What did I learn about Patrick? He’s a typical guys’ guy. A Chad. Plays sports—soccer, baseball, and basketball, with teams—and he likes to surf with his family. He’s been to many formals, all with different girls, and he collects guitars. He also appears to have stopped wearing shirts about a year ago. Apparently, the rest of his male cousins have the same aversion to shirts.
Justice, who I surmise via social media, and his sister, Truth, are twins. They share a birthday with Patrick. And Justice is also the one with a permanent scowl and no posts with girls, besides his #steelcrew.
Max, sticks his tongue out a lot, and Amias constantly has his hands in his pockets. I’m guessing there is a rather disturbing reason for that, and that it probably has a lot to do with the fact that, like most men, he’s very taken with his dick.
Another interesting thing: Patrick seems to be around the girl cousins a lot; likes to hug on everyone, and well … he smiles and laughs the most.
He has a good smile. A really good one.
I set the phone in the cupholder and rub my fingertips gently over my tired eyes, wishing that the rest of my body would tire, too, but I’m still jittery due to all the caffeine I consumed. And that’s not all that has me off balance. With the conflicting thoughts pertaining to Patrick Steel, and the worries about what will happen when I return to campus on Sunday, I’m not sure it’ll be possible to realign fully.
Worries due to the fact that, after this past summer’s incident—a peaceful protest for “women’s right to choose”’ by day—turned into an angry disagreement with the protestors and the police when night fell. I was one of many arrested for social disturbance. I then received a charge for obstruction of justice when I tried to stop an officer from cuffing a woman whose young daughters were with her. It was heartbreaking, and they were scared; what else was I to do?
I was shocked when Whitaker showed up in DC the next morning and bailed me out. All chargers held, but because I am a minor, they were sealed and would be dropped on my eighteenth birthday, if I didn’t get in trouble again. Honestly, I plan to make sure it sticks. I want to own my actions, and people to know I’m not afraid to stand up against injustice. But on the flip side, I kind of promised Whitaker that I would keep my nose clean. Had I not, he told me I’d be expelled and be placed with a family by the courts.
Hello, my name is Savvy Sutton, daughter of a freedom-loving feminist who lived and died on her own accord, vowing never to bow to the man, yet has left me in a basic kneeling position, where I have to do exactly what I was taught not to do.
“I don’t want to doubt you, Mom, but three years of living this life, what the hell do you expect?”
I pull the zero-degree sleeping bag up and tighten it around my face, leaving only my nose and mouth exposed. It’s about forty degrees out—or so my phone says—which is five degrees colder than last night. Still not cold enough that I’ll freeze.
I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.
My hike today was grounding, and until I got back to the VW and turned on my phone, I wasn’t thinking about the outside world.
1:19p.m-Offer still stands … Doll.
Would it be that awful to let him in a bit?
Yes, yes, it would. He is a man, after all.
The van is backed up, perfectly hidden from plain sight, between two trees, facing the lake. The moonlight flickers across the surface of said lake, making everything else appear so much darker, the ripples like lullabies of long ago.
I’m not afraid of the dark, not at all. It’s the light that has become my tormentor, a constant source of confusion and fear.
* * *
As predicted and expected, I was up five times peeing. As not predicted or expected, I was pissing in the woods and not my dorm’s bathroom. I went to work, ate a huge breakfast, and then another. So stuffed I actually felt like I was wobbling as I thrifted my ass off.
I found a pair of mustard pants, two maxi skirts with amazing patterns in vibrant fall colors, two sweaters; my favorite one black with a mustard pattern. I binge-bought scarves; some for cold weather, and some I’d use to tie up my hair. I found three pairs of men’s Levi’s, wide-leg and perfectly worn so that they’re already soft, and a couple new-to-me belts to synch them up. I even found some packages of girl’s boxer briefs, unopened … In. My. Size! But the coolest things I found were a dark blue tin, with the moon and stars on it, and not just one but two Mexican Bajas, or as some call them drug rugs, that I would probably live in when I didn’t have to wear the fucking blazer, an old Army jacket that is lined, and a brand new pair of those black rubber Birkenstock slides. How much did I spend? Because even the poor get to Black Friday with the rest of them—under a hundred dollars, which happens to be less than the Birks that still had the tags on them. Today was, by far, my best thrifting day ever.
With the extra money I made from tips on Thanksgiving—the biggest from Patrick Steel—I stopped at Target and splurged on cabin socks of varying lengths and colors, two sports bras that I will only wear on gym days, toiletries, and everything I need for tonight’s treat—s’mores.
I stopped and washed everything at a laundromat next to the YMCA, where I snuck in and showered, a trick I learned while growing up when we traveled and got back
