Want to Go Private?
WANT TO GO PRIVATE?
SARAH DARER LITTMAN
TO THE DEDICATED MEN AND
WOMEN OF THE LAW ENFORCEMENT
COMMUNITY WHO FACE UGLINESS
EVERYDAY IN THE EFFORT TO
KEEP OUR KIDS SAFE
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Part I
Chapter 1: August 31
Chapter 2: September 1
Chapter 3: October 3
Chapter 4: October 4, Evening
Chapter 5: October 6
Chapter 6: October 7
Chapter 7: October 8
Chapter 8: October 10
Chapter 9: October 13
Chapter 10: October 14
Chapter 11: November 19
Chapter 12: December 7
Part II
Chapter 13: Lily, December 7 10:00 P.M.
Chapter 14: Faith, December 7 11:30 P.M.
Chapter 15: Lily, December 8 12:30 A.M.
Chapter 16: Faith, December 8 5:45 A.M.
Chapter 17: Billy, December 8 6:30 A.M.
Chapter 18: Huntingville Police Department
Chapter 19: Lily, December 8 12:30 P.M.
Chapter 20: Town of Lenox Police Department
Chapter 21: Faith, December 8 1:00 P.M.
Chapter 22: Lily, December 8 1:30 P.M.
Chapter 23: Faith, December 8 3:45 P.M.
Chapter 24: Lily, December 9 9:30 A.M.
Chapter 25: Billy, December 9 1:30 P.M.
Chapter 26: Faith, December 9 3:45 P.M.
Chapter 27: Lily, December 10 8:30 A.M.
Part III
Chapter 28: Abby, December 10
Chapter 29: Abby, December 11 10:30 A.M.
Chapter 30: Faith, December 12
Chapter 31: Abby, December 13
Chapter 32: Abby, December 15
Chapter 33: Lily, December 15, Evening
Chapter 34: Abby, December 17
Chapter 35: Faith, December I8
Chapter 36: Lily, January 3
Chapter 37: Abby, February
Chapter 38: Faith, April
Chapter 39: Lily, May
Chapter 40: Billy, May
Chapter 41: Abby, June
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also Available
Praise for Life, After
Praise for Purge
Copyright
PART I
CHAPTER 1
AUGUST 31
“How can you not be excited?”
Faith, my best friend since second grade, is lying on the edge of the swimming pool watching the ripples as she trails her slim fingers through the water. “I mean, come on, Abby. We’re starting high school tomorrow. It’ll be so much better than middle school.”
“And you know this how?” I wonder aloud.
Faith rolls her eyes.
“Well, for one thing, there are all the new kids from Eastern coming in. It won’t just be the same people we’ve been going to school with, like, forever.”
“Great. So there will be even more Clique Queens to make our lives miserable.”
Faith draws her palm through the water, fast, sending a shower of cold droplets over my head. She doesn’t get the satisfaction of hearing me shriek, because it actually feels pretty good after an afternoon of baking in the last day of summer sun.
“Why do you have to be so negative?”
“I’m not being negative,” I protest, wiping the water from my face. “I’m just … ambivalent.”
Liar, I think to myself. What you really are is scared.
“Ooh, ambivalent! You practicing PSAT words already?”
“No. It’s just that … I guess part of me is looking forward to it. But a bigger part of me is just … well, scared. About how big Roosevelt is. About getting lost. About how everything is going to be different.”
“Different doesn’t always mean bad, Abs. Different could also be new and exciting, right?”
That’s Faith for you. Miss Always Looking on the Bright Side of Life.
“I guess.”
“Well, I’m excited. I can’t wait. I’ve already picked out my outfit — I’m going to wear my new denim skirt with that cute Green Girl T-shirt. How do you think I should wear my hair? Up or down?”
“Um … I don’t know. Down, I guess.”
“You could at least act as if you cared.”
“I do care — it’s just I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to wear tomorrow.”
“Why not? You’re so much prettier than me and you don’t do anything about it. Watch, you’ll show up to school tomorrow in jeans and some random T-shirt that’s too big for you, instead of a cute outfit that shows off your curves.” Faith sighs, looking down at her chest, which is on the small side. “At least you have curves to show off.”
“Oh, stop,” I tell her, feeling myself blush. I’ve always considered my boobs more of a curse than a blessing. “You’re starting to sound like Mom and Lily. If I have to listen to one more tag-team lecture from them about how all I need is a fricking makeover, I might just end up murdering someone.”
“Well, you can’t murder me because I’m your best friend and without me, who would you sit with at lunch?” Faith jokes, wiping her face with her wet hand to cool off. “But seriously, Abby, for once, your mom and Lily are right. You could do with a pre-high school makeover. How about we go upstairs and I try some stuff with your hair?”
“How about we just chill in the basement and watch The Lord of the Rings again instead? I need an Aragorn fix.”
Faith sighs.
“C’mon, Abby, please! This is the first day of high school we’re talking about. We can watch Lord of the Rings anytime. Besides, Legolas is way cuter than Aragorn, and you know it.”
