The Liberator

before she heads off to school. After killing the engine and striding up her walkway, I stop and admire myself in the glass door. Looking mighty fine, if I do say so myself: red v-neck, dark denim, designer combat boots, and enough testosterone rolling off me to satisfy Nicki Minaj. Pow!

I knock once on the ten-foot tall door and wait until a little window opens. A guy cocks an eye at me like this is The Wizard of Oz and he’s Emerald City’s damn gatekeeper.

“How’s it going?” I ask him, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “I’m here to pick up Aspen for school.”

The door swings open, and an older dude with Aspen’s green eyes stares back at me. He’s a burly guy, the kind with a barely visible neck. And he isn’t doing himself any favors with his too-tight dress tie. “Who are you?” the guy says, and I notice his voice sounds a little like how I imagine an alligator might talk, all throaty and showing way too much tooth.

“Dante Walker.” I stick my hand out because parents love that crap, but this guy only nods his head toward something behind him.

“She’s upstairs,” Crocodile Man says. “I’m going to work, so no funny business.”

I want to tell him not to worry, that we need to head out, and I’m a guy who likes to take my time when performing “funny business.” But I decide against this and instead move aside as Aspen’s dad brushes past me toward the garage. I take this as my cue to enter his humble abode, so I walk inside and shut the door behind me.

My eyes bug out of my head, because even though I was raised on the green, I’ve never seen this kind of excess. The place looks like a pic that’d pop up on Google when you typed in “Americans Who Prosper from Child Labor.” Glancing down, I notice the floors are Italian stone, the real kind. The kind that crack and soak up anything that spills but shows others how much more money you have than them.

There are also pops of designer wall paper in all the right places. Poor people think wallpaper is out, but that’s because they’re a generation behind the wealthy. And always will be. The rich will always say to themselves, “What do the poor people hate today? Ah, yes. Wallpaper. Good. Let’s embrace that, then.”

Crawling toward the top floor is a pair of sweeping stairs that’d make any Disney princess weep with joy. I imagine if most girls saw them, they’d run out and buy every wedding magazine they could get their simple hands on.

Not Aspen, though. I’ve only spent one evening with her, watching her, and already I know she’s never pictured how she’d look in a wedding dress.

For some reason, I assume Aspen’s room is probably upstairs, so I ascend quietly. When I get to the top, I stop and glance both ways down a gold-and-white hallway. I choose to turn left and am soon rewarded by the sound of heavy base.

At least the girl’s got an ear for music, I think as I stroll toward deep, screaming vocals.

I push the cracked bedroom door open the rest of the way and find a girl who looks every bit like Aspen but is half her age. The girl child’s eyes grow large when she sees me.

“Aspen,” she calls, and I notice the alarm in her voice.

Holding my hands up, I try to look innocent. “Sorry, I was actually just looking for—”

Pain shoots up my spine as I’m slammed into a wall. Aspen’s face is inches from mine, her forearm pressed against my neck. When she recognizes me, she lets up, but not much. As she cuts off my oxygen, I can’t help noticing she’s wearing fingerless gloves again; yesterday’s pair was black, and today’s gloves are bright green.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she snarls. “Who the hell are you?”

“D-Dub in the flesh,” I manage, thinking this girl might do well in the WWE. She certainly has the charm for it.

Aspen glances at her sister, who’s moved closer. And the look she gives her baby sister tells me everything I need to know; Aspen would do anything to protect her. “Don’t come out of your room, Sahara. My friend and I are going to have a little chat.”

Sahara nods, her big, vulnerable eyes still enlarged.

Aspen grabs my upper arm and leads me down the hallway. I could easily overpower her, but I let her do her thing, since it’s mildly amusing.

After my prison guard has pushed me into a bedroom covered in reds and blacks, she turns on me. “Look, I was a little messed up yesterday, so I let it go that I didn’t know who you were. But I’m not now,” she states. “Let’s start with what the hell were you doing in my sister’s room?”

“Such salty language,” I tsk, trying to refrain from yawning, because seriously, this girl is boring me.

Aspen steps closer in an attempt to intimidate yours truly, but that so isn’t happening.

“I came to see you, not her,” I offer, remembering I have to befriend this girl for the sake of the assignment. “I didn’t know which room was yours.”

“Now you do,” she says, breaking eye contact. I decide the gesture means she’s nervous, which tells me even though she’s acting all Fearless Woman, I must make her uncomfortable. And that means, my friends, that it’s time to spew lies.

“Aspen, listen, your dad and my dad work together. I was sent over to make nice with you so that Pops will get a leg up. But I’d rather saw my own arm off than be his damn pawn. So I decided instead I’d come over and make your life hell.” I grab the cigarettes from her nightstand, pull one out, and light it. “I’ve since decided I don’t fucking care enough to do even that.”

One corner of Aspen’s mouth quirks upward. “Such salty language.”

I grin and offer her a cigarette from her own pack, knowing Charlie would not be pleased to see me full on smoking. But hey, she’s out partying, right? Aspen takes the cigarette. “Shouldn’t we be off to the playground?”

“We’re out for winter break.” Aspen sits on her bed and stares out the window, taking long pulls on her cigarette. I follow her gaze and notice the mountains look larger from here. Less like titties and more like mom boobs. I plop down on a black suede chair in the corner and admire the silver studs along its curved back. It’s very Adam Levine.

Aspen glances back at me and the small diamond in her nose catches the light. “So you hate your old man?”

I already know Aspen despises her own dad. I mean, maybe I’m wrong, but something tells me when you flip your parent the bird, you’re kind of over them. Remembering this, I say, “If I could use him as shark chum, I would.”

Aspen laughs hard and clean, like there’s nothing holding her back. “I feel ya.”

Blowing a perfect ring of smoke into the air, I inspect her room closer. Part of bringing this girl in means knowing what would motivate her to live a purer lifestyle. And there’s no better place to start, I decide, than studying her natural habitat.

Her bed is queen-sized, even though she could easily fit three kings in here. And her floor is covered in black carpet, which I’m certain she picked out. A miniature crystal chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, and all along the walls are splashes of red and white. Near the soaring window is an enormous black leather beanbag. Overall, the room is designed for a rock star and looks similar to a deck of playing cards.

I can’t help thinking Charlie would like the bold red. That maybe this is the room she’d actually like to have, even though everyone would rather picture her in something pink and sparkly.

Eyeing the area near the beanbag, I notice there are little trinkets on the window ledge. I stand from the pimp chair and move across the room. Aspen sees what I’m headed toward and leaps to her feet.

“Those are mine,” she says, and I’m surprised at the possessiveness in her voice.

Ignoring her, I edge closer. They’re music boxes, I realize. Well, not boxes, actually. More like just the little mechanical parts of music boxes, all silver cords and string. On the side of each device is a little crank. I want to turn one so bad, but suddenly I feel like my hands are too big. I glance at Aspen who’s standing close by, her face lined with worry. She flicks her cigarette into a chrome trash can like she never wanted it in the first place. “Do these actually play anything?” I ask.

Her eyes glare past me at the trinkets, and I note the blue eye shadow smudged over her lids. I wonder why