CHAPTER NINETEEN

The girls had brought Taylor into her hut and placed her on the palm fronds like a sleeping princess. Taylor had been vaguely aware of the movement, but her mind was too confused to speak. She woke from her fever dream sometime in early morning. She’d gathered a few supplies and stolen away to a remote part of the jungle where she could be safe. It was so hard to feel safe in the world when you were a girl. But this place was good. It was a small cave hidden in the leafy growth of a mountain not far from a freshwater lagoon. And there were unicorns with rainbow-sparkle tails. Sometimes the unicorns spoke to her, and that was a little disconcerting. But then she would tell them to go off and work on their step-ball-change for the opening number and they did.

Now she was alone. She was alone like when her mother left and the world became a frightening place. When she’d had to build the sculpture to feel safe. But Taylor had proof that her fears were real. She’d seen what they were doing. She put her head down on her knees and began to cry.

“Tay-Tay, why is my pretty girl so sad?”

Taylor lifted her head. Through the haze of tears she saw her mother, resplendent in a bright yellow evening gown and surrounded by a silvery glow. “Mama? You’re here?”

“Yes, I am, Taylor. I’m here to help you.”

In the flickering glow, Taylor’s mother looked just like she had when Taylor was six, but this mom wasn’t crying at a sink full of dirty dishes. “Something’s wrong, Mama. I can’t make my head work right.”

Her mother sat beside her and offered her a section of orange, which Taylor couldn’t be certain she was eating. “Why did you leave?” Taylor said.

“I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know it was okay not to be perfect.” Her mother tucked Taylor’s hair behind her ear softly. “You’re not like me, Taylor. You’re a fighter. Who’s no quitter?”

“Me.”

“That’s right. Taylor Rene Krystal Hawkins. Miss Texas.” Her mom tapped her nose gently with her finger. Outlined by the fertile greenery, she was like an exotic plant. “Life can be ugly, Taylor. That’s why it’s so important to keep things pretty. And we are going to keep things pretty, aren’t we?”

“Yes. We are.”

Taylor’s mother was no longer there. “Mama?” Taylor whispered urgently. Sweat beaded on her skin and ran down her arms. A snake hissed from a tree. And Taylor was afraid. In the jungle, she heard the creak of branches breaking, the squawk of a walkie-talkie. She hid behind a bush and watched the man with the earpiece and the AK-47. In his left hand was a cell phone, which struck Taylor as odd, but she tried to keep her focus. That was what made winners — focus. Not getting distracted by the little things. The man wore a black shirt like the others she’d taken out, five by her last count. The walkie-talkie squawked with a voice, and the man in the black shirt answered. “Nope. Haven’t found her yet.”

Hidden by the thick vegetation, Taylor watched the man carefully. It was hard because sometimes things didn’t look right to her anymore. She could see smells and smell colors and it was all just a little fantastical. She couldn’t even be sure of this man. She needed to be sure, though, and so she risked stepping out from the bush.

“Well, I’ll be,” the man said, smiling. “Come on out. I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help you.”

For a moment, her mind slipped sideways again, and she imagined he was her daddy coming to offer her a hand out of her stuffed-animal cave after her mother left. “Come on, baby. Come on out,” her dad had said. The light from her bedroom window had fuzzed the top of his buzz cut like a dandelion.

“No,” Taylor had said. And then she’d started crying. “What did I do to make Mommy leave?”

“You didn’t do anything. This isn’t your fault.”

“Then why?” she’d wailed.

“I don’t know,” her daddy had said, and he looked so sad.

“It isn’t fair!”

“No, it isn’t, baby. Not by a mile. The world’s only as fair as you can make it. Takes a lot of fight. A lot of fight. But if you stay in here, in your little cave, that’s one less fighter on the side of fair.”

He’d let her be, but every morning, he’d put down a tray with French toast, her favorite. It was brown around the edges and squishy in the middle, just the way she liked it. And eventually, she’d come out. When she was good and ready.

Focus, Miss Texas. Taylor forced herself to look again and concentrate. This man offering his hand was not her father or anyone like him. In this man’s smile was all the unfairness of the world in its thuggish seduction. “Just come with me. We’ll take care of you.”

“No, you won’t.” Taylor stroked the man’s cheek. She reached her arms up to cradle the back of his head and, with the skill of a champion, she broke his neck. Then she dragged him into the bushes, took his gun and walkie-talkie, and kept moving.