The Miles Between (3 page)

I whirl around and look at the car still purring beneath the trees, its four precious tires begging to hit the road. It would serve
me right
. But a technicality as wide as the ocean lies between me and those tires. I am a newly minted seventeen, and I have never had a single driving lesson. My parents haven't provided for that little detail. I don't know how to drive. Not like many of the other students—

Seth! I turn again and run up the steps. I heard Mira say he has his own car back home. He must be able to drive. And right now he is wandering around Hedgebrook picking up trash, probably disgruntled at the injustice of it all. It's time for his break. I am granting it. I stop at the edge of the quad and scan the garden for movement. The only human form is the grotesque statue of Argus Hedgebrook
at its center, an art commission gone terribly wrong, and the butt of every school prank. His bronze arm extends out in an arthritic gesture like he is about to fall from his perch, instead of the sweeping welcoming pose that was intended. I sigh. Timing is everything, and Seth is not here, and the gargoyle Argus is of no use to me.

I look to the perimeters of the three other dorms and then over to the headmaster's office. No sign of Seth, trash, or any excuse for a driver. Of course. Why should it be any other way? Today is turning out just as I suspected it would. I shake my head and begin to walk away, but then the tiniest movement catches my eye. Peeking out from the base of Argus's statue is a foot. I look closer. A jiggling foot. The slug! I run across the quad to the other side of the base, drop to my knees, and grab Seth by the shirt.

“I have a car waiting for us. It's break time. Can you drive?”

His eyes are wide and startled, like he has been caught slacking, which he has. “What—”

“I need a driver! Can you drive me? Please!”

He stares at me like I am nuts. “I have trash duty—”

“But you deserved extra credit. And you know it. A short ride—that's all I'm asking for.”

His stunned expression fades, and he stands, brushing my hands loose from his shirt, swiping at the wrinkles I have created. Face-to-face, I am surprised at how tall he is. He looks at me and I know he is going to say no but I don't turn away and I don't stop looking because ever since Mira said I noticed him I have made a point not to notice him and for the first time I am noticing that his eyes have a dark ring of brown around a golden iris and I find that infinitely interesting because my eyes are the same color and I think he notices this too at the exact same moment and a chill shivers over me, and like a miracle, he says, “Let's go.”

 

“I'll say this, Des—you sure know how to choose them.”

“It chose me.”

Seth runs his hand over the hood and along the fender until he is standing at the open driver's-side door. “Just a short ride. Right?”

“Right,” I repeat, but I know it is already more than that. It is written in the day and in our eyes. Seth can't control this matter of circumstance any more than I can.

We take a last sweep of the grounds before we slide in. The white leather seats are as buttery as the fenders and Seth makes a gesture of ecstasy with his fist. “Who would
guess that trash duty could be this sweet?” He gently closes the door, and I feel the world closing behind us.

My heart pounds in my ears. “Go!” I whisper. “Go!”

Seth steps on the gas and we rev forward, bouncing off the lawn and onto the narrow road that twists through the campus. He stops before we reach Gaspar Hall, where the classroom windows face the road. He looks at me. We both slink down in the seats, and he eases forward slowly like we are pulling up the skirts of the car and tiptoeing.

Students seated near windows turn as we pass, their eyes widening to saucers but their lips remaining sealed in solidarity. Civics. English lit. Jillian and Curtis turning in unison, their jaws dropping. Geometry. Seth lifts a hand and waves to Justin Thomas like we are only strolling across the common. Economics. Physics. Mira. Her eyes grow so wide that her irises look like a tiny dot of ink on a sea of white. She disappears from the window. “Maybe you should go faster,” I say.

“We're doing fine. Relax.”

I realize I don't really know much about Seth. Like the others, I know his habits at breakfast. I know that he is always late. He works hard to make Mrs. Wicket smile, like it is a clever game for him. He taps his fork on his plate between bites, which drives Aidan to distraction.
But I don't know anything about what is inside of him. I don't know what he likes or hates or fears, and I realize that, for all my observing—of which I am very proud—I don't really know any of my classmates beyond their easily observable habits. A breath catches in my throat.

