Saving Red

In this kitchen. With me. Right now.

  Then I glance at the clock.

  Yikes! I text him. It’s 9:30! I’ve gotta jet

  or I’ll never make it to Daybreak by 10!

  Cristo texts back:

  Good luck with Operation Red!

  And I text back a smiley face emoji.

  Just a regular smiley face.

  Not the one with hearts for eyes.

  Even though that’s definitely

  the one I’m feeling . . .

  I Throw on Some Clothes

  Stuff my phone

  into my backpack,

  and scribble a

  thank-you-for-the-Hanukkah-gelt-

  and-I-took-Pixel-for-a-walk note

  to my parents.

  Then I snap Pixel’s leash onto his collar,

  and the two of us

  hurry out the front door—

  and wade

  into a smoggy haze

  of eighty-five-degree heat.

  Just another

  unsnowy, globally warmed

  December morning in Santa Monica.

  We Manage to Get to Daybreak on Time

  But Pixel and I are both panting

  after our mad dash through the heat.

  We scan the lobby,

  but Red’s not here.

  I ask the receptionist

  if she’s seen her.

  “Who . . . ?” she says,

  looking confused.

  So I describe Red to her

  and explain that I brought her here last night.

  The woman checks her computer and says,

  “There’s no record of any new residents.”

  “There must be some mistake,” I say.

  But when she checks again

  the answer

  stays the same:

  Red did not sleep

  at Daybreak last night.

  There’s a Ringing in My Ears

  It’s getting

  louder and louder

  and louder . . .

  I suck in a breath

  but there’s not

  enough air.

  Then Pixel’s here,

  burying his nose in my clammy palm,

  gently guiding me back outside,

  peering up at me like,

  “There’ll be plenty of air out here.

  More than enough.”

  I squint

  into the glaring December sunlight,

  and think maybe I’m seeing a mirage.

  Because there,

  swing dancing with an imaginary partner,

  is Red!

  She Stops Dancing

  and Grins When She Sees Me

  “I thought you forgot about me,” she says.

  “I was inside looking for you,” I say,

  trying to keep the quiver out of my voice.

  “They wouldn’t let me stay,” she says,

  “unless I signed a form that said I was crazy.”

  “Crazy?!” I say, pretending to be shocked.

  “I’m completely nuts,” she says with a shrug.

  “But I sure as heck didn’t want

  to put that in writing.”

  “So . . . where did you sleep?” I ask.

  “Right here in the parking lot,” she says.

  “No ocean view. But no would-be rapists either.”

  She reaches up to scratch her head.

  “I think there were some ants, though.

  Or fleas. Something definitely bit me.”

  That’s when I notice the leaves stuck in her hair,

  and the dust and grime coating her skin

  like a spray-on tan.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen

  a person who needed a bath more

  than Red needs one right now . . .

  And suddenly

  I know exactly how

  I’m gonna spend my Hanukkah gelt—

  I’m putting Red up in a hotel tonight!

  It Takes Some Convincing, Though

  A lot of convincing,

  actually.

  “I’m not some kind of charity case,” Red says.

  “I can’t let you do that for me.”

  “But I want to do it,” I say.

  “It’ll make me feel good.”

  “Maybe so,” she says.

  “But it’ll make me feel like crap.”

  I swipe at the little beads of sweat

  that have broken out on my upper lip.

  Then I suck in a breath and force myself to say,

  “How about if I stay in the hotel with you?

  Then it would be a sleepover.

  A sleepover’s not charity.”

  “It is when the girl who’s sleeping over

  is homeless,” she says.

  So I try

  a whole new tactic:

  “It’s the second night of Hanukkah, Red.

  I wanna give you a present.”

  “A present . . . ?” she says. “For me?”

  And her eyes light up like a little girl’s.

  “Aw,” she says.

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  And You Know Something?

  I’m starting to think Red was right:

  maybe I shouldn’t have.

  Because, I mean, it could be dangerous

  spending the night in a hotel room with her.

  What if she has

  some kind of meltdown?

  What if she gets violent

  or decides to wreck the place . . . ?

  But then—

  I think of my brother.

  I think about how I wish someone

  would do this for him

  if he needed a bath

  and a safe place to sleep.

  And I know I have to go ahead

  with my plan.

  I have to.

  For Noah.

  Noah . . .

  I think of him

  and I can’t help smiling to myself.

  He was so good at calming me down

  when I was scared . . .

  I remember this one day so clearly,

  when I was around nine years old,

  and I found an enormous bulgy

  black spider in my bathtub.

