“I left Clarice a note,” Emma said, moving her long legs out of the way as an older couple pulling wheeled suitcases passed. “Social Services won’t check up on me, either—I’m too close to turning eighteen.”
“So what are you going to say to this Sutton girl? I mean, if she’s really your sister, do you think you’ll be able to move in with her?” Alex sighed wistfully. “It’s like Cinderella, except without the lame prince!”
Emma leaned back on the bench and gazed at the purplish mountains in the distance. “I don’t want to get too far ahead of things,” she said. “Let’s just see if we even get along.”
It was all an act. The entire bus ride, Emma imagined how meeting Sutton might just change her life. Maybe she could move to Tucson and go to Sutton’s school. She could get to know Sutton’s adoptive parents, too. Maybe they’ll even let me move in with them, she dared to consider. Goose bumps rose on her arms. Okay, that was a long shot, but who knew? It was like a cooler version of Cinderella.
But first things first: the meeting today. Emma spotted a single neon-green cab on the other side of the bus station and waved it over. “Please don’t tell anyone, okay?” she said to Alex.
“I promise,” Alex agreed. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Emma hung up, climbed into the backseat of the cab, and gave Sabino Canyon as her destination, barely able to temper the giddiness in her voice. The cabbie pulled away and wove through Tucson’s streets. Emma stared out the grimy window, grinning at the various college buildings of the University of Arizona, including one that had PHOTOGRAPHY INSTITUTE on a big sign out front. Emma couldn’t wait to go inside and check out the exhibit. Next they passed the college green. Students loitered in the sun. A running group pranced by like a herd of deer. There was a girl dressed up as a marijuana plant in the middle of the courtyard holding a sign that said HONK 4 WEED! The cabbie honked.
Next they pulled onto Highway 10 and drove north. The houses grew larger and the streets were speckled with fancy gyms, cute bistros, gourmet markets, and upscale boutiques. Emma passed the entrance to La Encantada Mall, and then the lush Elizabeth Arden Red Door spa. Maybe Sutton and I can have a pedicure day, she thought.
Actually, that made her a little nervous. She’d never gotten a professional pedicure before. Whenever someone touched her feet, she let out a hitchy laugh like Ernie on Sesame Street.
As for me, all I felt was numbness as the car whipped past these landmarks. Certain emotions and senses flashed deep beneath the surface—vague blips of elation and thrill as we passed a restaurant called NoRTH, the smell of jasmine perfume as the cab swept past the shops at La Encantada—but nothing solid emerged. Questions buzzed in my head like a swarm of bees. Who had written back to Emma? Had anyone else discovered I was dead? I was desperate to get another look at my Facebook page, but Emma hadn’t clicked on it again. A whole day had passed since my death—maybe more; where did everyone think I was? And why hadn’t someone found my body? Then again, if someone had murdered me, I could be chopped up in a zillion pieces by now.
I wanted to cry out. I wanted to wail. But all I could do was follow Emma in a state of mute shock and panic. It was like those terrible dreams where I was falling down, down, down from the top of a tall building. I always tried to call out for someone to catch me, but no one ever answered.
The cab took a left, and a mountain rose up before Emma’s eyes. A pitted, wooden sign said SABINO CANYON. “Here you are,” the driver said, pulling to the curb.
This was it. Emma handed the cabbie a twenty and crunched across the gravel to a bench. She inhaled the jumbled scents of sunscreen, dust, and sun-baked rock. Evening hikers stretched their calves against a parking barrier a few feet away. The shimmering mountain range interrupted the blue sky. Little pinpricks of pink, yellow, and purple wildflowers dotted the trail.
It’s perfect, Emma thought. On instinct, she pulled her old Polaroid camera from the duffel. She hadn’t brought that much with her to Tucson—just her wallet, Socktopus, a change of clothes, the camera, and her journal, because she was afraid to go anywhere without it. She’d left most everything else, including her savings, in a storage locker at the Vegas bus station. The device made a churning noise as she snapped a photo. Emma watched the picture slowly develop. Long-Lost Sisters Meet for the First Time, she mentally captioned.
It was six on the dot. She sat down on a bench, pulled out a Maybelline compact, and took stock of her reflection. She wore a striped jersey Gap dress that she’d found at Cinnamon’s, a secondhand shop near Clarice’s house, and she’d smeared a lot of shiny gloss over her lips. She covertly sniffed her skin, hoping she didn’t smell like bus exhaust or jalapeño Doritos. Meeting Sutton reminded her of walking into a new foster home for the first time. The parents always gave her a long, discerning look, instantly deciding whether she passed or failed. Please like me, she always thought as she stood in countless kitchens or on interchangeable front porches. Please make this bearable. Please don’t let me have a booger hanging out of my nose.
More people emerged from the canyon trail. Emma checked the clock on her phone. It was 6:10. What if Sutton was late to everything? People like that drove Emma crazy. And what were they going to say to each other, anyway? “Hi, Sutton,” Emma mouthed, practicing a smile. “So Becky lost you, too?” She pantomimed reaching out her hand, and then shook her head and pulled back. They’d hug, wouldn’t they? What if they just stood there awkwardly, staring into space?