“Can I come?” Mira has barreled around the corner, and Seth stops the car.

“Shh!” he says.

“Did Miss Boggs see you leave?” I whisper.

“Of course not,” Mira says proudly. “She was one copy short for our test today and stepped out in a tizzy to get another. But I'll never be able to slip back in now.”

Ancient Miss Boggs prides herself on her organization and is never short anything. Why does she have to break her perfect record today?

“Get in,” I sigh. She has already opened the rear door and is sliding into the seat. “But don't say a word,” I warn her, holding my fist up. She happily nods and raises two fingers in an oath as she sinks down in the seat to prove she is trustworthy. Another time I might be struck at how she takes life's unexpected turns with such cheer, but right now I am seriously keeping my fist ready.

Seth eases forward. We only have to pass the infirmary and the library before we are at the gate to Hedgebrook and the open road.

“Can we get Aidan?” Mira asks.

Seth and I both whip around, but Seth speaks before I can lash Mira for breaking her oath in less than a minute. “Of course, Mira,” he says sweetly. “Why don't you skip into his class and ask his teacher for a pass to ditch all his classes for the day?”

The dawning is slow but visible as her arched expectant eyebrows slowly fall. She sinks lower in the seat. We are just passing the infirmary when a muffled squeal erupts from Mira. “There he is!”

Aidan is approaching the infirmary doors with a bloodied handkerchief pressed to his nose when Mira stands up in the back seat and waves her entire body at him. He stops and stares over the kerchief, and I imagine he thinks his bloody nose is causing him to hallucinate.

“Unbelievable,” Seth whispers, hitting the brakes.

“No! Don't stop,” I say. “Not him too!” But it is too late. He is already walking toward us, his eyes sweeping our extraordinary pink car. Mira throws open the rear door.

“We're going for a ride. Get in.” He does and I am almost not surprised, even though Aidan is an annoying stickler for rules, because maybe today, some things are beyond his control too. He leans back, still pinching his nose.

“Whose car?” he asks.

“Des's,” Seth answers. “Don't drip on the seats!”

My car? Did I say that? But I do take note that he is looking out for my upholstery. “Seth, this isn't—” Perhaps now is not the time.

“Isn't what?”

“This isn't . . . the time to be talking. Go!”

 

 

 

T
HE WIND RUFFLES MY HAIR
. Surely this will do it. This will end my days at Hedgebrook. It's time. I find that I am . . . thinking too much about others, and that is not a wise thing to do. By the time we return today, the papers will probably already be written up. My parents will be glad for the excuse. I've always been a good girl.
There now, be a good girl, Destiny. Mama's good girl. No more tears. Let me see you smile. Give Mama a nice good-bye
.

There are so many different ways of being good. It's all about perspective.

Seth hoots and swerves onto the shoulder, causing a plume of dust to trail behind us. He slows to a stop. “Sweet car, Des.”

“When did you get it?” Mira asks.

“Just today.”

“It's against the rules, you know?” Aidan says. “Students aren't allowed to keep cars on campus.”

“It's not staying, Aidan, so don't worry about your precious rules,” I tell him.

He sits up defensively. “Do I look worried about rules? If I was worried about rules I wouldn't be sitting here right now, would I?”

“Why
are
you here?” Seth asks.

“I needed fresh air.”

“Teased about your nose again?” Mira asks with genuine concern because there is nothing covert about Mira.

Aidan glares at her. I am surprised. I thought Aidan was used to being the resident geek. He almost seems like he works hard to live up to it, even wearing a tie with his uniform on Fridays, when it is not required.

“It's stopped bleeding,” I say. “You can toss the hanky.” He folds it, bloody splotches inward, and tucks it into his pocket.

“Now what?” Seth asks, looking through the steering wheel and checking out the gauges. “Should we go back?”

