// I don't know where this part goes. It has go somewhere in the story, as Grace erupts into Arroyo's life in a chaotic way, the way Arroyo has erupted into Grace's. I'll put it as a branch here for now.
I lived in fear that she'd molest me at school. But she never did. Her mask was perfect. Not even a sly look. She smiled at me when she came into the room, but she did that to everyone. I was the one who couldn't keep my reaction. I didn't look at her much, didn't call on her.
The two exceptions – one time she came into a class I was teaching for freshmen, looking apologetic and deferential. "Mrs. Pritchard? There's a phone call for you."
This made no sense, but no one seemed to register that but me. Heart pounding, I followed her outside into the hallway. She said, in a cool murmur without looking at me, "I need you to pack up your bags, make whatever excuses you need to, and get in your car in the next ten minutes."
"Wh – what?"
"I will also be in the car," she said. "You are driving me to Maine."
It was two in the afternoon. I didn't know how to say no to her. When I thought about doing so I flinched so hard the impulse just went away. I said, "Let me – uh –"
"You have an aunt, don't you? She's not your only family, but you are her's. She could be having a medical emergency."
"Yes," I said, defeated. "Let me talk to the main office secretary."
"Be quick."
Ten minutes later we got into my Toyota Corolla. Standing next to this girl who drove gleaming cars, I was suddenly aware of the rust on the wheel wells, the sputtering air conditioning.
Once we were on the highway, I asked where we were going.
"To a Holiday Inn." Arroyo looked at the map on her lap and gave me directions. She added, "Drive fast. I don't want to see the speedometer below sixty five."
"Yes, but why?"
She didn't tell me. She turned on the radio and hopped stations until she found a synthpop station. I winced but said nothing.
I asked if I could pee. She said no. "Piss in your seat if you have to," she said. "I'll pay for the cleaners."
I decided not to do that.
The sun was low when we pulled in. Arroyo took a few deep hits from her vape and closed her eyes, the lines of her body going long and loose. Her voice came out very relaxed. "Put your phone on vibrate. Not ring or silent."
I did.
"You can go to the bathroom now. When you're done, get back in the car. Pretend to be studying the map or reading a book. Do not acknowledge me. And when you get a call – my mom pulled me out of school, from your class, at noon today." She got out of the car, circled the building, and disappeared in.
Seven minutes later, a pure white Mercedes-Benz pulled into the single parking lot, and a distinguished looking Asian man in a suit got out. My skin prickled. Arroyo had gotten her looks from him. She had a smiling face whose hardness I now couldn't unsee, and he had that same hardness. Invisible to how many people? He was not smiling now. His weight was forward on his feet as he marched into the hotel.
Some minutes passed. I tried to piece together what possibly could be happening in there.
Arroyo's father emerged. So did Arroyo. Behind them, a woman in slippers. Their faces told me nothing. Arroyo's father circled the parking lot. He looked at my car, and then at me. I was holding Arroyo's map, holding a pen, as if I were planning my route ahead. I looked up at him and his interest flickered off. He continued to prowl around the parking lot, taking stock of every car.
He circled back to his family and barked question. I could hear him through the glass, hard angry Chinese words. The woman said little. Arroyo did most of the talking. Annoyance flickered on her face as they argued, but at one point she became hard and angry too, stamped her foot. "Call the school, then!" she shouted in English.
Stamped her feet? Why? I looked at her mother. Her face was apprehensive for a second before polite neutrality reclaimed the muscles of her face. Arroyo's father, attending to the frustrated gesticulations of his daughter, did not notice. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
They just stood around for a while. He enunciated carefully into the phone, getting routed by the school secretary. After some seconds, my own phone vibrated.
I put it on speaker so it was not obvious I was on my phone, and propped my hand in front of my mouth. "Hello?"
Arroyo's father said, "Am I speaking with Mrs. Pritchard of Granite Hollow?"
"Yes, that's me." Arroyo's eyes narrowed. That is I. "Who is this?"
"Did any student leave your classroom today, accompanied by their parent?"
He certainy was Arroyo's father. I paused briefly, thinking. "Yes, a young woman was pulled out by her mother around noon. But I'm not comfortable divulging the name unless you tell me who you are."
"That's all I wanted," he said, and hung up.
I glanced at the tableau. The man was putting away his phone. Mother and daughter had their arms around each other. They talked briefly, and then the man spun on his heel, got in his car, and drove away. I sensed Arroyo had won this one.
Daughter unlinked from mother. Yes, Arroyo had definitely won, and not just with her father. She had a little smile on her face, although not a mean one, and the mother was gesticulating fiercely, face clouded. Arroyo just shook her head and smiled. She gestured magnanimously at the hotel entrance, and after one more comment the mother went in. When the elevator doors closed behind her, Arroyo jogged back to my car, got in, and said, "Now we drive back."
