The Boy and His Ribbon (Ribbon Duet Book 1) Page 12

  And there I’d sat in my tree until three, glowering at every vehicle that entered and every person who exited, making sure no one ran away with my tiny responsibility.

  When Della sprinted from the school as the bell rang, I was there to scoop her up and listen to her torrent of adventures from finger painting to a boy who said he had a dinosaur jumper like hers but it had mysteriously disappeared. He reckoned it was gremlins. Not that I had a clue what gremlins were.

  I’d winced as she pitied him, all while hoping the kid wouldn’t miss his jumper too much, and it was shop bought and common rather than grandma knitted and unique. What if I’d painted Della as a thief on her first day?

  I made a mental note to destroy it and steal her something plain.

  At home, she’d shown me everything she’d been given and true to her word, the waitress/deputy principal, had provided her with a red backpack full of crayons, exercise books, a drink bottle, lunch box, and a uniform that Della showcased for me with such joy, I’d struggled to remember why going to school was the most dangerous thing she could do.

  Dangerous because as much as I lied to myself that we could run fast enough if we ever got caught, I knew the reality of that happening was slim.

  When she was away from me, anything could happen, and I wouldn’t be there to stop it.

  I wanted to hate that cute red and white uniform with its dark grey pinafore, frilly socks, and black shiny buckle up shoes, but I couldn’t.

  I could only love it because it gave her access to a piece of life I’d been denied, and I wanted her to have it all.

  From that day on, red was her favourite colour with only one exception.

  Her ribbon.

  Every morning, without fail, she’d have me plait or ponytail her hair and thread or bow her favourite blue ribbon. And every evening before bed, she’d have me free it and fall asleep with it wrapped around her fist.

  I’d given her stolen teddy bears before. A stuffed unicorn. A talking hamster. But she wasn’t interested in any of them—stuffed or plastic. Nothing, apart from that damn ribbon.

  That first week, as we repeated the routine of the day before and I dropped her off to strangers while forcing myself not to threaten them not to touch her, was the hardest week of my life.

  I lost weight because I stopped eating while wedged in my tree.

  I grew cranky because I didn’t sleep at night listening for noises of people sniffing around our house.

  But as the days turned to weeks and Della returned time after time in her red and white uniform with pictures of smiling sunshines and squiggly writing as she learned more than I could teach her, I was forced to learn something, too.

  I had to let go.

  I had to allow life to take her the way she was meant to be taken and stop fighting the inevitable.

  That was until everything changed.

  Until the ninth week of school, when autumn arrived with bronze leaves and blustery chill and our time at Polcart Farm came to a sudden end.

  Just like I knew it would.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  DELLA

  * * * * * *

  Present Day

  THIS IS WHERE the assignment gets hard, Professor Baxter.

  I can tell you right now that there are things in my life—sorry, my story—that won’t be approved by some, won’t be believed by others, and will be judged as downright idiotic by most.

  You see, if you ask someone how many birthday parties they’ve had, they’d most likely list the number of years they’ve been alive. If you inquired how many pets they had, they could probably give you a definite answer.

  I have definite answers, just not on those subjects.

  My subjects are strange.

  Such as I hear you asking…

  Well, I can tell you that there were four times that Ren and I separated. Only four, but they were the worst times of my life.

  The first was his fault.

  The second was mine.

  The third and fourth…well, I’ll save those for another chapter.

  Other topics that I have definite answers for are on trickier subjects than birthdays and pets. They are what you’d call confessions, I suppose.

  Confessions of things I did because of hurt feelings and broken promises. Things he did because of loyalty and propriety and his unbreakable sense of honour. But again, I’m getting ahead of myself.

  What I wanted to write today was the second time we separated, and how it was entirely my fault. He’d warned me what would happen if I went to school, but as a bold, invincible five-year-old, I didn’t believe him.

  I teased him for being such a worrier. I made jokes at his ever vigilante watching, and even went so far as to yell at him for never relaxing and trusting other people.

  He was right.

  I was wrong.

  It all started on a Wednesday morning I believe.

  Ren dropped me off and I went to class, I smiled at Jimmy who loved dinosaurs, I drank my carton of milk even though it tasted like paper and glue compared to the freshly milked stuff from Snowflake, and I enjoyed yet another day of education.

  My teacher—I can’t remember her name—made us copy a few math equations, and I think we did a science experiment…again, I can’t remember, but what I do remember—and this isn’t because Ren told me this story because he wasn’t there—but after lunch we had Show and Tell.

  I didn’t know what that was to start with until other kids stood, talked about a toy or special possession, then sat down with praise from the teacher.

  Sounds easy, right?

  Yeah, I thought so too.

  Seeing as I hadn’t brought anything to school with me, I asked if I could borrow Frosty the rabbit, and beamed as the teacher carried the white rabbit’s cage to the front of the class and smiled at me encouragingly.

  I pulled Frosty from her hutch and held her tight just the way Ren taught me.

  And then I told them what he’d told me.

