EDIT: 2/1/2015 - just changed a few minor details. They'll become more important later.
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Chapter Seven
Sam vs. the Rules
The first thing Sam wanted to do that next morning was to see California.
All of it.
Then Sarah showed up after breakfast, offering Sam to come to the beach with her. Wondering if Sarah could read minds, Sam immediately accepted. Chuck provided no input to the decision, but in fact looked rather relieved when Sam left. It made Sam think maybe he didn't like all the questions she had been asking over her cereal – as to why, she had no idea.
Sarah was nice about it, though, much more tolerant of Sam than she was yesterday. Sam had learned her lesson and avoided the topic of Sarah and Chuck's relationship (even though she still didn't know what the problem was). Sarah even agreed with Sam when she mentioned how awkward Hannah made dinner last night, although Sarah hadn't said a single word to Hannah that entire night.
In the car ride to the beach, Sam was finally starting to relax a little. Her questions finally being answered, her brain didn't feel as overloaded as it had before – she now knew that Hannah and Chuck were no longer together (Sarah told her it was a long story and didn't explain further); everyone owned a phone because it was convenient, not because they were government-sanctioned tracking devices; cars were everywhere because they were the fastest way to travel, except in 5 o'clock traffic, which Sarah described as "murder". Sam imagined drivers killing each other to steal the next car ahead and wondered why there wasn't some law against it yet.
Texting was why everyone was walking with their face focused on their phones, and texting was sending text messages to each other, as well as being why teenage literacy had taken a nosedive for the past couple years. Sam figured that was why her mother hadn't given her a cell phone – maybe she was afraid the device would turn Sam into a Neanderthal.
They arrived at the sandy, palm tree-lined coast in about thirty minutes. Sarah had to drive around for another ten searching for a parking spot, because the boardwalk was loaded with pedestrians, shopping and eating and taking pictures.
"It's a tourist fly trap," Sarah explained as they got out of the car. "They come all over the country – the world, even – to buy cheap souvenirs and get sunburns."
She sounded a little sour. Sam blinked at her. "What's wrong with cheap souvenirs?"
Sarah glanced at the teen before moving on, Sam following close behind. They weaved through the crowds on the sidewalk. Pedestrians had wandered onto the street, there were so few cars out, and those that were had to drive really slowly to get through. "Just...it's nothing. Do public places make you nervous?"
"Not really," Sam was more enthralled than scared of all the people around her. She liked the palm trees, how their bark overlapped like dead leaves and green spiky leaves grew at the top like a funny wig. She smelled food everywhere, all kinds of things she'd never seen or heard of before. A man was selling something called "Hotdogs! Get your hotdogs here!" and she immediately wandered over, mouth watering at the smell.
Sarah followed like a beleaguered assistant. She drew Sam away from the stand, saying, "You just ate, Sam. Let's go find you some clothes, so you don't have to wear the same thing every day."
Sam didn't think there was anything wrong with her clothes right now – although, yes, they were the same from yesterday and she didn't have any spares...or pajamas. She slept in these, too. But it was easier not to have to decide what to wear every day. But they were also starting to smell, and Sam eventually agreed that maybe having choices wouldn't be so bad.
Thankfully, there were plenty of outlets here on the boulevard. Venice Beach, as Sam learned this place was called, was filled with stores selling cheap clothes to anyone who came by. Granted, a lot of them said I 3 LA or something along those lines, nothing Sarah considered worth buying, but Sam actually liked it. Although she was only living here for the summer, she wanted something to show her mother once she got back to Montana.
Sarah, however, was not to be pleased by mere tourist fodder. There were department stores, too, places that sold "branded" items. Sarah explained to Sam that these clothes were generally more durable, fancier, and somewhat more costly. But life as a police officer must have been a good one, because Sarah didn't seem bothered by having to pay for the expensive stuff.
