The Answers Are In The Forest

  The Answers

  are in the Forest

  By Katie Kaleski

  The Answers are in the Forest

  Copyright © 2019 by Katie Kaleski.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: March 2019

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-567-6

  ISBN-10: 1-64034-567-1

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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

  Dedication

  This one’s for you, Heather.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter One

  Fresh starts are all about new beginnings. Mine looked like a dead end.

  “I still can’t believe you’re making me live here,” I said over the cardboard box I held.

  “You can always go live on the street if you don’t like it,” my mom yelled back.

  “I just might.”

  A two-bedroom brick ranch was in front of me. The roof sagged, and a portion of its shingles was missing. It sat on a large lot surrounded by a rusting chain-link fence. A burnt-out forest stood behind the house. Supposedly, years ago, there was a forest fire, and nothing ever grew back—only the skeletons of trees remained. Besides the song of one lone bird, no other sounds rang out. No cars, no rustling leaves from a breeze. It seemed almost too quiet. Well, until my mom opened her mouth.

  “Gabby, move your ass,” my mom said as she shoved past me on the narrow walkway that led up to the house. She stopped once she was a few feet past me and put her hands on her hips. “Staring at it will not change it. That is your new home.” Black circles hung under her eyes and had increased in intensity since she told me we had to move a few weeks back, and her hair, its usual tangle of un-brushed madness, threatened to eat her face. We moved to the town she grew up in. From the looks of my surroundings, I could see why she initially left.

  “Whatever,” I said, carrying my box away. I walked up the couple of cement steps and pushed the front door open with the tip of my shoe, stepping into a small linoleum entryway right off the living room. The hair on my arms stood up, and a cold shiver ran down my spine, almost making me drop my box. All I saw when I looked around was a rectangular room with a large picture window that faced the front lawn. Placing my box on the matted carpet, I rubbed my arms. A chilly breeze brushed against my back, making me spin around. My mom came back up the walkway.

  “What is wrong with you?” she asked. “Besides the usual.”

  “Is the air conditioning on?”

  “As far as I know, this house doesn’t have air conditioning.” My mom looked me up and down. “Take this,” she said, shoving a box at me. “And put that other box where it belongs.” She kicked the box I put on the floor. I huffed, and she went to get more boxes.

  I took in a lungful of stale air, of our new beginning, and found the room that was to be my mother’s and threw the box on the floor in there. Walking back out down the skinny hallway with peeling floral wallpaper, I scooped up the box I threw down in the living room, bringing it back to the small nook that was to serve as my room.

  In my room, there was only enough space for my twin bed and a set of plastic drawers next to it, and to make it worse, it was painted this sick shade of pink and had worn green carpet, but I did have a closet, at least. I opened the closet door and tossed my box inside, and something caught my eye. Stepping into the closet and pushing the box out of my way, I squatted, studying the back wall. Childlike drawings covered all of it. They were done in dark red paint. Well, that was what I genuinely hoped it to be. It looked like they were supposed to be drawings or paintings of people, maybe kids. Lopsided circles served as the heads with scribbles for hair, and large, empty circles for eyes stared back at me with a line for a mouth. They had long, stick arms with crooked fingers. The hands and the space below them were all colored in red. It almost looked as if blood dripped from the fingers. Goosebumps popped up on my arms, and I quickly stood. As I stepped back, I could see the drawings covered not just the back wall but also the ones to the right and left of me. Taking a couple more steps back, I ran to get some more boxes.

  Crisp autumn air received me as I stepped outside, helping to calm my heart that beat fast in my chest. The tall, skinny trees in the front yard had already lost most of their leaves, the yellowing lawns around the neighborhood covered in a crunchy gold. I glanced around the neighborhood. Almost every house was the same—small brick ranch with a large yard, some had sheds, some had fake wooden wells on the lawns, one even had a fall wreath on the door, but all pretty much identical. Our street dead-ended into the forest.

  ***

  My mom and I sat in plastic lawn chairs in front of our TV that was about twenty years too old, trying to decipher what we watched through the snowy static.

  “Seriously, Mom, we’re going to need cable or at least some streaming service.”

  “I’ll get around to it. Want any more?” She held out a carton of chicken fried rice.

  “Nah, I’m good,” I said, climbing on the floor and squinting at the screen. It might’ve been some eighties sitcom we tried to watch.

  “You sure? You haven’t eaten much. All that running you’re always doing makes you lose your appetite.”

  “I’m just full. It’s not from the running.” It was quite the opposite. I ate like a horse half the time.

  “Are you going to run at this new school?” my mom asked, scratching between her boobs with the handle of her fork.

  “I don’t know if they’ll let me.”

