Under Different Stars (2 page)

He shakes his head. “I can’t let you do that. My job is to take you back,” he states, not taking his hand from my arm.

“Take me back where?” I ask.

“To your home.”

“Springfield?” I say the name of the first city that pops into my head.

“No,” he frowns, looking irritated. “Ethar.”

“Kandahar? I’m sorry, but I’ve never even been to New Jersey” I say, purposefully misunderstanding him.

“E-t-h-a-r,” he says, drawing out the word like I’m feeble minded.

I moisten my lips. “Okay, listen to me carefully, so there’s no misunderstanding here,” I say, speaking slowly like one would to a child and looking into crazy Trey’s eyes. “I’m Jane Klume—of the Springfield Klumes—so I’m not going anywhere with you, or Jax, or him.” I indicate to the other freak on his right.

“I can understand your position. If I were you, I might not want to return home either, but the time for cowardice is over. You need to face your family and pay for your crimes.”

My mouth drops open as I search his face. “My crimes?” I ask after my mouth snaps shut again.
He’s insane.

Trey nods as both his eyebrows come together. “Desertion, among others,” he replies, tightening his hand on my arm, like he severely disapproves of me.

“You’re mental…” I trail off, seeing the serious expressions on all of their faces.

“We’re quite sane,” he replies easily.

Slipping my gloved hands in my pockets, I notice the train slowing. The automated voice begins announcing our arrival at the Fullerton station. Trey’s eyes focus in on my hands.

Slowly, I pull one hand from my pocket. Opening it, I ask, “Mint?” and extend my hand filled with cellophane-wrapped red and white striped candies.

He lets go of my arm. “No,” he frowns, looking at the mints in my hand like they’re poison. 

Pulling my other hand quickly from my pocket and pressing the button, I ask, “Pepper spray?”

Jumping up on my seat, I continue to spray Trey, Jax and the other thug with my can of pepper spray. Seeing them clutch their hands to their eyes as they moan in pain, I fit myself between the handrails on my right and run out the door of the train, dropping the can as I go.

I run down the snow-covered stairs and clutch the handrail before jumping the last few steps to the sidewalk below. Looking around frantically, I spot a cab parked across the street. Not looking for cars, I step off the curb, hearing squealing tires as I do. Reaching the cab amid viciously honking horns, I open the door, diving onto the backseat. “Lincoln Park–Diversey and Clark,” I pant the cross streets to the driver. “I’m in a hurry,” I add, pulling a twenty from my wallet and flashing it at him.

The taxi peels away from the curb. Looking out the back window, I scan the area for Trey and his buddies. I don’t see them, so maybe they didn’t get off the train. Sitting back in my seat, I close my eyes as I tremble in fear.

CHAPTER 2

LUMIN

I pay the taxi driver as he pulls up at the corner of Diversey and Clark. I jump out of the cab, looking rapidly up both sides of the street for anything suspicious. Seeing nothing, I hurry past the drugstore, bookstore, and drycleaner. I pull my keys from the pocket of my backpack and open the outer door next to the drycleaner.

I make sure the door locks behind me after I step inside. I take a deep breath to try to calm the ache of fear in my chest. I haven’t been this scared since I climbed out of a second-story window and jumped from the run-down apartment where I once lived. I hadn’t felt the impact of hitting the ground then. It’d been nothing compared to the beating I’d just received. But I remember the fear. I just can’t remember if it was fear that I’d die in the fall...or fear that I’d live.

I bypass the elevator because it’s slower than a cab in rush hour and walk to the stairwell. Climbing the stairs to the third floor, I peek out, looking at the door of my apartment near the end of the hall. The hall’s empty. Taking a deep breath, I walk to my door and unlock it. Pushing it closed behind me, I turn the dead bolt and secure the chain to it. Leaning against the door, I close my eyes, running my hand through my hair and feeling dampness from the melted snow.

“Kricket!” Bridget calls from the end of the hall that leads to the one room of our studio apartment. I jump, not expecting Bridget to be up so early on a Saturday morning.

“Bridge,” I exhale, trying to calm my racing heart. “What’re you doing up?” I ask, seeing that she’s dressed nicely in a designer skirt and top that we found at the Salvation Army. It looks great on her because she has a bangin’ body.

“I’m packing. Eric talked me into going to his parents’ house a couple days early, since I don’t have to work this weekend. I’m so glad you’re home. I need your opinion. Do you think I should take this skirt…or is it too short for the suburbanites?” She tucks her long dark hair behind her ear before holding up a small, black-leather skirt to her slim waist.

“Honestly?” I shake my head. “I mean, you’re meeting Mom and Dad…Dad might like it, but Mom. Will. Freak.”

Biting her lip, she stomps her foot and whines, “You’re right. Are you sure you can’t come with me?”

I shake my head slowly. “You’re gonna be fine…they’re going to love you, Bridget.”

Her fingers twist in agitation. “Yeah…until the long silence comes after they ask me what my parents do and I tell them my dad’s doing a mandatory twenty for armed robbery,” she replies, grimacing.