  I explained as detailed as I could how to kill a rabbit quickly and painlessly. How to nick its fur around its neck and then rip off its jacket in one move. How to gut it fast so bodily fluids didn’t contaminate the meat, and how to cook it properly so we didn’t die of rabbit fever.

  I was so proud.

  So self-satisfied as I stood before my class of students and nodded matter-of-factly; so happy that they could now fend for themselves—just like I could. I fully believed in my naïve little heart that I’d just delivered a perfect lesson on things everyone should know.

  I didn’t see the horrified glances until it was too late.

  I didn’t hear the sniffles and crying as children squirmed in their seats.

  I didn’t understand the jerky movements of the teacher as she snatched Frosty from my arms and stuffed her back into her cage.

  And I didn’t know why I was grabbed by the arm and escorted to a room with a stern-faced man and the nice lady from the diner who gave me cupcakes.

  I didn’t know any of that until Ren arrived.

  And then…it was too late.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2005

  SHE NEVER APPEARED at three p.m.

  By 3:01, I was hammering on the receptionist’s desk demanding to know where she was.

  Instead of a worried woman bending over backward to produce my tardy Della, she gave me a grave look and quick shake of her head, ordering me to follow her. She said in an appalled, judgy tone that there’d been an incident. That the principal wanted to talk to Della’s parents.

  Alarm bells clanged in my head, drowning out the squeals and giggles of kids as they spilled from classrooms and into caregiver’s arms. My legs were stiff wooden posts as I trailed after the woman, fighting every urge to kick her to the floor and run down the halls screaming Della’s name.

  She couldn’t be here anymore.

  I couldn’t be here.

  And there was no way to fix it
because we had no parents to call.

  My fists curled hard as rocks as the woman opened a door and said, “Go in. They’re expecting you.”

  This was what I’d been afraid of.

  This was why I hated walls and doors and locks.

  Because once I stepped inside, there was nowhere to run. No way to get free. No gullies to disappear into or bushes to hide beneath. I would be seen.

  I stepped back from the threshold as images of rain droplets on trees and sun dappling bracken filled my mind. If I left now, I could have those things. I’d never have to be trapped in a house with people again.

  My heart galloped as I fought the overwhelming urge to flee, but then my gaze met Della’s terrified one where she sat on a chair too big for her with her little legs dangling and hair tangled around her face where she’d yanked her ribbon from her plait.

  She clutched it tight—tighter than I’d ever seen with a plea in her eyes to fix this.

  Swallowing my matching terror, I squared my shoulders and strode into the room with every shred of rage and anger I could materialize. “What the hell is going on?” I went straight to Della and planted my hand on her small shoulder.

  Her body quaked beneath my touch, and I squeezed her gently, wordlessly telling her to trust me. That we’d get out of here together.

  A self-important man behind a self-important desk with degrees and accolades plastered to his walls ignored me, scowling at his laptop as he spoke into the phone held to his ear. “Yes, okay. Will do. We’ll keep them here until you arrive. Thanks so much.”

  I pinned my glare on him as he hung up. “Who was that?”

  The man smoothed his plaid suit with a quick glance at the waitress from the diner who looked distraught over whatever was happening. “That was Social Services. Our school has a policy to reach out if anything disturbing occurs.” He cleared his throat. “Where are your parents? Before we release Miss Wild here, we really need to speak to an adult in charge.”

  I prayed my tongue wouldn’t fail me as I prepared to tell convincing enough lies to get us free. “They’re out of town.”

  “Oh?” The man raised his eyebrow. “How long have they been out of town?”

  “Does it matter? I’m old enough to take care of her without their supervision.”

  “That’s true.” The man nodded. “But Miss Lawson here tells me that she’s never met your parents. That Della’s been coming to our school for over two months and no forms have been filled in or emergency contacts given.” He gave the waitress/deputy principal a heavy scowl. “As she’s new to the position and excited about educating young minds to the detriment of following protocol, I will overlook the lack of information we have on you and your sister and permit her to stay if we meet your parents, and if we have a strict conversation on subjects that are suitable in a classroom.”

  Della shrank into the wooden chair, her fingers twirling and twisting her ribbon.

  I squeezed her again as I growled at the principal. “If you tell me what happened, I can give you the answers you need. Our parents are busy. They’d prefer not to be dealing with nonsense.”

  The principal shifted behind his desk, his greying hair slicked with oil. “This is not nonsense, boy.”

  “Don’t call him boy,” Della piped up, her girlish voice cutting through the tension. She cowered as all eyes landed on her, mumbling, “It’s not Boy. It’s Ren.”

  I smiled softly, letting her know how much I appreciated her having my back. “It’s fine, Della.”

  She bit her lip, tears welling. “I’m sorry…”

  “Don’t apologise.”

  “But—”

  I shook my head sharply. “You did nothing wrong.”

  “I beg to differ,” the principal said. “She told her fellow students how to kill, skin, and cook a rabbit while holding the class pet. She’s traumatized most of them, and I already have parents demanding to know how this could’ve happened.” His brown, beady eyes narrowed at Della then slid to me. “Do you mind telling me why a girl of her age knows such things?”

