Mrs. Allan says, “You’re expelled,” and Dani vomits on the carpet. She looks up and their eyes lock. Dani usually weeps when she’s in Mrs. Allan’s office. But not today. There’s vomit—obviously—because where will she finish senior year? Mrs. Allan leaves the room. She returns with paper towels and blots up the mess.
“I’ve left messages for your parents, but no one’s gotten back to me,” Mrs. Allan says.
“They’re in Patagonia,” Dani says. “Spotty service.”
“They left you alone again? What’s wrong with your parents?”
Shit. Why didn’t she lie?
Mrs. Allan’s phone rings. “Yes?” she says and then: “Thank you. I’m on my way.”
She looks at Dani. “I can’t leave you alone,” she says. “And I have to go somewhere. Come on.”
:::
They’re barreling down the road. Dani never expected Mrs. Allan would be a fast driver or that she would play Ed Sheeran. Dani would’ve bet on Mozart.
She hugs her knees to her chest and studies Mrs. Allan out of the corner of her eye. Mrs. Allan would be pretty if she dyed her hair. If she didn’t wear pantyhose. Mrs. Allan rubs at her nose with the cuff of her shirt. At first it seems like allergies and then Mrs. Allan’s rubbing at her eyes. She’s definitely crying. Shit. Dani never would’ve taken Mrs. Allan for a crier. Dani’s only seen her express one feeling: anger.
“Where are we going?” Dani asks. She never leaves Santa Monica.
Mrs. Allan doesn’t answer. She turns down a road with small houses close together, weedy yards. She pulls into a driveway. There are no lights on in the house.
“Wait here,” Mrs. Allan says, turning off the car. She gets out.
Wait here? Dani looks behind her. She could call a Lyft, but then she’d have to wait on this shithole street. Dani’s used to a neighborhood where women walk poodles and you can hear the slap of tennis balls against racquets. This neighborhood is Hostel-level scary. She has no one to text. The only people she knows now are the people she sells to.
Mrs. Allan pounds on the front door for a long time. Then she disappears behind the house. Shit. If a psycho kidnaps Dani, no one will see it. She jumps out of the car.
Mrs. Allan stands on a crate pushed up against the back of the house. She bangs on a window.
“Andrea Lynn Allan!” she shouts, pounding. “Andrea Lynn Allan, get out here right now!”
When Mrs. Allan sees Dani, she hisses: “I told you to wait in the car, Danielle.”
This is the Mrs. Allan Dani knows. Tough. Pissed off. A total bitch. So many times Mrs. Allan has been a total bitch to Dani, admonishing her for skipping classes, smoking weed behind the art house. She admonished Dani’s parents, too. Dani overheard her telling them they needed to pay more attention to Dani. Somehow this only made her parents want to prove a point. “Don’t you like having the run of the house? I would’ve loved freedom when I was a teenager.” Dani doesn’t understand why they never want to be around her. It’s like she has slime oozing out of her pores.
Mrs. Allan keeps pounding. Then a woman appears. She has the same bob as Mrs. Allan. Except this woman’s hair is black instead of grey. And she’s skinny. So skinny her eyes are bugged out. So skinny you can see the veins in her arms. Dani recognizes the look. “Hello?” Dani says. Still nothing. Has Mrs. Allan cracked up?
“Andrea, I want you to come home,” Mrs. Allan says, climbing off the crate.
“Sarah gave me up, huh?” Andrea asks. “Stupid bitch.”
“You could die out here.”
Andrea’s glare is the same as Mrs. Allan’s. “You’re fucking deranged.”
She leaves. The front door slams.
“Are you okay?” Dani asks Mrs. Allan.
Mrs. Allan cries. She walks over to Dani. “What you’re doing. You’re ruining lives, Danielle. My daughter was supposed to be a piano player. She’s brilliant.”
Dani shakes. This is bad. Mrs. Allan could fuck up her life for good. If she’s not careful, Dani will be bagging groceries at Target next year instead of shopping in Brooklyn.
“You’re right. I don’t want to hurt people.”
Mrs. Allan is still glaring. Dani will have to do better.
“And you’re just trying to help me. I’m so sorry about your daughter. I really and truly am.”
Mrs. Allan wipes her eyes. “Give me the rest of the pills.”
Shit. There are so many left. They go back to the car. Dani digs around in her backpack and pulls out the baggie. Mrs. Allan opens it and throws the pills on the ground. She crushes them with her heels.
Then she stares deeply into Dani’s eyes. “Please don’t tell anyone about what you saw here,” she says. “It’s private. And awful.”
Dani nods. This is her last chance. “And please don’t expel me. I’ll do better. I promise.”
“You’re a good girl. I believe in you.”
A good girl? Dani’s never thought of herself that way. “Teenage Trouble,” that’s how her father refers to her, like Dani is the name of a Disney show instead of his only child. Could she be a good girl? Does she want to be a good girl?
Dani thinks about the pills on the ground. Hundreds of dollars’ worth. But that’s all right. She can get more. And New York City is waiting. She’ll be far away from her parents for good.
When they get back in the car, Dani makes sure Mrs. Allan’s eyes are on the road. Then she opens her phone. This will be a good neighborhood to sell in. She drops a pin on the map.
Bio: Jennifer Dickinson