  I screamed bloody murder

  and cowered in the corner till

  Noah came running through the door,

  his eyes wild with worry.

  But he relaxed when he saw

  what had made me freak out,

  and wrapped me up into

  a bear hug.

  Then he pulled back

  and looked at me, dead serious.

  But he had that here-comes-a-joke

  gleam in his eyes . . .

  “Aw, Molly,” he said.

  “You gotta remember—

  you’re more afraid of that spider

  than it is of you!”

  And I rolled

  my eyes at him

  and jabbed him in the ribs

  with my elbow.

  But Noah’s Joke About the Spider

  Led to one of those deep

  meaning-of-life talks

  we always used to have.

  Sometimes we talked about stuff

  like the difference between

  fate and destiny.

  Or about whether God was real or not.

  And if he was real,

  then what did he look like?

  But this time we talked about fear.

  Noah said he always felt the most

  exhilarated when he was scared.

  And I said I always felt the most

  terrified when I was scared.

  And we both laughed.

  But then Noah got this real thoughtful

  look on his face and said, “I guess the closer

  I get to death, the more alive I feel . . .”

  And looking back now

  on the kind of kid

  that Noah was,
br />   I think that must be why he loved

  horror films and roller coaster rides

  and novels by Stephen King . . .

  Why he loved bungee jumping

  and white-water rafting and why he only

  went surfing when the waves were huge . . .

  But I Can’t Think About Noah Right Now

  Because I’ve gotta focus

  on making this whole hotel thing happen.

  And it’s turning out to be an awful lot harder

  than I thought it would be.

  I mean, I’ve got to Google a dozen places

  before I finally find one I can afford

  that’s also pet friendly,

  and then I’ve got to help Red find

  the perfect hiding spot for her stroller

  (tucked into the middle

  of a huge hibiscus bush on the bluff),

  and then I’ve got to sneak her into our garage,

  leaving Pixel to stand guard

  while I race inside and tell my mom

  I’m going to a sleepover,

  and then I’ve got to grab my Hanukkah gelt

  and some granola bars

  and some food for Pixel and a baseball cap,

  plus some pj’s and clothes for Red and me,

  and smuggle all of it out to the garage

  along with a damp washcloth and a bar of soap,

  and then I’ve got to bribe Red with the granola bars

  to wash her face and put on the clothes

  (which involves a lengthy discussion

  about how the clothes aren’t charity—

  they’re just a very temporary loan),

  and then I’ve got to persuade her

  to wear the baseball cap to hide her dirty hair

  so that she’ll look legit enough

  for the hotel clerk to let us check in,

  and then, out of the blue, she starts

  asking me all about Pixel and about why

  I need a service dog and I’ve got to explain

  that he helps me with my panic attacks,

  and then I’ve got to get her over to the drugstore

  to buy her a toothbrush and then all of a sudden

  she turns into this crazed shopping demon

  who wants to buy shampoo and Silly Putty

  and Skittles and Pringles and bubble bath

  and every trashy magazine in sight,

  plus a couple of pairs of knitting needles.

  Knitting needles!

  While We’re Waiting in Line to Pay

  And Red’s engrossed in an article

  about The Bachelor in Us Weekly,

  I fire off a quick text to Cristo—

  asking him if he’s having fun

  in New York.

  He texts me back right away,

  telling me that

  he just saw this amazing play

  that was so incredible

  it made him cry.

  And suddenly

  I feel sort of swoony.

  Because I love that he’s the kind of boy

  who doesn’t mind admitting to a girl

  that a play made him cry . . .

  But I can’t tell him that.

  So I just write: That sounds awesome!

  Then he asks me for an update

  on Operation Red, and I tell him

  about the hotel sleepover plan.

  He replies:

  Did you know that there are only 4 words

  in the English language that end in

  “dous”: tremendous, stupendous,

  horrendous, and hazardous?

  And your point is? I text back.

  But I add a couple of smiley faces after it,

  so he won’t think I’m being rude.

  My point is, he answers, that all 4 of those

  words apply to what you are about to do.

  Well, I text back,

  at least those last 2 do.

  And he replies:

  You are very brave, Agent Molly.

  Call or text if you need me.

  I’ll be right here.

  It’s Late Afternoon

  When we enter the lobby

  of the Océano Hotel.

  The man behind the front desk

  looks up at us and smiles.

  As we head over to him, his eyes narrow.

  “May I help you?” he asks.

  But his voice sounds like

  he really doesn’t want to help us at all.