I don’t see the point, but Faith is giving me a pleading puppy dog look with her big, brown eyes and I always have a hard time saying no when she does that.
“Okay. You win. But no putting tons of crap on my face. And afterward I get to see Viggo Mortensen.”
Faith smiles, magnanimous in victory. “Only a little crap. Just enough crap to highlight your best features. And afterward I’ll definitely watch Orlando Bloom.”
After what feels like hours but I think is only forty-five minutes, Faith is working what must be the umpteenth hairstyle.
“Come on, Faith. I’m starting to get a headache from all the hair pulling. It’s one that only your mom’s homemade oatmeal raisin cookies will cure.”
“Just a few more minutes,” Faith says, twisting two pieces of hair on either side of my head and then pinning them at the back with a large wooden clip. “This one’s good. It gets the hair off your face so people can actually see your eyes.”
“And that’s a good thing? I like it when teachers can’t tell if I’m awake or asleep in the morning.”
“You’re determined to be a pain about this, aren’t you?” Faith says. Her narrowed eyes glare at my reflection in the mirror.
“No. I just … don’t see the point. It’s not like it’s going to make a difference.”
“Just wait till I’m finished,” Faith argues. “Now look up while I put on this eyeliner.”
I tilt my head back slightly and look up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling of Faith’s room. They barely look like anything in the daylight, but I still remember the first time I had a sleepover with Faith in second grade. Mrs. Wilson turned off the lights and closed the bedroom door and it was like this magical constellation appeared overhead.
Faith’s mom is so cool and artsy; she’s like the anti-Mom. She writes articles for craft magazines and is always tryi
ng to get us to help her try out new projects, and she never seems to mind the mess we make while we’re doing them. I love the random way she dresses, like she doesn’t care what people think, and how she just twists her long, dark hair in a bun and sticks a pencil through it. I think I can count on my fingers and toes the number of times I’ve seen her wearing makeup. She’s kind of bemused by Faith’s interest in all the girly stuff. My mom is religious about getting her “Mom do” trimmed every six weeks and wouldn’t be caught dead even coming down for breakfast on weekends without a little mascara and blush. When I came home from that sleepover in second grade and asked if I could put stars on my bedroom ceiling, she told me they would ruin the paint.
I feel Faith’s breath on my face as she carefully draws the eye pencil across my eyelid. I look down from the ceiling and Faith’s tongue is poking out of the corner of her mouth, like it always does when she’s concentrating hard. I feel this warm glow in my heart — some things never change. Or do they? a nagging voice in my head warns. I wish that voice would shut up. I’m nervous enough already.
“Ta da! Look,” Faith says. “And I dare you to tell me you don’t like what you see.”
I stare at my reflection in Faith’s mirror, which has pictures of the two of us stuck around the sides at haphazard angles along with ticket stubs from all the movies and concerts we’ve been to together. I look different. The eyeliner makes my hazel eyes appear bigger and more dramatic, and Faith’s put on a pale, almost colorless gloss to make my lips shine. I look older, more like someone who belongs in high school. With my hair up like this, there’s nowhere to hide. I feel exposed and, I don’t know, vulnerable.
“What’s the verdict?” Faith asks. “I think you look really pretty.”
“I … I just don’t know if it’s me.”
“Of course it’s you, silly!” Faith teases, smiling. “It’s just called ‘you making an effort for a change.’”
I turn to face Faith. “Making an Effort Abby” is giving me the creeps.
“Why is everyone so concerned about making me into something else? Why can’t you all just like me the way I am?”
Faith’s smile fades into a look of hurt confusion.
“I do like you the way you are, Abs. I’m just doing this because … you know, ’cause I care about you and I thought, well, you’d want to put your best face forward on our first day of high school. You know, the whole first-impressions-count thing and all that. I’m sorry if you feel like I’m trying to make you into someone you’re not.”
I feel a wave of guilt for making her feel bad. Faith’s the best of best friends, the kind you can count on no matter what. No one understands me like Faith, none of my other friends, my parents, and definitely not my brat of a sister, Lily, who I can’t even believe shares the same DNA.
“I’m sorry, Faith. I guess I’m just … you know …”
“No, Abs, I don’t know. Tell me.”
I take a deep breath and face “Making an Effort Abby” in the mirror as I make my confession.
“I’m scared.”
I turn to look at Faith. “I’m scared about starting high school. I’m scared that things are going to change but I’m just as scared that they’re going to be the same. I’m just one big lump of not being able to sleep at night, sick to my stomach, wish the summer would last forever, scared.”
Faith’s brown eyes glisten, and she envelops me in a hug.
“Everyone’s scared of starting high school. If they tell you they’re not, they’re just full of it. But we were scared of starting middle school and we survived that, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, barely. If you call being ragged on by the Clique Queens every day surviving.”
Faith frowns.
“Okay, I’ll admit, Amanda Armitage and the other Witches of Western did put a kind of a damper on our middle school experience. But it wasn’t a complete suckfest — we still managed to have some fun.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Trust me, Abby. High school will be better. Just wear something nice tomorrow, and do your hair and your eyes like this. Start with a good first impression. Promise?”
