Free The Girls of No Return by Erin Saldin Page A

mind, making sure she remembered every word exactly as it was written. “He said that it’s probably better to just go ahead and cut our losses. ” Her eyes had filled with tears, which she brushed away with the back of her hand. She glared at her lap. “What fucking losses?”
    There were supportive murmurs from the circle. Screw him. What a loser .
    â€œHe’ll come crawling back,” someone said, and I tried to picture it: a scrawny punk with safety pins in his jacket and tight black jeans, trying to crawl through the woods and up the mountain. He wouldn’t get twenty feet.
    â€œI see,” said Amanda. Her hands were folded calmly on her round belly. Nothing ever fazed her. “And he was important to you?”
    â€œOf course,” said Katia defensively, glaring at Amanda. “I mean, he wasn’t my first or anything like that, but he got me. He had this van, right? And he put a bed in the back — not like just a dirty mattress or anything, like a real bed with a down comforter and satin sheets. So whenever my parents were getting on my case, he’d just roll up and we’d take off for San Francisco or somewhere. He was always looking out for me.”
    Amanda put her hand up to keep Katia from saying more. “That doesn’t sound like he was taking care of you, Katia. It almost sounds like he was keeping you from taking care of yourself. What do you think?”
    â€œNot true,” said Katia, but Amanda just sat there quietly, letting what she’d just said sink in. This was her way. She would just sit there like Mother Nature, all comfortable and easy in her chair, and wait for you to get it.
    Finally, Katia spoke again. “There was only one pillow on his bed,” she said. “And he never offered it to me. What kind of guy only buys one pillow? Bastard.”
    She talked some more, and other people joined in, adding their stories of manipulative boyfriends and hurried, selfish sex.
    I didn’t speak up. Obviously. My experience with guys was limited to a nasty kiss in the parking lot of the 7-Eleven with an older guy who’d agreed to buy beer for me. He was losing his hair and his teeth were coated with a film like they hadn’t been brushed in a week. He tasted like menthol cigarettes and overripe fruit. Not a romance worth talking about. As always during these conversations, I felt like I was missing some key hormonal confluence that would allow me to identify with the others. I’d never felt that way about some guy, never thought I’d die without him, never wanted to pull my hair out by its roots if he didn’t touch me again. I just didn’t get it.
    I could see that I wasn’t the only one bowing out of the discussion. Across from me, Gia sat quietly, her long legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles. She was still wearing her jacket, which must have been made in the seventies or early eighties: light brown distressed leather, with so many zippers running up and down its front that I imagined hidden pockets, secret stashes. A half smile played across her lips. She seemed mildly entertained, like she was watching a PeeWee Baseball game. Her thoughts were as obvious and familiar to me as though they were my own. Bullshit .
    I watched her cautiously for a while until I became aware that someone else was watching her too. I can’t say how I knew, but I did, and I looked around the room for the reason. Boone was leaning forward, her eyes fixed on Gia. She wasn’t trying to be subtle. She was staring at Gia like she was just waiting for the other girl to look back. But Gia didn’t meet Boone’s gaze.
    I looked at Boone and Boone looked at Gia and Gia looked at no one in particular until the hour was up and Amanda told us we were free to leave.
    I rose quickly from my chair, hoping to get out of the Rec Lodge before anyone tried to talk to me. Amanda walked out and I followed her, as