Free Girl Unmoored by Jennifer Gooch Hummer

now. The Scent Appeal van had said Center Street on it and that was near Bramhall Street. You would think those old Bramhalls would have wanted to put something else besides a hospital on their street.
    Just as I was about to run up the dirt road, I heard tires. Mr. Orso was backing out of his driveway in his little white car. Pinto , it said on the back, like the bean.
    I hurried up to his car and waved my arms. When he stopped, I walked to his window. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Orso. Hi. Um, my grandmother’s in the emergency room. My dad just called. He was wondering, if you could maybe—if it’s not too far out of your way—drive me there?” My skin prickled from the lie, but I didn’t know what time the buses came anymore; it had been more than six months since I’d taken the last one.
    Mr. Orso looked at me like he couldn’t remember where he had seen me before. “I’m Apron,” I said, waiting. He nodded, then brushed off the passenger seat.
    I got in and pulled my backpack onto my lap. His car smelled so clean my nose stung. “Thanks, Mr. Orso.” Sitting this close to him, I could see how much he looked like an elf. Gray hair was growing out of his ears and he had hardly any neck at all.
    “Roger that,” he said. I looked straight ahead while he changed gears and started up the dirt road, barking softly, almost like a hiccup, clearing his throat in between.
    It was Tourette’s syndrome, what he had.
    Mr. Orso slowed down at the top.
    “Maine Med?” he asked staring straight ahead.
    “Yes,” I nodded, so he gunned it left, across the road.
    I didn’t know what else to say after that, sitting this close to him, trying not to notice him trying not to bark. No one should have to bark like that. God might be busy running the world, but he could still take the time to zap the bark out of a guy who probably never even hurt a fly.
    And then we were there, turning onto Bramhall Street and pulling into the emergency entrance.
    Mr. Orso put his bean in park without looking over. “Sure hope Doris is all right.”
    I blinked at him. “You know her?”
    “Ah-yuh,” he said, looking down at his radio. “Went to school together.”
    Grandma Bramhall had never said anything about going to school with Mr. Orso.
    “She was quite a looker back then, Dory,” he said. “Still is.” Then he barked, so we both stared down at his radio, hot shame leaking out of my heart. I wondered if he had barked like that in school, too. And if that was why Grandma Bramhall never talked about him.
    “Thanks, Mr. Orso,” I said. “I’ll tell her you brought me.”
    I grabbed my backpack, opened the door, and stepped out. Somewhere along the line, the fog had cleared and now it was hot, hot.
    I waved. But Mr. Orso didn’t wave back. He just drove off in his bean.

12
Damnant quod non intellegunt.
They condemn what they do not understand.
    Standing in the Maine Med parking lot, I thought about how my life had turned into one giant trip to the hospital.
    I wanted to go in and make sure Grandma Bramhall’s head was up to speed again, but it was too risky. You never knew where M might show up.
    So I walked out of the parking lot. By the time I got to Center Street, my mouth felt like I had been sipping on glue.
    I crossed the street and turned left. This was the crummier part of Portland, where we went to Portland Bagels sometimes. After you’ve tasted those once, though, your mouth spends the rest of its life wanting more. I glanced up at the big digital clock on top of the Bank of Maine and then the sidewalk slammed into me.
    It hit my knees first, then my hands, and after that, my face. My bottom lip felt like a safety pin was being pushed through it. I heard someone scream, which turned out to be me. And then I saw a ladder—the one I hadn’t seen before, but should have.
    Bad things happen in threes, Grandma Bramhall said, and today it was Grandma Bramhall’s chest, my cracked forehead, and now my split lip, which had