It was almost dark now.
"May I ask what that was about?"
"Take a guess."
"Your mother is having an affair. You're her alibi. When your father found out, you had to race here to corroborate that she's with you, not with a lover. /He was looking for one of your normal cars, because he didn't believe that she came with you. That's why you needed me to drive you. He wasn't expecting a teacher to back you up. Neither was she." Surely they couldn't know about me. Surely.
"That's pretty good. What about it doesn't make sense?"
"...why wouldn't she just clear out on her own if she knew he were coming?"
"Right."
"So she didn't know, either. And since you didn't just call to warn her, she... doesn't know you know about her affair?"
"Oh, she knows I know." A note of bitterness entered Arroyo's voice. "I've tried to warn her before. She'll deny it to my face. She doesn't want me butting in."
"But you did."
"I told him we were having a mother-daughter getaway and hadn't told him because we didn't want him to feel left out. This was after I surprised her and her lover in her room, got him to clear out. Now she can't lie to my face." Arroyo smirked, wanting to brag. "Also, I have a new credit card. And she has to cover for me if I'm out of the house for several days in a row. So I can have sleepovers with my boyfriends... or with you."
I shuddered.
"It's annoying because he's had a ton of affairs. When I got into his emails a few years ago I found I have two half-siblings. But he's the man and his family is rich, so he gets to have them in the open and she doesn't. He barely pays attention to her but he was so riled up when he caught wind of it. I was afraid he might kill the other guy or her, and get hauled out of the country. That would mess up a lot of things for me. He's the primary visa holder, so if he were deported I'd have to file a change of status to get my own student visa. There would be a lot of family drama, too. What a waste of energy. Did you ever try to have kids?"
"No."
There was a dangerous shifting. Right. Don't go lumpy, don't ignore her. Was this supposed to be reciprocal? She was opening up to me, and I had to as well? But she had spoken of her parents as just more people to surveil, manage, blackmail. There was no tone of vulnerability to it. But she was lancing straight into mine. We would be on the road for over an hour. Surely she wouldn't hurt me while I was driving? Would she wait until we were home, or pull over and violate me in the bushes? I shifted in my seat. "We weren't good enough."
"In what way?"
"I wouldn't have been a good mom, he wouldn't have been a good dad, and we didn't have a marriage strong enough to withstand the stresses. So he always used a condom, and I pretended to everyone else I was infertile."
"You'd be an okay mom," Arroyo said. "You still have time. Maybe I should find a good sperm donor to fuck you until you get pregnant."
I didn't have anything to say to that. She wasn't serious. Probably. I could always abort if she really did it. Or get on the pill. She'd know, of course, she knew everything, and she knew I still menstruated. She'd fished a pad out of my trash and sniffed it once. I had flinched but she hadn't changed face, just smiled a little. She was insane. Would she really do that? What kind of man would she find for me? "Master, please don't distract me from the road that much," I said humbly.
She laughed and stopped talking. She leaned over and started blasting synthpop again.
I lived in fear that she'd molest me at school. But she never did. Her mask was perfect. Not even a sly look. She smiled at me when she came into the room, but she did that to everyone. I was the one who couldn't keep my reaction. I didn't look at her much, didn't call on her.
The two exceptions – one time she came into a class I was teaching for freshmen, looking apologetic and deferential. "Mrs. Pritchard? There's a phone call for you."
This made no sense, but no one seemed to register that but me. Heart pounding, I followed her outside into the hallway. She said, in a cool murmur without looking at me, "I need you to pack up your bags, make whatever excuses you need to, and get in your car in the next ten minutes."
"Wh – what?"
"I will also be in the car," she said. "You are driving me to Maine."
It was two in the afternoon. I didn't know how to say no to her. When I thought about doing so I flinched so hard the impulse just went away. I said, "Let me – uh –"
"You have an aunt, don't you? She's not your only family, but you are her's. She could be having a medical emergency."
"Yes," I said, defeated. "Let me talk to the main office secretary."
"Be quick."
Ten minutes later we got into my Toyota Corolla. Standing next to this girl who drove gleaming cars, I was suddenly aware of the rust on the wheel wells, the sputtering air conditioning.
Once we were on the highway, I asked where we were going.
"To a Holiday Inn." Arroyo looked at the map on her lap and gave me directions. She added, "Drive fast. I don't want to see the speedometer below sixty five."
"Yes, but why?"
She didn't tell me. She turned on the radio and hopped stations until she found a synthpop station. I winced but said nothing.
An hour into the drive, I asked if I could pull over to pee at the upcoming gas station. She said no. "Piss in your seat if you have to," she said. "I'll pay for the cleaners."
I decided to hold out.
The sun was low when we pulled in. Arroyo took a few deep hits from her vape and closed her eyes, the lines of her body going long and loose. Her voice came out relaxed. "Put your phone on vibrate. Not ring or silent."