“Maybe you don’t have to tell them. Maybe you can just say you haven’t seen him lately because he’s upstate,” I reply.

Bridget flails her arms. “You see, I need you there. You’re like a diplomat or something.”

“You’ll be okay, just keep your eyes open. Watch what his mom does and follow her lead. If she eats her soup with a fork, then you eat your soup with a fork,” I advise her. “Just like we used to in juvie.”

“Who eats soup with a fork?” Bridget asks, looking confused.

“Not the point. I’m just saying, when in Rome…” I trail off.

Bridget’s brow wrinkles. “They eat soup with a fork in Rome?” she asks, and I laugh.

“Uh, forget the soup. Just have a good time and relax. Hipster Eric likes you.” I peel off my jumpsuit and throw it in the hamper. Finding a pair of pajama bottoms in my closet, I put them on.

Bridget’s dark eyes narrow, “You should stop calling him ‘Hipster Eric’ ‘cuz you’re gonna slip one of these days.”

“You really like him, huh?” I ask, seeing her try to hide it.

“He keeps asking me to move in with him,” Bridget replies with a faux-casual shrug, watching my reaction. “But, you’ve been to his place. It’s completely ridic. I’m not the kind of girl who can live somewhere like that…it’s too…
nice
.” She wrinkles her nose, like “nice” is a bad thing.

Something in my heart twists. Bridget is my only family. I want her to be happy. She deserves nice—she deserves love. But, if she moves in with Eric, I’m completely screwed. I can’t live here without a roommate. “I don’t know, Bridge, I think you’d do all right with nice. Enrique thinks he might be looking to move out. He might need a roommate,” I say casually. It’s only a half lie because he did say that Michael would get him tossed out.

“Really?” Bridget asks, looking happy as she tucks her brown hair behind her ear.

“Yeah,” I nod, trying to smile.

She tries to hide her relief from me by lowering her eyes. “Well, I’m still thinking about it. I want to see how this week goes. I may not be able to handle being with his family,” she says honestly. I nod absently, my mind tumbling over itself with the ramification of what this means for me.

A knock sounds on the door, making me jump. “That must be Eric. He wants to get on the road before the traffic hits,” Bridget says, heading for the door.

“Wait!” I flinch before running in front of her to the door and blocking her from opening it. Seeing the alarm on Bridget’s face, I put my finger to my lips. Then I say in a deep voice, “Who is it?”

“Uh…Kricket? It’s me…Eric,” Eric’s muffled voice sounds through the door.

Feeling relief, I look through the peephole before opening the door. “Merry Christmas, Kricket,” Eric says, shoving a beautifully wrapped package in my hands and kissing my cheek. As he walks past me, I close the door behind him, locking and chaining it.

Bridget watches me closely, only distracted when Eric picks her up off her feet for a huge hug. “You smell great,” he says in her ear, causing her to smile and her hazel eyes to sparkle.

“Thanks,” she murmurs before turning her eyes on me. She narrows them as she asks, “‘Sup with you?”

I shrug, noncommittal. “Just some guys on the El giving me static. I thought they were DSS for a second, but maybe they’re just random.”

“What’s DSS?” Eric asks, looking confused.

“Dip shit sailors,” Bridget lies. “Did they follow you here?”

Shaking my head, I explain, “I don’t think so. I got off at Fullerton and took a taxi.”

Eric pulls his snowy hat from his head. “You should call the police, Kricket.” Eric’s blue eyes widen in concern. “You can make a report.” I smile. He doesn’t know anything about me.

Bridget understands my dilemma. She knows I can’t go to the police because they’ll take me into custody and I won’t be able to get out of juvenile detention until I turn eighteen. I probably have zero chance of applying to be an emancipated minor, since I broke out at sixteen and have been dodging them ever since. But, once Bridget aged out of the system and got a job in the city, I finally had somewhere to go. We’d spent a year together as roommates in one of the worst juvenile centers in Chicago. We had each other’s back there. When she wrote me and told me where she was, it was only a matter of time before I found a way out during a rare fieldtrip.

“It wasn’t a big deal…they were probably coming home from the club…you know how it is,” I say, downplaying it. I catch the look in Bridget’s eyes. She’s worried.

“Maybe I should stay for the weekend,” she says. She wants details, but she won’t ask me now. Not with Eric here. She’d never put my freedom at risk and therefore she’ll never expose to Eric that I’m a runaway from DSS.

“No. I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “They can’t possibly know where I live.” I use a P.O. Box for my mail, making sure that no one gets my real address here, just in case I get an investigator assigned to my case who doesn’t suck. Since I’m paid under the table at work, I don’t have to worry about any payroll checks being printed in my name.

“You’re sure?” She doesn’t look at all convinced.

“I’m sure,” I reply, trying to appear confident.

“Okay, come here and sit on my suitcase so I can get it to close,” she orders.

I do as she asks and she pushes the latches closed. Eric picks it up off the bed, carrying it while I walk with Bridget toward the door. “Call if you need me.”