  I tell him we made a reservation

  and give him my name.

  He doesn’t even glance at his computer.

  He just turns to Red and says,

  “You need to be twenty-one to check in.

  May I please see your ID, miss?”

  Her ID?

  I can feel my face turning pale as paper.

  There’s no way

  Red’s twenty-one.

  We’ve never talked about how old we are,

  but she barely looks eighteen . . .

  Red’s Cheeks Flush

  “My ID?” she says.

  “Oh, sure. Okay . . . No problem . . .

  Just give me a second to find it . . .”

  As she shoves her hands into her pockets,

  pretending to search for it,

  Pixel nudges his nose into my palm.

  But then—

  she actually produces a driver’s license!

  The clerk seems as shocked as I am.

  He peers down at the photo,

  then up at Red’s face,

  then down at the photo again.

  Finally, he hands it back to her,

  makes her sign a form, gives her a key,

  and says, “Thank you, Ms. O’Brien.”

  Which is when

  my heart practically leaps out

  of my chest.

  Because now I know Red’s last name!

  And if I can just sneak a peek

  at that license and see her address,

  I’ll be that much closer

  to getting her home

  in time for the holidays!

  When the Elevator Doors Slide Shut

  I say, “It’s lucky you had that ID.

  I didn’t know you were twenty-one.”

  “I’m not,” she says. “I’m eighteen.”

  “But . . . But your license says you are.”

  “Oh, that? That’s a fake. Well, I mean,

  everything on it’s true except for my age.

  But how else would I be able to buy beer

  and go clubbing and stuff?”

  “Oh. Yeah . . .

  Right . . . I figured,” I say,

  trying to sound casual,

  like all my nonexistent friends have fake IDs.

  “How old are you, Holy Moly?”

  “I’ll be fifteen in February.”

  “Aw . . . Fourteen and three-quarters?

  That’s adorable.”

  She ruffles my hair and pinches my cheek.

  “You’re such an innocent little thing.

  I guess I’ll have to teach you

  the ways of the world.”

  And even though I know

  that someone like her

  probably isn’t the best choice

  for a ways-of-the-world teacher,

  I’m weirdly thrilled by the prospect of this.

  It’s a Beautiful Room

  All aqua and white and clean,

  with a balcony, an ocean view,

  two cushy queen-size beds,

  and a bathtub bigger than the Pacific.

  Red’s eyes almost pop out of her head

  when she sees that tub.

  She pours in half the bottle of bubble bath

  and turns on the water full blast.

  We watch as the bubbles rise,

  billowing up like cartoon clouds.

  Then Red switches off the water

  and starts undressing.


  I begin sidling toward the door.

  “Hey,” she says. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m . . . um . . . giving you your privacy?”

  “Aren’t you gonna join me?”

  “Oh . . . That’s okay. I already had a bath today.”

  “Well, then keep me company at least.”

  So I plunk down on the toilet seat lid

  as Red eases herself into the bubbles.

  She heaves a deeply appreciative sigh

  and says, “Thank you, Jesus!”

  “You’re welcome,” I reply.

  And both of us crack up.

  A Minute Later

  Red leans back, closes her eyes,

  and goes so quiet and still

  that I think maybe

  she’s fallen asleep.

  I glance around the room and notice

  her jeans lying in a heap on the floor—

  her license sticking out of the hip pocket . . .

  I could find out her address!

  And if I’m going to reunite her

  with her family by Christmas Eve,

  I’ve only got nine days left

  to pull that off!

  So I make sure Red’s eyes are still closed,

  then I begin tiptoeing toward the jeans.

  But someone slams a door in the hall

  and Red’s eyes pop open.

  “What are you doing?” she asks,

  sitting up and eyeing me suspiciously.

  “I . . . I thought you were asleep,” I say.

  “I was gonna watch some TV.”

  She glances down at the bubbles

  and her eyes triple in size.

  “Please don’t go,” she says. “Something . . .

  something bad might happen to me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like . . . a piranha might attack me.”

  I start laughing.

  But Red doesn’t join in.

  “Or there might be snakes in the water,” she says.

  “Or maybe there’s leeches . . .”

  She suddenly looks like a little lost kid.

  So I sit back down on the toilet

  and promise to keep her safe.

  When Red’s Finally Through

  Soaking in the tub

  and her skin’s all rosy

  and scrubbed clean,

  and she smells

  more like bubble bath

  than like bluff,

  and her hair’s washed and shining

  and it looks more like paprika

  than like rust,

  and she’s changed into

  the blue flannel pj’s