Page 55 of Wicked Proposal
When I enter the gym, Ms. Keane’s face is white as a sheet. “Oh, Mia! It’s terrible.” She runs up to me, her thick glasses bouncing on her nose. “We can’t find Eli anywhere.”
I freeze. “What do you mean, you can’t findhim?”
“We’ve looked everywhere.” She looks close to tears. Behind her, children in tiny jerseys are already warming up on the court. “I was about to call you. I?—”
“It’s okay,” I lie, because yelling at Ms. Keane won’t make me feel any better. Because my son’s missing, and right now, that’s all that matters. “I’ll find him.”
I rush out of the gym and start searching.
I look in the classrooms, the bathrooms, the cafeteria. The school isn’t big, not by a long shot, but there’s no sign of him anywhere.
Soon, I move into the courtyard.
My heart is racing. My worst fears are crowding my head.
What if Brad found out? What if he came here for him? What if?—
What if this morning was the last time I ever got to see him?
But then I hear it: soft, choked sobs, just off into the shrubbery.
I push the branches out of the way?—
“Eli?”
—and there he is.
Thank God.I let out a breath I fully knew I was holding.He’s safe. He’s okay.
But when I look closer, I realize he’s not okay at all.
He’s got something in his hands: a pair of shoes.
Destroyed shoes.
They’re ruined, full of holes. On the ground, I can see three separate rolls of duct tape and a pair of round-edged scissors.
He’s crying. He’s crying so damn hard.
“Mommy,” he sobs, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop Bobby. I—I tried fixing them, but it won’t stick! Why won’t it stick, Mommy?”
“Oh, baby.” I scoop him into my arms. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s not!” He starts hyperventilating, a telltale sign he’s in the middle of an episode. His cheeks are all red, his little nose runny and sniffling. He throws his supplies away, then clings to me and wails. “I hate it here. Everyone’s mean. They say I’m a weirdo and a freak, but they’re the freaks! They break everything and they’reevil!”
My own eyes are wet now. I try to tell Eli I’m sorry, that it’s all going to be okay, but nothing comes out.
All I’ve ever wanted is to give my kid a good life, but what kind of life is this? No money for shoes, no time together, no way to protect him?
“I don’t want to come back here, Mommy,” he sniffles into my chest. “Please, don’t make me come back.”
I think back to Principal Johnson’s words. To her warnings I ignored. To the contract, burning a hole in my drawer.
“Okay,” I rasp. “Okay, baby. We don’t have to come back.” I pick him up and press a kiss to his teary cheek. “I’ll fix this, okay?”
“Okay,” he sniffles. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”
No, I am.