Sam was acutely aware that Sarah was still carrying a gun. A concealed one, of course, although it seemed so unnecessary in a place like this. Everyone was so nice and friendly, but Sarah had to constantly pull her away from vendors trying to sell their wares. Sam just thought they were being nice, but Sarah explained that they just do that to soften you up and convince you to buy their overpriced products. There was much Sam had to learn before she could be responsible for her own money.
But Sarah still let Sam choose what clothing she wanted to get. They travelled from store to store, picking out clothes and trying them on – as much as Sam wanted to try those hot-rod red high heels, Sarah pointed out that she had no occasion for them and when trying heels, it was best to start small – not with four-inch pumps that were bound to give Sam a sprained ankle.
They eventually ended up in one of many stores with various animal logos. This one was a moose – which Sam found odd, because she didn't think she'd find any on the beach in California. Dogs and eagles, sure, those were everywhere, but moose were usually found in more temperate parts of the continent. When she tried to discuss this with a store clerk, the woman just gave Sam a blank look, and then asked if she needed help finding anything. Sam, realizing that the entire point was lost on the clerk, decided to give up and shook her head, moving on.
When the day started to warm up, she and Sarah got ice cream. They hung out in the shade of the ice cream shop's canopy, talking about their bought items, the weather, the people walking by. Sam wanted to know everyone's story, why they were here, what they were looking for. After one bad incident where she asked a man arguing on his cell phone who he was talking to (his wife, who was a perfectly fine woman according to him, she later found out, after getting chewed out for being nosy and disrespectful), Sarah had to tell Sam that intruding on people's lives isn't polite and she should only do it if she had a good reason. Sam was a little discouraged by this – how was she supposed to meet people if she needed to give them their wallet, first? Pick pocketing really didn't sound like something Sarah would approve of, although Sam was itching to try her hand at it.
Sarah seemed more worried as time went on, although she did her best to hide it. Sam couldn't tell what it was, but every time Sam talked to a person, Sarah always got involved: it was usually something Sam said. She learned many things that day: she wasn't allowed to tell someone the honest truth if they asked her "Does my butt look big in these jeans?" or "Do you think this hair cut accents my features?" Why strangers asked Sam for her opinion when she wasn't allowed to talk to them in turn made for some very frustrating rules (Why did she have to follow them but no one else?), and Sam did her best to listen. But more often than not, her mouth got away with itself.
Sam told the woman with the jeans that maybe they were made for someone who was a hundred forty pounds, not a hundred and sixty. The woman gasped at her, mortified and enraged, declaring that she was one-thirty-five pounds, for your information before turning on her heel with a huff of indignation. Sam didn't know what the problem was: her mother had taught her how to gauge weight and Sam had never been wrong before.
The woman was not pleased with Sam's answer, who didn't know why anyone would ask her about haircuts. Sam didn't even know there was such a thing called "layering," never mind "highlights" or "foiling." Her hair just grew, in whatever fashion it wanted to be in that morning. What did the woman expect when Sam told her that her haircut made her head look like a football?
Sarah told her that sometimes people need confirmation of their appearance, if it's approving or not. But Sam didn't understand. Why would someone ask if they didn't want the truth? Dying your hair blond wasn't going to make your head shaped any less than a football.
"There're those kinds of people who're just fishing for compliments," Sarah informed her. "People who are insecure, who have low self-esteem. Sometimes it's just nicer to tell them a white lie and that they look pretty or handsome or whatever."
Sam wasn't comfortable with this idea, but if it meant making someone feel better, she felt she could probably do it if she absolutely had to.
Sam tried to find out if Sarah really was a police officer, but Sarah always changed the subject. As the day wore on and their arms got heavier with bags (Sarah got herself some things as well, including a set of kitchen knives which she did not explain), Sam noticed Sarah looking more beleaguered and wondered if the weight of their bags, seven in all, was taking its toll on her. Sarah finally had to take a break and went inside the Roosevelt Hotel, letting Sam wait in a nearby cafe. Sam waited at a circular table, munching on a sprinkled donut and gulping down water – California was much hotter than Montana and Sam found she was sweating much more than her body could handle without extra hydration.
