What She Left Behind by Ellen Marie Wiseman Read Free Book Online

to her throbbing cheek, blinking through her tears.
    “What did he do?” she snarled, holding her father’s stare. “What did he do that was so horrible to make you stop loving him?”
    “I’m warning you,” her father said. “One more word and I’ll—”
    “Oh, that’s right,” she said, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. “You thought you owned him because he worked for you. You treated him like a slave while you raked in the money. He finally had enough and stood up for himself. But you couldn’t handle it, so you threw him out on the street!” She glared at her mother. “And you let him do it! You never asked William’s side of the story. You didn’t even bother to find out if he had a place to live, if he had anything to eat!”
    “Stop talking, right now!” Henry bellowed. “Before you regret it!”
    “I don’t regret anything,” Clara said. “The only thing I regret is not seeing the truth about you sooner.”
    Henry hurried back around his desk, picked up the telephone receiver, and dialed. He stared at his crying wife, waiting for the other end to pick up, his face crimson, his jowls trembling. The light from the chandelier reflected in the sweat on his forehead. Clara turned to leave. If she left, she’d be penniless. If she stayed, she’d be trapped. There was no other answer. She put her hand on the door handle.
    “Yes, Lieutenant?” her father said into the phone. “This is Henry Cartwright. I need you to send someone over here right away. I’m afraid we have a situation on our hands.” Clara paused at the door, waiting to hear what her father said next. “It’s my daughter, Clara. We believe she’s having some kind of episode.”
    Clara yanked open the door and ran out of the room.

CHAPTER 3
    I ZZY
    Lakeshore High School
     
    Izzy carried her backpack slung over one shoulder, her thumb hooked through the thick strap, trying to find the senior class homeroom. The hallways of her new school were crowded and the other students hurried past in their haste to get to their lockers, listening to Walkmans, laughing and talking with their friends. Like all schools, the halls smelled like a strange mixture of sweat, bubble gum, and pencil shavings. Lakeshore High was one of the smallest schools she’d ever attended, with only seven hundred and sixty-five students in ninth through twelfth grades. She wondered if a small school would be easier, or harder, to fit into.
    That morning, she’d dressed in a black, long-sleeved T-shirt with jean shorts and black Converse. Now, she noticed that nearly all the girls were in ripped jeans and heels, or miniskirts and Doc Marten boots. She looked at the forms in her hand, her stomach in knots. Was she supposed to give the paper with her name and information to her homeroom teacher, or the school nurse? Or maybe the one with her foster parents’ names and numbers was supposed to go to the school nurse. And was she supposed to give the one with her class schedule to her teacher or keep it for herself? She couldn’t remember.
    Finally, she saw the name “Mr. Hudson” on a door and headed toward it, trying not to bump into anyone. Just then, someone shouted and two guys ran through the crowd, one in a Doors T-shirt, the other with braces and red hair. The redhead bumped into her, nearly knocking her into the lockers. She spun around and dropped her information forms, her hair flying over her eyes, her backpack slipping from her shoulder. The redhead laughed, said he was sorry, and hurried away. She pushed her hair out of her face and searched the tiled floor, where her papers were being torn and crumpled beneath sneakers and sandals and heels.
    Finally, there was an opening in the crowd. Izzy stepped in front of a group of kids and knelt to snatch the papers from between rushing feet, trying not to get stepped on. When she reached for the last form, someone picked it up. She stood, ready for a chase.
    “Hey!” she said.
    “Just trying to