Faith holds up her pinkie like she has ever since we met in second grade. I curl mine around hers and mutter, “Pinkie promise,” even though I’m pretty sure that it won’t make any difference, and I have no confidence that high school will be better.
“What happened to you?” Lily says when I get in the car.
“What do you mean?” I ask, reaching to undo Faith’s hair clip, so my hair will fall back into its customary place shielding my face.
“Don’t, darling, your hair looks very pretty up that way,” Mom says, appraising me critically. “Something else is different, too…. Wait, it’s eyeliner — finally, you did something to emphasize your eyes like I’ve been telling you. Will wonders never cease?”
I feel like an insect under a microscope. I want to wipe off the makeup, mess up my hair, and go back to being my normal self.
“It’s the wrong color,” Lily says. “Abby should have used gold or brown eyeliner with her eyes, not black. Black makes her look too emo.”
“Well, you can always lend her some, Lily.”
“No way! I’m not lending her my makeup. She doesn’t know how to put it on right. She’ll ruin it.”
“I don’t even want to borrow your stupid makeup, okay? Faith was just trying to get me to dress up for the first day of high school.”
“Faith’s right, Abby,” Mom says. “You only get one opportunity to make a first impression.”
I’m going to punch the next person who says that to me.
“I’ve already made an impression on most of the people there. It’s only the new kids from Eastern. And I’ve met some of them before at church.”
“Well, I’m going to lend you my makeup,” Mom says in her and that’s final voice. “Because you look very nice, and it’s important to put your best foot forward on your first day of high school.”
“What!” Lily exclaims. “You never let me touch your makeup! And you have all the expensive stuff.”
“That, young lady, is because you somehow finagle me into buying you plenty of makeup of your own, which you just refused to share with your sister.”
“It’s still not fair.”
Lily sulks in the backseat the entire way home, which normally I would have considered a blessing, except that it means I have to be the one to talk to Mom, and all she wants to do is discuss in detail what I plan to wear tomorrow, like I have the slightest idea or even care.
Mom and Lily decide to make dressing me a joint project, and they invade my room, rummaging through my closet and drawers to pick out potential outfits. I get the impression Lily’s purposely trying to make me look like a Seventeen magazine reject because she’s putting together the most putrid combinations of clothing I’ve ever seen. My mother finally gives her the “Lily Ann!” treatment, and orders her to leave the room.
Mom’s trying to convince me to wear this totally preppy outfit that I wouldn’t be seen dead in.
“You can’t be serious,” I tell her. “Face it, Mom, I’m not you.”
She’s starting to get pissed at me, I can tell. Lily would have caved by now. Scratch that. Lily would have come up with some cute little outfit before Mom even walked in the room, instead of being like some sad Bratz doll, who, even at age fourteen, still needs Mommy to dress her, like yours truly.
“Well, I don’t see you contributing much to this conversation, Abby, other than saying no to everything. Why don’t you pick something out and let me say no for a change?”
Great. Way to put myself on the spot. I stare at the clothes on the bed and the clothes in my closet, hoping for inspiration. All I want to do is grab a pair of cargo shorts and my Aragorn T-shirt, but I know that will send Mom into orbit. I will myself to be “Make an Effort Abby,” and take a denim skirt and a green spaghetti-strap tank with a white cotton shirt and lay them on the bed. Even though I don
’t really like wearing skirts that much, I figure it’ll get Mom off my case and maybe tomorrow I can switch it for cargo shorts.
Mom smiles approvingly.
“Good. I can see you’re starting to think about your appearance.”
She goes over to my dresser, where my earrings are mixed in a box with my string bracelets, bangles, and necklaces.
“Darling, I bought you this earring tree,” Mom says, starting to hang earrings on the Lucite stand with rows of empty holes. “Why don’t you use it? Then you can actually see what you’ve got so you can accessorize properly.”
What Mom fails to understand is that accessorizing properly is pretty low on my list of priorities.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll do that. You’ve helped me enough for one night.”
Mom picks up a pair of pearl earrings that my grandmother gave me as a confirmation present. They practically scream Goody Two-shoes.
“Why don’t you wear these tomorrow, honey?”
“Uh … maybe. Okay.”
At this point I’d agree to wear a freaking nun’s habit to get Mom out of my room.
“Well, I’ll go start dinner. Make sure you’ve got all your supplies packed.”
“Yeah. Will do.”
I’m barely listening to her because I’ve already opened my laptop and started logging on to ChezTeen.com. It’s this new site that’s kind of like Second Life but for teens. Faith and I have been on it for a few months now and I like it a lot better than Facebook because you get to design your own avatar and you can use a screen name instead of your real name. And it’s like your avatars are actually hanging out together in a real place instead of you just chatting. They even have real musicians give concerts in the Hippodrome. Last month Faith and I saw the American Idols tour — or at least our avatars did. Plus, like everyone and their grandmother is on Facebook now. My mom made me friend her as a condition of getting an account. At least on ChezTeen.com I have some space to breathe without parental supervision.
I log in and see that Faith’s already there. Her screen name is Faithfull205. I’m AbyAngel99.