While she waited, she observed the passerby, each time resisting the urge to get up and talk to them. Most of these people were just getting coffee, including some repeats who couldn't get enough frappuchinos or mochalattas or whatever they were called. Some were businessmen, dressed in suits and carrying briefcases, some were teenagers in plaid wearing thick glasses with no lenses, and others were various dog-walkers, yoga instructors, and tourists looking for a snack. A particular group of people caught Sam's attention: a clique of three girls who had just walked into the cafe, linked arm and arm and laughing in an incredibly high-pitched and annoying way. They all had super-straight blond hair and wore jeans as tight as wetsuits, with shirts that exposed their bellybuttons (which were pierced – Sam saw this and winced; who in their right minds would poke their skin in holes like that? Didn't it hurt?).
The way they talked, almost in synchronization, constantly repeating what each other said like they weren't sure they heard it – had Sam absolutely fascinated. Who were these girls? Where they telepathic or something? They were finishing each other's sentences with alarming accuracy. How did one attain a level of friendship like that? It seemed unreal, impossible.
They were talking about someone else, someone they knew at 'school', whatever that was. Blonde Number 1 said, "...raised her hand and, like, stuck her nose in the air, like she totally knew better than us what a Lift-Split was?"
"I swear, I don't know what Lora was, like, thinking, letting her on the team?" Blond Number 2 said, tossing her head and making her hair ripple in perfect waves. "Like, was she braindead or something? Everyone knows Jessie, is like, totally going to ruin the team..."
"And she's, like, a total spaz, you know?" Blonde Number 3 said, reaching for her coffee and making a silly face to her friends, who giggled right on cue. "Like, if we miss a step or, like, don't stand in the right place or, like, don't hold our arms up at third-degree angles or something, she totally, like, like...?"
Blonde Number 3 had trouble finding the word she wanted. Blonde Number 1 supplied, "...Spazzes out, right? I know what you mean; she gets this, like, look in her eyes and you just know, like, she gonna give you, like, detention or something?"
They kept ending their sentences with an upward inflection, like they were always asking a question, which bugged the hell out of Sam when none of them provided a sufficient answer. She also had no idea what a 'spaz' was and had to recite square roots in her head as a distraction to keep herself from walking up to those girls and asking what the word meant. She desperately wanted Sarah to come back so they could leave and she could think of something else.
When the trio's laughter became so much that Sam's head was starting to hurt, she decided that she might as well wait outside for Sarah. It wouldn't hurt, would it? She would just stay right there, in the courtyard, where Sarah could see in case she got worried again...
Unfortunately, Sam's plan to stay by the Hotel didn't exactly work out like she thought it would.
Although she no longer had to hear the girls' talk about 'spazzing' anymore, Sam now had to deal with the entirely new predicament of not getting distracted by everything else outside. She managed to stay by the storefront for a couple minutes before noticing the tourist shop across the street and told herself, "Maybe a minute wouldn't hurt..." and wandering over, promising to only peek and go back to the cafe right away. She kept repeating that, five stores later, on a street she didn't recognize.
Oh, boy.
It was getting dark out. Sam looked around, hoping to spot a familiar landmark, but her inner map was incomplete. The Roosevelt Hotel had mysteriously disappeared – did Sam really walk that far away? In her distracted state she had forgotten to notice her surroundings when she wandered around, and now she had no way to get back to Sarah, no way to contact her. She looked around, hoping maybe she'd get lucky and spot the blond woman close by, but found herself lost in a crowd of unfamiliar faces. They pushed her about, tossing Sam back and forth like a ping-pong ball. She managed to find a lamppost and cling to it, resisting the current of pedestrians.
Sam kept looking but Sarah never appeared. The girl wondered if she could find her way back home – she had at least remembered the path the car took to get to Venice Beach, although how to get to the car was another question on its own. Could she perhaps walk back, if she could? The highway was North-East of here, it couldn't be that hard to find, could it? How long would it take to get back? Sam would resort to walking if she had to, but a car ride would be more efficient. Would someone here take her home?
