

"Right here," I said, digging around in my bag. Mom and Dad have, I'm not kidding, like fifty storage tubs full of unopened mail in a shed behind our trailer. I dug around for hours before I found the one from the year I was born, but I found my card—fifteen and a half years old—and brand-spanking-new.

I handed it to Mrs. Dutton and her brow wrinkled.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked.

"It says your name is Baby Girl Anderson."

"That's just the way they come, I think. The hospital orders it, right? How do they know what your name is going to be?"

Mrs. Dutton raised her eyebrows. "Humph. Any chance you've got a birth certificate to go along with that?"

"I am nothing if not prepared." I'd found that in the unopened mail too, along with a twenty-five dollar check from my grandma with "Congratulations!" written on it. It was probably way too late to cash it. Grandma died when I was nine. From what I hear, banks generally frown on cashing checks from dead people.

Mrs. Dutton took the official document and unfolded it. The heavily creased paper didn't want to lie flat, but she put a hand at each end and smoothed it out, holding it down so she could read it.

She looked up at me, her expression indecipherable.

"Sweetie, the name on this birth certificate is Baby Girl too."

"That's just what it says at the top. Isn't that what they all say? My real name should be on there somewhere."

"What is your real name, Baby?"

"Frances."

Mrs. Dutton's eyes widened and her nostrils flared. "Frances?"

"Yes. For the first-"

"Woman in The Cabinet," Mrs. Dutton finished.

I froze. "You've heard this story before?" I said slowly.

"Yes, Baby."

"It's from a movie, isn't it?"

"Oh, sweetie. It's a
really good
movie."

Mrs. Dutton handed the birth certificate back to me and I folded it and stuffed it back into the envelope without even looking at it. I ground my teeth so hard I swear I tasted bone. "I still want my learner's permit," I said through my gritted teeth. "Just make it out to whoever."

I saw a couple kids from school on the city bus on my way home, but they pretended not to see me and I had no problem playing that game too. I flopped into a squeaky vinyl seat by myself.

When I got home I found my mother in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette. She stood by the sink, flicking her ashes into it after each long drag.

"Mother."

Mom flicked her cigarette again. "Baby."

I slammed my backpack down on the table. "If that is, in fact, my real name. Oh, wait. It is." I drew out the envelope that contained my birth certificate and held it out to her, my hands shaking.

Mom took it out and looked it over. She rolled her eyes.

God damn it! She ROLLED HER EYES.

"You told me my name was Frances."

"We were very busy when you were born, Baby. Some things fell by the wayside."

"You were too busy to name me? Busy doing what?"

"Oh, I don't know, Baby. It was a long time ago. I don't see what the big deal is." She took a last drag of her cigarette and stabbed it out in the sink. The cherry made a hissing sound as it connected with the wet dishes stacked haphazardly in the bottom. She tossed my birth certificate on top of a teetering pile of papers and made her way towards the back door, twisting so that her skinny hips avoided the giant piles of laundry that threatened to block her way. "You're almost eighteen. Change it yourself."

"I'm fifteen-and-a-half," I screamed after her. I'm sure she heard me, but she didn't stop. The screen door banged shut behind her and I heard the dogs start barking like crazy, the way they always do when they see 'mommy' coming.

I stormed down the hall to the room I shared with Rachel. I slammed the thin door, but the muffled sound of pressboard making contact with a broken frame wasn't satisfying at all.

* * *

The next morning, when I heard my cousin's pathetic horn honking outside, I grabbed my backpack and headed straight for the front door.

"Is there a dying hyena on our lawn, or is Miss Perfect here?"

I ignored Phoebe. She had said the same exact thing every time Kaia picked me up this summer. I rocketed out the door and hurried across the tufts of grass and weeds that passed for my lawn. Flinging open the passenger door of Kaia's old-ass Honda Accord, I slouched into the passenger seat and slammed the door as hard as I could, not only because I was pissed (which I was), but because it wouldn't shut unless you gave it a massive slam.

"Hey Baby."

It was the first time anyone had addressed me by my "name" since yesterday. I'd hidden out in my room all night. I actually pretended to be asleep when Rachel came in. Of course, I've been doing that a lot anyway.