  I gave him the same condensing look. “She knows because I told her.”

  “Why tell her such terrible—”

  “Because she needs to know the cost of life and death. She knows if she wants meat, she has to kill. She knows if she wants vegetables, she has to plant. She knows if she wants to survive, then things must die to achieve that.” I crossed my arms. “Isn’t that what education is about?”

  “That may be the case, Mr. Wild, but we still need to talk to your parents.” The waitress-deputy teacher smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, but we really must insist.”

  The atmosphere in the room changed from inquisition to punishment. My arms uncrossed, and I reached down for Della’s hand.

  She grabbed it instantly, wedging her ribbon between our palms.

  “When our parents are back in town, I’ll have them call you,” I said smooth as ice. “But now, I’m taking my sister and going home.”

  Della leapt from the chair as I tugged her toward the door.

  The closed door.

  “Let us out,” I snarled at the principal.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Not until Social Services have met Della, yourself, your parents, and investigated the type of home you are currently being raised in.” He steepled his fingers importantly. “This is for your own protection, you understand. We’re not here to be the bad guys; just making sure you and Della are in a healthy environment and are happy.”

  “We are happy,” I snapped. “Now open the door.”

  The waitress stood from her chair beside the principal’s desk. “You’re free to leave, Ren. Go and call your parents and let them know how urgently we need to see them. But Della needs to stay here. I’ll look after her. I promise.”

  Della blinked up at me, her eyes huge and hurting. “Ren…don’t leave me.”

  My ribcage squeezed, making it hard to breathe. “Never.”

  A ghost of a smile twitched her lips, trusting me even though I had no idea how I’d keep such a promise.

  My mind raced, charging ahead, doing its best with its limited knowledge and teenage capabilities to figure out a way to stop Della from being taken and to give us enough time to disappear.

  A thought popped into my head.

  A risky, terrible idea but literally the only one I had.

  I wished I could tell Della.

  I wished I could warn her.

  But there were too many eyes and ears in the room. I just had to hope she forgave me once it was all over.

  With gritted teeth and pounding heart, I pried her hand from mine and pushed her back toward the chair. “Sit down. Stay here. I have to go.”

  It took a moment for my voice to worm its way into her ears and drill a hole into her young understanding. “What?….No! No, you said you wouldn’t leave me. No!” She launched herself at me, sobbing wet and loud. “Ren! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry I told them about the rabbit. Please. I’m sorry! Ren, please!” She dissolved into tears, wrapping her shaking arms around the top of my thighs. “No. Please. Please don’t go. Please, please, don’t leave me.” She looked up with blotchy cheeks and gut-wrenching sadness, and my heart literally cracked in two.

  I bled a river inside, hot and red and painful.

  I swallowed back the guilt and the all-powerful desire to stop her tears, and forced myself forward with the plan.

  The only plan.

  “Our parents arrive back today, remember?” I cupped her chin, willing her to understand. “The Social people will bring you to the farm, and they’ll sit down with Mum and Dad, and this will all be fine, okay?”

  Normally, Della would read between the lines—her whip fast intelligence picking up on my lie and realising, if not completely understanding, that this was a lie and lies were our weapons.

  But today, her panic had overridden her ability to see, and she’d bear the brunt of believing I was about to abandon her for the s
econd time.

  Nothing could be further from the truth.

  I just needed time.

  Time to get things ready.

  And even though it butchered me to press a sobbing Della into a cold wooden chair and leave her with people who didn’t love her, I did.

  I glowered at the principal, gave him the location of our farm, and promised that my parents would be there to meet him when he dropped off Della with the government officials.

  He promised he’d be there at four p.m. sharp with my sister, and we’d get this nasty business sorted out.

  I had forty-five minutes to pack up our life.

  Forty-five minutes to figure out a way to steal Della, stop them, and vanish.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2005

  IT TOOK ME twenty minutes to sprint home.

  Ten minutes to zoom around the house, grabbing toothbrushes, clothes, towels, and food that would travel.

  Five minutes to stuff the sleeping bag, tent, and every other belonging I could fit into my khaki and navy backpack, and another two to curse the zipper as it kept getting stuck on a sock shoved down the side.

  My breathing was ragged and torn. My stomach knotted and coiled. My body covered in sweat from fear as well as exertion.

  In the remaining eight minutes I had, I holstered every knife I owned down my boots, jeans, and back pockets, then jogged to the barn and opened the gate for Snowflake to leave her stall. She normally grazed in the field during the day, but now, I unlocked every fence and removed every obstacle, hoping she’d wander to a new home just like she’d done when she’d wandered into ours.

  The chickens would survive without us. The house would still stand. The veggie patch would suffocate beneath weeds. And in a few short months, the farm would look just as abandoned as it had when we’d arrived.

  I wished I’d had more time to steal thicker trousers and better jackets for us. I wished I’d thought up better travel arrangements and double checked the waterproofness of the tent.