A man across the street waved his arms, whistling. At first, Sam thought he was trying to get her attention – if not, what in the world was he doing? But then a small yellow sedan pulled up to the man and he got inside, speaking to the driver and giving him money. Sam watched, fascinated, as the driver took the money from a stranger and drove off without another word, weaving around traffic like a deranged beetle. Could she do the same?
Sam mimicked the man's actions, looking out for other yellow cars. Now that she was searching for them, she noticed that they had the word 'TAXI' written on the sides. But none came towards her, taken by other pedestrians who waved harder, whistled louder.
Discouraged, Sam was about to give up and look for Sarah again when a giant blue bus pulled up in front of her. The doors opened on their own, revealing steps and a man at the wheel, who nodded at her. Sam grinned, pleased with her luck – this was even better than a taxi!
When she got inside, the man asked for payment and Sam pulled a twenty from her backpack - making sure to give him the right currency first. He gave her change and let her pass to the seats behind. Sam chose one by the window, gazing down at the passing heads beneath – she felt like a giant among men.
It wasn't until the bus started again did Sam realized the bus driver did not ask to know where she lived. But he seemed so sure of what he was doing that Sam refrained from standing up and speaking to him. There was also a sign that disallowed walking the aisle while the bus was moving and Sam didn't want the man to get angry with her and kick her off the bus. Sarah had told her to follow the rules of establishments, otherwise they have every right to remove her from the premises.
The sky was turning indigo and orange. The soft purr of the engine and rumble of the tires lulled Sam to sleep.
OoOoO
The sound of brakes screeching woke her up. Sam jolted, looking around. It was still dark out. In fact, darker still – the sun was gone, the moon was out, and there wasn't a star in the sky. Only a few lampposts were on outside the bus, lighting a barren sidewalk they had stopped at.
The bus driver called, "Last stop! Everybody off!"
Sam was one of the few left on the bus. They were as bleary-eyed as she felt. They filed off the vehicle. Picking up her bag, her only luggage, Sam shuffled after them. It wasn't until she hit the pavement and looked up at the cold, dark buildings did she realize she was still in the city – and nowhere near Burbank.
She whipped around, panic forming a lump in her throat. "Wait, I don't –!"
But the bus had already taken off in a burst of wind. Sam was all alone in a city she did not recognize.
It was bad enough she did not know where she was. But the fact that she fell asleep and hadn't remembered the route the bus took meant she was even more lost than before. Now she had no idea of how to get back to her starting point.
Her mother's words filled her head: when lost, don't wander. It just makes it harder for your allies to find you.
The other piece of advice was: don't stay in one spot for too long or you'll attract attention. Keep moving, find landmarks, a place to hide and rest.
Sam didn't know which one should be applied in this situation. Surely Sarah had noticed Sam was gone by nose, maybe she was looking for her at this very moment. But Sam's mental clock told her she had been out for over five hours. She wasn't even sure if she was in Venice Beach anymore.
Scritch-scratch.
Sam whipped around, alarmed by the sudden noise. She saw a shadow flinch in the dark corners of a building, outside the light of the lamppost. She peered at it, waiting to see if it would move again, or if it was just her imagination. She called out, "Hello? Who's there?"
The shadow crept forward, taking the shape of a hunched man, hobbling drunkenly on his feet. A combination of alcohol, leering smile, and a ten-foot stench had Sam backing away from him almost immediately. This was not someone she wanted to talk to. He said to her, "Hey, there, little lady, you looking for a good time?"
"Actually, I'm looking for Sarah," Sam corrected, entertaining the possibility that this man could help her. "Do you know her?"
The man, with his scraggly beard and off-center hat, hesitated and gave Sam a strange look before starting to nod. He smiled encouragingly and beckoned with his hand, saying, "Yeah...yeah, I know Sarah. I'll take you to her. And we can have fun together, you know?"