“Goodness, no!” Mira says, standing up on the rear seat and throwing her hands over her head. We are all startled and turn to look at her. She sheepishly shrugs and sits back down. “Sorry. I mean, no,” she whispers.

“She's right,” Aidan says. “We all have guaranteed trash duty at this point. We might as well make it worth it. And I need a day off. If I were president, I would make more vacation time mandatory. Do you know that in other countries where vacation time is mandatory, they have higher productivity levels? It's just a matter of—”

“We got it, Pres.” I am in no mood for one of Aidan's long lectures. It is enough to know I have another unexpected dissident. Their breakfast manners gave no hint.

“And since I already have trash duty, I may as well do something that I really deserve it for,” Seth adds.

“Or it might be more than just trash duty we face. We might all be expelled,” I say.

They are silent, until finally Seth begins tapping the horn. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“It's a song. On the road—”

Aidan groans. I shake my head. Mira smiles and slaps the back of our seat. “I just can't wait to get on the road again!”

“It's just a little field trip,” Seth says.

“A trip!” Mira chimes in. “We have to give it a name!”

“So we're agreed?” Seth asks.

Being partners in crime, partners in time, partners in a few square feet of space that leaves no room for hiding—it is a risky thing. Far riskier for me than taking a car that
isn't mine. I put my finger to an ember when I was eight, unable to resist the pulsing glow. That's what this feels like now, like I am inching close to something dangerous. Far more dangerous than simple expulsion, to which I am accustomed.

They look at me, waiting, and that expectation alone makes my heart squeeze like a fist. If only they knew, there is no chance of this day turning out well. Especially not with me along.

Their gazes remain steady, as though something I could say would make a difference, and it is then that I notice a tiny lightness growing in the center of my chest that is nearly intoxicating, a lightness I haven't felt since my last days at Millbury, and before I can allow myself to think it through, I find myself saying, “Agreed.”

 

 

 

I
WAS STILL AT
M
ILLBURY
A
CADEMY
when Mr. Gardian sent the pictures of Hedgebrook. Mr. Gardian is Mother and Father's secretary and handles the nasty details of their lives. Those nasty details include me.

When I ripped open the envelope and saw the photo on the cover of the brochure, I sat down and clutched my stomach, my fingers kneading my skin. I stared at the pictures. There were rolling green hills. White split-rail fences. A towering redbrick mansion. Tall white columns and shutters painted black. It was the landscape and architecture of home. At least as I remembered it.

I remember holding my breath, my fingers flattening against my chest, because the flutter inside frightened me. I finally breathed out when I realized it was only a stirring
where deadness had been. I closed the brochure and tucked it away in a drawer beneath my underwear. I didn't look at it again.

But when Mr. Gardian called later in the week and asked me what I thought of Hedgebrook, I sighed loudly and told him it would do. And as I replaced the phone receiver, the stirring returned, and I was certain that something had broken loose in my chest.

 

 

 

M
IRA CONSUMES HERSELF
with titling our getaway while the rest of us decide on our destination. The nearest town is the small village of Hedgebrook, which lies just a few more miles down the road. Aidan suggests we go see a movie at the small theater there because it will keep us out of sight. Seth vetoes that idea. “This is supposed to be fun,” he says. “All the Nubel has are sticky seats and movies that came out last year.”

“How about The Great Escape?” Mira suggests.

“We can't go to Hedgebrook Township at all,” I say. “Not even through it. Constable Horn is always walking Main Street. He'd see us, and our day would be over before it began.”

Aidan and Seth weigh this factor. The small township
is quite familiar with the Hedgebrook students. There are weekly caravans there on Saturday for movies and shopping, though shopping only consists of Keller's Drugstore, Bainbridge Antiques, and the Minuteman Market, which added an aisle of trinkets to amuse the weekly flood of students from Hedgebrook. The constable has looked every one of us eye to eye at least once and let us know that the long arm of the law is always on guard. His swagger down Main Street is distinct and often imitated by students, even as the constable watches, because, like most of us, he doesn't recognize himself.