Leaving Fishers Read Free Page A

slept through the night her first week home from the hospital. She didn’t throw a single tantrum as a two-year-old. She’s quiet, she cleans up her messes—I don’t think there could be an easier child on the face of the earth.” From that moment, Dorry had known what her parents expected of her: don’t make trouble. Don’t bother us with your problems. And, mostly, she hadn’t. But they’d always been there when she needed them. What would it be like if they were both working evening shifts?
    “Got a lot of homework?” Mom asked.
    “Uh-huh,” Dorry said. “I’ll start on it now.”
    “Come watch Oprah with me when you need a break,” Mom said, reaching for the TV.
    Dorry stepped into the kitchen and took the last piece of chocolate cake off the cake plate. It really would have been big enough for two people. She poured a glass of milk and took the food and her books back to her room. It was even more cramped than the living room because she’d refused to leave behind anything from her room back home. Every inch of the walls, ceiling to floor, was covered with posters and pictures. Dorry’s eighth-grade graduation photo, with her and Marissa grinning together in matching white gowns, covered the words on the poster of a kitten hanging from a branch by one claw. Theballerina poster she’d gotten in fifth grade leaned into her tacked-up collection of postcards from Florida, Texas, Hawaii, and, now, Bryden, Ohio.
    Dorry maneuvered around several teddy bears and flopped across the bed. She took a bite of cake and opened her Algebra II book. From the living room, she could hear the crowd applauding Oprah. She opened her notebook to a fresh sheet of paper, but couldn’t concentrate long enough to write the number of the first problem.
    She began doodling. The pencil spun out circles, and, on top of the circles, the outline of a car. A sports car. What if it had been Angela in the blue car? What if she’d ducked because she didn’t want Dorry to see her?

Chapter
    Three
    DORRY WAS STILL TRYING TO FORGET the blue car when Brad waved her over to a table near the wall at lunch the next day. “We saved you a seat,” he told her. “It’s just like heaven—your place is reserved if you but ask for it.”
    Dorry felt a thrill of relief that they’d remembered her. But what did heaven have to do with anything? Angela was frowning at Brad again. Did he just like to joke about religion? Dorry told herself it didn’t matter, either way. Back in Bryden, her family had gone to the Bryden Methodist Church sometimes—Christmas and Easter, mainly. As soon as they got in the car afterward, Dorry’s mom always pulled her feet out of her tight heels and rubbed her bunions, while Dorry’s dad shucked off his tie and said, “That’s enough religion for me for a while. They pay that guy just to talk one hour a week—wouldn’t you think he’d have something more interesting to say?”
    Now Angela smiled at Dorry and asked, “Are you having a good day?”
    “Not too bad,” Dorry said, even though ithad been. “I had a really hard pop quiz in American Lit.”
    “Let me guess—Mrs. Crenshaw and The Scarlet Letter?” Brad said.
    “Yeah.” Dorry hesitated, too ashamed to say she thought she might have flunked the quiz. Back in Bryden, she’d never gotten anything but A’s and B’s, and her counselor had called her “definite college material.” No one here seemed to think that.
    “I could help you if you’re having trouble,” Lara said.
    Dorry turned eagerly to Lara. “Really?”
    “Lara did really well in that class,” Angela said. “You should let her help. She likes explaining things.”
    “Is after school Friday soon enough?” Lara asked. “Mrs. Crenshaw usually only gives quizzes once a week.”
    “That’s great,” Dorry said. “Except—I can’t miss my bus.”
    “I can drive you home,” Lara said.
    Dorry saw her opportunity. “I live at Northview Apartments,” she said almost