Sam frowned. Sarah didn't like fun. "I don't believe you."
The man lurched forward, grabbing Sam's arm just as she tried to dodge out of the way. He bared rotten yellow teeth at her, more of a grimace than a grin. "Too bad. I've got an old ache I need to work out and you're the cure, honey. So why don't you –"
He didn't get a chance to tell Sam what she should do before she punched him in the throat.
The man gagged, releasing Sam immediately to clutch at his throat. She brought up her hands in defense, every motion clear in her mind. The world seemed to slow down for a few seconds as she waited for the man to retaliate. He did – turning around, letting out a tremendous roar, raising both fits in a vaguely gorilla-like manner.
Chest completely open, the man could not defend himself when Sam stepped back, putting all the weight on her hind foot as she raised her other leg and slammed the corner of her heel into the center of his chest.
He gasped again, falling the ground in a heap. Now fully incapacitated, he was no longer a threat, but Sam feared revenge and took off before he could get back up again. She ran and ran and ran, until she found herself in a slightly brighter corner of the city. She finally came to a stop at a bench with a canopy over it, taking cover underneath. The sides were covered in black graffiti but at least there was no one inside to attack her.
Sam didn't know what else to do. She hugged her shoulders, wishing she had brought that new sweater with her, at least something to stay warm or make a pillow out of. The only option now was to sleep and wait until morning, when the stores would reopen and allow her access to resources.
So she settled on the bench, resting her head against the side of the canopy. Sam tried to cheer herself up – after all, she'd slept under worse conditions than this. So she tried to get some rest on the bench that night, only to be woken up far too soon by the sound of whispers and piercing daylight sneaking its way beneath her eyelids.
"...you think we should say something...?" a girl's voice whispered. She had a strange accent, one Sam had never heard before.
"...just leave her there. She could be homeless..." came a boy's reply. He had the same accent at the girl. He went on to say, "She could be dangerous. If we wake her up, she might attack us."
"Oh, don't be so paranoid, Alex, she's no more dangerous than your average teenager," the girl scoffed. There came the sound of footsteps getting closer and Sam felt a finger prod her shoulder. The girl's voice was right behind her, yet still soft, when she said, "Hey, miss, wake up! I think your bus is here. You probably shouldn't miss it!"
Sam wanted the voices to go away – it was far too early to deal with strangers today. She was still exhausted from yesterday, the day out shopping with Sarah on Venice Beach. Oh, no, Sarah!
Sam jerked up, remembering she was still lost, that she still had no idea where she was. She looked around wildly, at first blinded by the sunlight and startled by the strangers staring at her. Then she shook her head and focused on their faces, now clear in the adjusted lighting. The girl smiled at her, friendly if a little concerned.
She had silky brown hair and tanned skin, wearing a flowery sundress and sparkly jewelry. The girl reminded Sam of those models she saw at the clothing stores, always so pretty and perfect. She had a smile to match, too, two straight rows of white pearls. "Hey, are you all right? Did you sleep here all night?"
"Yeah, I-I..." Sam was still having trouble remembering how she got here. The process was not helped by the new surroundings she was forced to take in. There was a boy behind the girl, leaning against the canopy with his arms crossed. Tall, blond, a sharp jaw, dirty sneakers. He wasn't looking at her, seemed completely disinterested, maybe even a little grumpy. She turned her attention back to the girl, who was still smiling expectantly at Sam. She finally managed to utter, "Where-Where am I?"
"Where are you?" the girl laughed in disbelief, turning to the boy behind her as if needing to confirm what she had heard. The boy barely even glanced at them, seemed focused on the incoming bus making its way through morning traffic. The girl turned back to Sam, shaking her head as she said, "Where do you think you are, silly? You're in San Francisco!"
Oh, no. Sam felt her stomach drop to her feet. This was even worse than she thought. She wasn't just in wrong neighborhood anymore.
Sam was in completely different city.