Now, here with Kaia, tears welled in my eyes. I looked away, out the window.

"What do you want to do today? We could go to the mall. Or I heard the football team's practicing. They made final cuts. We could go see who made it."

It was all I could do to keep from crying. I knew if I opened my mouth to say anything I'd be blubbering all over Kaia's fake fur seat covers.

"Baby?"

"Just drive," I choked out. I turned and tried to meet her eyes, but I didn't want to see the look of concern I was sure was spreading across my cousin's face. My eyes settled on the dashboard instead. "Get me away from here."

Kaia tightened her hands on the wheel. I watched her knuckles whiten, and her cheek began to twitch. "What happened, Baby? What did they do to you?"

I stared at my knees and took a deep breath. "Don't freak out. Whatever you're imagining is probably worse than what it really is. I just don't want to talk about it yet, okay?"

Kaia's hands slowly relaxed and she flexed her fingers. When she spoke, her voice was a little
too
normal. "No problem. We'll go check out the football team. See who we're going to be shaking our pompoms for this year."

I sniffed the last of my tears away. "Just our pompoms?"

"Baby Anderson, I am shocked and appalled by what you're insinuating. As members of the junior varsity cheerleading squad, we are beyond reproach. Bitch, we are squeaky fucking clean."

Now
that
was Kaia's normal voice.

I rolled my eyes. "I noticed you're wearing the shirt I made you."

"Well, I figured we might scope out the team. There were still a bunch of guys from Hilltop in the running last time I checked." Kaia braked at a stop sign and looked both ways. She started to inch out, promptly killing the car. "Stupid stick shift," she said, jamming the shifter into first. "I am never going to figure this out."

"Hey, at least you're driving. I bet you'll be the only sophomore at Roosevelt High with a car."

"I know, right? I'm freaking ancient." Kaia turned the key in the ignition until the starter ground in protest and the car leapt forward. "I mean, who the fuck fails kindergarten?"

"Well Kaia," I said seriously, holding onto the door handle as the car continued to lurch, bucking, down the road and Kaia downshifted into second, "when they say to eat across the rainbow they're not talking about a box of jumbo crayons."

"But I was
hungry
. Fucking late-ass snack time ruined my life. My scissor skills were off the charts. I should be a junior now, ordering you around."

"Me? I don't think so."

"Oh, you would so be my bitch."

"Whatever. Dude, I'm starving. Do you have any cornflower blue?"

Kaia turned onto Mitchell Road and the high school loomed ahead of us. The massive orangey brick building looked like a prison, and I'm not just saying that because I was going to be trapped there eight hours a day.

My cousin parked in one of the lower lots, probably so that no one would be around to watch her kill the car fifteen times whenever we attempted to back out. Before we even crested the hill to the field, I could hear the crunching and grunting sounds of guys crashing into each other.

Kaia jogged a few steps ahead of me and craned her neck. "I see Liam Rivers! And Derek Mottola!" she squealed.

People I'd never heard of. They must be from Hilltop. There's only one high school in the county, and it's so big that a few years ago they started making the ninth grade hang out in three different junior highs. Kaia'd gone to Hilltop and I'd gone to Totem Falls. Until cheer tryouts, I hadn't seen her since we were little kids. As soon as I saw her kickass back handsprings, I knew we had a lot in common. Hers were almost as good as mine. Almost.

Kaia ran over to the chain link fence surrounding the field and laced her fingers into the wires. I followed at a slower pace. By the time I'd gotten to where Kaia stood, a couple guys were trotting over, their shoulder pads making them look at least four feet wide, their red helmets dangling from their fingers.

 "Hey Keeks," the blonde one said, flipping his sweaty hair back from his forehead.

Keeks?

Kaia put her toes in the fence holes and lifted herself up about eight inches so she could look him in the eye, her breasts thrust against the chain link fence. "Hi Liam." Her voice was way chirpier than what I was used to. "You made the team. Right on."

"Yeah."

"What position?"

"Kicker."

Obviously a man of few words.
Kaia cocked her head. "Oh yeah? I'm a kicker too." She lifted one foot away from the fence and raised it over her head, her toes brushing the chain links above her before sliding back down and regaining a toehold.

Liam's face turned bright pink as he watched Kaia.