  “That’s what you get for testing positive for drugs.” She pointed the fork at me and drew down her eyebrows, looking straight into my eyes.

  I glanced down at the floor. “It was just pot, Mom.”

  “Pot or not, you knew the athletic department periodically tested for drugs, and yet you chose to get stoned with your brother. You’ll end up in prison just like him one of these days, and you almost did.”

  “But not for smoking pot,” I pointed out.

  “No, for stealing a car with him like a dumbass. You’re lucky that judge took sympathy on you and gave you probation.”

  “Only because Gerald took all the blame.” He told me what he planned to do before we went into the courtroom. I tried to talk him out it, but he just smiled and pinched my chin. During the trial, he kept staring over at me and shaking his head. I knew I had to let him do what h
e wanted to do.

  “Which was the right thing.” My mom and Gerald, for once in their lives, agreed about something, but I still carried it around with me, that guilt.

  “I chose to get in that car with him. I picked out which car to steal. I made my own choice.”

  “But he’s the older brother who should’ve been setting an example.”

  “Mom, enough. I don’t want to rehash everything again.” Every time I mentioned Gerald, my mom gave me the same lecture. It got old after about the fiftieth time.

  I stared down at my empty paper plate.

  “You’ll be hungry again in twenty minutes,” my mom said.

  “I’ll eat then,” I said, shrugging. “Hey, who are we renting this house from again?”

  “Some fat middle-aged man. Said it used to be his dad’s.”

  “There are these weird drawings in my closet.” I replicated the drawings in the carpet with my finger.

  “And?”

  “Well, they’re kinda creepy, like this whole house.”

  “This house isn’t creepy. It’s just a dump.”

  “It is a dump, but I don’t know, there’s just something about it.”

  “Get over it or—”

  “I know, I know,” I said, interrupting her. “Or go live on the street.” I stood and stretched my arms above my head.

  “Going to bed?”

  “Soon. I’m gonna go sit outside for a while.”

  “Oh, geez, none of this woe-is-me crap. What I say is the truth.”

  “That you think I’ll end up in prison too?”

  “Just don’t get in trouble.” My mother, always thinking so highly of me.

  I left my mom sitting in the living room and took a seat on the front step. The cement was cold under my buns, but at least the goosebumps I got while outside were from the cold and not from whatever weird vibes the house gave me. To my surprise, across the yard and on the other side of the street, a kid sat on his ten-speed bike staring at me. He wore a gray hoodie under what looked like a blazer, and part of his face was hidden under a bunch of black hair. He caught me staring back and rode off. Creepy house, creepy neighborhood teenager…not quite the new start I hoped for.

  Chapter Two

  I woke up shivering, despite having my blanket pulled up to my chin, and unfortunately, it was time to get up even though it felt like I had fallen asleep just minutes ago. Throwing back my covers, I got out of bed with my teeth close to chattering. It must’ve been one of those cold fall mornings, and my best guess was the heat in our house wasn’t turned on yet. Digging around in some garbage bags full of my clothes, I found a sweatshirt and slipped it on then climbed up to stand on my bed. I waved my hand under the heating vent in the ceiling. Warm air blew out on me. Well, it was just me, then.

  After I got dressed for school, I rummaged through the boxes in the kitchen, hoping for a bowl and spoon, a sea of newspapers discarded at my feet. My mom used an old collection of newspaper to wrap all our dishes. She also didn’t mark any of the boxes, so I had to do some serious digging. The third box was lucky for me. After I pulled out a bowl and spoon, I waded through the papers and stuck my breakfast supplies on the cracked linoleum counter.

  I considered sniffing the milk as I pulled it out of the fridge because my mom and I bought it the day before at a gas station, and the expiration date had already passed, but I tended to be pretty daring, so I poured it into my cereal without a whiff. My mom had already left for work, but I was all right with that because besides waking up freezing, nothing had given me goosebumps yet. Maybe the creeps I felt the day before were from the exhaustion of moving.

  When I finished my breakfast, I slipped on my jacket and grabbed my backpack, locking the front door behind me. I went around the house to the back where the garage sat. It was a partially charred structure that leaned precariously to the right. Luckily, my bike wasn’t inside it, because if it was, I would’ve feared for my immediate death. When I unloaded stuff the night before, I just ran in the back yard and tossed my bike. Besides my mom and me, I hadn’t seen anybody else outside the day before, so I didn’t think I’d have to worry about it getting stolen.

  The back of the house pretty much matched the front. A large square of yellowing grass spread behind it, a silver screen door hung on for dear life by a hinge from the doorframe, and a pile of rotten firewood sat next to crumbling cement stairs. The chain-link fence from the front carried over to the back, enclosing the whole yard. And in the middle, in front of the trees, a gate opened right into the skeleton forest.