I did.
"Pretend to be studying the map or reading a book. You'll be getting a call soon. You're going to tell the inquirer that my mom pulled me out of school, from your class, at noon today." She got out of the car, circled the building, and disappeared in.
Barely a minute later, a pure white Mercedes-Benz pulled into the single parking lot, and a distinguished looking Asian man in a suit got out. My skin prickled. Arroyo had gotten her looks from him. She had a smiling face whose hardness I now couldn't unsee, and he had that same hardness. Invisible to how many people? He was not smiling now. His weight was forward on his feet as he marched into the hotel.
Some minutes passed. I tried to piece together what possibly could be happening in there.
Arroyo's father emerged. So did Arroyo. Behind them, a woman in slippers. Their faces told me nothing. Arroyo's father circled the parking lot. He looked at my car, and then at me. I was holding Arroyo's map, holding a pen, as if I were planning my route ahead. I looked up at him and his interest flickered off. He continued to prowl around the parking lot, taking stock of every car.
He circled back to his family and barked question. I could hear him through the glass, hard angry Chinese words. The woman said little. Arroyo did most of the talking. Annoyance flickered on her face as they argued, but at one point she became hard and angry too, stamped her foot. "Call the school, then!" she shouted in English.
Stamped her feet? Why? I looked at her mother. Her face was apprehensive for a second before polite neutrality reclaimed the muscles of her face. Arroyo's father, attending to the frustrated gesticulations of his daughter, did not notice. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
They just stood around for a while. He enunciated carefully into the phone, getting routed by the school secretary. After some seconds, my own phone vibrated.
I put it on speaker so it was not obvious I was on my phone, and propped my hand in front of my mouth. "Hello?"
Arroyo's father said, "Am I speaking with Mrs. Pritchard of Granite Hollow?"
"Yes, that's me." Arroyo's eyes narrowed. That is I. "Who is this?"
"Did any student leave your classroom today, accompanied by their parent?"
He certainly was Arroyo's father. I paused briefly, thinking. "Yes, a young woman was pulled out by her mother around noon. But I'm not comfortable divulging the name unless you tell me who you are."
"That's all I wanted," he said, and hung up.
I glanced at the tableau. The man was putting away his phone. Mother and daughter had their arms around each other. They talked briefly, and then the man spun on his heel, got in his car, and drove away. I sensed Arroyo had won this one.
Daughter unlinked from mother. Yes, Arroyo had definitely won, and not just with her father. She had a little smile on her face, although not a mean one, and the mother was gesticulating fiercely, face clouded. Arroyo just shook her head and smiled. She gestured magnanimously at the hotel entrance, and after one more comment the mother went in. When the elevator doors closed behind her, Arroyo jogged back to my car, got in, and said, "Now we drive back."
Arroyo's father had arrived so quickly I still hadn't gone to the bathroom. I didn't start the car. "May I ask what that was about?"
"You may not."
I took a deep breath. "You made me pull out of class on no notice. You made me drive across state lines without stopping for a restroom break. You need to tell me what is going on."
"I need to tell you nothing," she hissed, turning towards me. Her victory turned into fury. She couldn't believe her pet was being insolent instead of having screaming orgasms on command. "Start the car."
"Your mother is having an affair. Your father came to confront her. He came out to the parking looking for a second car. One of yours. That's why you needed me. And he wasn't expecting a teacher to back you up. Is that right?"
"Very clever, Grace," she said flatly, leaned over, and – when I flinched and covered my face – pushed on my bladder, hard. I yelled, muscles giving way under the pressure. Once I had started I couldn't stop until I was mostly done. Warmth spread under my jeans.
Arroyo said, "If you ask another question, you're going to be paying for your own cleaning instead of having it be done when you wake up tomorrow morning. You choose."
I drove home, miserable with fury. The car stank of piss and even if she granted me the chance to get out at a gas station I obviously couldn't take it, stinking and visibly drenched. She owed me. For once in her miserable life she had needed me and she had given me nothing in return, not even answers.
I dropped her off at school, where her own car still was, and went straight home.
In the night I woke up when I heard the garage door open, but when I down there in the morning I saw evidence of her expanded allowance. Instead of my beat-up Toyota, my garage now held a gleaming navy Volkswagen CC. All the possessions in the old car were now in their equivalent positions in the new one, even the loose trash. The key and a spare were on my kitchen table.
Just like in one of my romance novels. Except in those, the hero didn't gift the heroine the car after making her piss in the old one because he was angry at her.
I didn't want to get into it and drive to school. I blew out a long sigh and considered calling in sick. It occurred to me it would be easy. I could extend my story from yesterday. The new leather smell of the car made me feel old and sad. My Toyota Corolla had no resale value to speak of. The evidence of her cruelty had been hauled into a junkyard to stink in the sun.
I called in sick.