“I will,” I agree, feeling choked up. I stop her at my closet, pulling out a present for her and one for Eric. “Merry Christmas, Bridge.”

“I mean it…I’ll come right back if you need me,” she says, taking the presents from me. “Your present is on your bed.”

“Thanks,” I say, trying not to let my eyes get teary.

“Merry Christmas, Kricket,” she says gruffly, as she tries to do the same. Impulsively, she gives me a quick hug.

“Ready?” Eric asks, unlocking the door.

“Yeah,” Bridget says, following him into the hall. “Lock this,” she orders, pointing at the door.

“I will,” I reply before closing it. I throw the bolt, latching the chain. Walking to my bed, I pick up my present.

Sitting down on the worn coverlet, I slowly unwrap the present from Eric. It’s a very expensive-looking espresso machine. Looking for a gift receipt so I can take it back, my shoulders slump when I can’t find one.
Maybe the pawnshop will give me something for it
, I think. I set it aside on the floor near my bed.

I open the little cardboard box from Bridget and find a delicate gold bracelet that has a thin, gold plate with the word “sister” etched in the metal. Smiling and blinking back tears, I put it on, shaking my wrist so that “sister” sits on top.

Pulling the blinds down over the window, I set my alarm clock so that I’ll be up in time to eat and relax before I go to the club downstairs to see if they need me. Laying my head on my pillow, I pull my blanket up to my chin. As I close my eyes, I try to blot out the images of Trey and his pals that invade my head, making my heart pound against the wall of my chest like it did when I was on the train. It takes awhile before I finally sleep.

Dreaming of lush fields, running barefoot under an azure sky that contains not only a brilliant sun, but also another moon on its infinite horizon, I awake drenched in sweat. My alarm clock is blaring, reminding me that I have to get ready for another Saturday night in the trenches.

After eating a quick meal, I take a shower. Combing out my hair, I braid it in two long plaits that fall well past my shoulders. Wrapping a black hair tie around the end of one braid, I pull a loose strand of hair from the end of it. As I hold the blond strand in my palm, it turns black immediately before it curls up and turns into a speck of dust. Letting my hand drop, I glance at the mirror.

“Who are you?” I whisper to my reflection, knowing that she doesn’t have the answer either.

I give up and go to my closet to get dressed. Putting on my jeans and a black, short-sleeved t-shirt with the words “boys lie” emblazoned in white letters on the chest, I lace up the second-hand, black boots I just picked up at the Salvation Army. They’re perfect because the leather is soft, having been broken in just right. Shrugging into my coat and backpack, I check the hallway outside through the peephole in my door. Seeing no one, I step out and lock it behind me. I take the back stairs and exit into the dark parking lot behind our building.

“Luther,” I smile, seeing my favorite bouncer sitting on a stool, guarding the back door to the trendy nightclub called
Lumin.
“‘Sup, Sherlock?” I ask, using the nickname I gave him because he has an uncanny ability to sniff out the fake IDs from the real ones.

“Nothin’ but my rent,” Luther replies, smiling broadly as he fidgets with the black permanent marker in his hand. “You workin’ tonight?” He gets up from his seat to give me a brief hug.

“If they need me. You been working out?” I ask, squeezing his bicep that’s the size of my thigh.

“Always,” Luther says, showing me his muscles with a broad, gold-toothed grin.

“Nice,” I admire. “Don’t be giving the girlies that gun show or you’ll never get rid of them.”

“You know that you’re the only one I want…just a few more months ‘til you’re legal, right?” he says with a wink.

Pointing to my shirt, I frown, “No way, Luther. I’ve seen how you operate.”

“That’s harsh, Bug. You’re calling me a boy and a liar?”

Smiling and backing down the hallway, I ask, “Where’s Jimmy?”

“In the kitchen, probably. Come and talk to me if things aren’t too busy,” he says, watching me head down the hall.

Approaching the bar, I can see that the bartenders are getting slammed already. The place is at near capacity and it’s not even ten o’clock yet. Jimmy’s talking to the wait staff, and begins rapidly nodding his head as he sees me approach. Over the noise of the crowd, he yells, “GO TO THE BAR. THEY NEED YOU. FUMBLING FRANK DIDN’T SHOW AGAIN.”

I nod, turn towards the bar, and see the look of relief on Tina’s face when she sees me. “WE NEED ICE…AND A CASE OF HEINEKEN…CORPORATE ASSHOLE NIGHT!” Tina yells, and I nod again. I rush to the kitchen, filling two large buckets with ice. I haul them through the crowd to the bar, dumping them in the ice bins. Taking the steep stairs leading to the basement behind the bar, I run down to the refrigerators. Locating a case of Heineken, I take off my coat and backpack, stowing them. I climb the stairs to the bar and begin stocking the small refrigerators. The night progresses quickly and I’m sweating from running up and down the stairs, keeping the bar stocked. I watch Tina and Sean work, making sure that whatever they need is available to them and refilled before they have to ask for it to be done.