  Hopping on my bike, I pedaled off, heading down my block and turning right on the next side street. My earbuds hung around my neck. A nasally voice and four chords screamed out at me. I rode past all the dingy houses like mine, past broken-down garages and lopsided fences and a mystery or two under some blue tarps. After a couple of blocks, the houses gained an extra floor and proper fences. Neatly trimmed shrubbery started lining the yards with perfectly placed fall gardens.

  The sun seemed to shine a bit brighter as I got closer to school. I was never one to be enthused about going to school, but the sun helped. My mom was so set on our so-called fresh start, I had to at least try. The factory where she worked got shut down, thus the move. My brother was in prison. As good a time as any to start anew. And even if she never said it aloud, I thought she had hope for me. Supposedly, I was fraught with potential, or so I was told. My high standardized test scores often came up. Essentially, the adults most recently involved with my life were politely saying, “Right now, you suck, but perhaps you won’t as much in the future.”

  I rode up to a bright and welcoming blond brick, two-story building. School buses pulled into a side parking lot. Students walked and milled around the grass that surrounded the school. Somehow, the grass there was green, but yellow near my house. Cars drove up to a front drive and dropped students off. The flag blew proudly around on top of the tall flagpole in the middle of the lawn, making a clinking sound. I walked my bike up to a front entrance where there was a rack sprinkled with a variety of bikes, ten-speeds, mountains, a couple of BMXs. I chained my bike, a hot pink ten-speed with the handlebars wrapped in a royal blue tape, to the rack. I was pretty sure my bike was from 1988.

  Walking into school, a welcoming circular corridor with a desk and security guard in the middle greeted me, a flourish of teenage bodies all around. Hallways led off the corridor in every direction. I approached the guy behind the desk, whose nametag said Hal, and asked him where the main office was. He pointed in the appropriate direction, and I was off to get my schedule of classes.

  My day was pretty much like any other typical school day. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to me until I got to my fifth-period history class. My teacher, Mrs. Hardwick, a behemoth of a woman clad in a denim dress, made me introduce myself. I was seated in the back, ready to blend, but after she took attendance, she said, “Now, class, we have a new student.” She actually said that, as if we were in first grade or something. “Everybody, this is Gabrielle Mills.” Ahhh, she said my first name. Not a fan of it. “Please, Gabrielle, tell us a little about yourself.”

  A collective whompf flew in my direction as the whole class turned in their seats to look at me.

  “Uh, can you call me Gabby?” I asked, scratching my nose, a habit I had. My brother used to tease me and say I was trying to scrape off my freckles. They covered the bridge of my nose and cheekbones.

  “I will note that,” Mrs. Hardwick said. “Go on.” She smiled and patiently waited for me.

  “Well, just moved here,” I said, shrugging. I wasn’t a shy person and didn’t really care if people stared, but when I was put on the spot, it was like my brain went blank.

  “From where?” Mrs. Hardwick asked, sitting on the edge of the desk, crossing her pantyhose-clad legs at the ankles.

  “Chicago.”

  “And you moved here?” said some guy in the back corner.

  “Lucky me,” I said, making a litt
le cheer motion with my hands.

  “Why did you move here?” Mrs. Hardwick asked, her tone light and happy like she was actually interested.

  “My mom found a job here, and it’s not that far, so I can still visit my brother.” I bit my lip, but I was too late. The words already came out. Having my brother in jail didn’t embarrass me, but some people were quick to judge.

  “Away at college?” Mrs. Hardwick suggested with a tip of the head.

  “No.”

  “Well?”

  I puffed my cheeks and did not respond.

  “Gabby?”

  I huffed. “Prison, okay? He’s in prison.” A couple of kids in the class perked up when I said that.

  “Oh, that’s interesting,” she said, pressing the tips of her fingers together like she was making a chapel with her hands. I guessed that was one way to put it.

  “Yeah,” I answered, smiling, and then my mouth went on. “And he knows people on the inside, so nobody better mess with me.” Sometimes my mouth had a mind of its own.

  “Okay,” Mrs. Hardwick sputtered, standing up, “let’s get out our books.”

  I sat back down and crossed my arms over my chest.

  A girl sitting next to me leaned over her seat. “Hey, can he take care of a couple of guys for me?”

  “Nah, probably not.”

  “Too bad.”

  I drowned out the rest of the class period by staring at a water stain on the ceiling.

  ***

  I was walking down the hall after class when the girl who sat next to me caught up and fell in step at my side. She had pinkish-white skin, really short, bleached hair, and a cute little button nose.

  “Uh, hey,” I mumbled.

  “Gabby, I’m Olive. Whatcha doing tonight?”

  We shoved through a circle of students that meandered in the middle of the hall.