Page 1 of Score on You

“Where will you go?” My mother hovers in my doorway, her fingers knotted in worry.

I lift my gaze from the bag I’m packing to study her whitening knuckles. The lump in my throat doubles in size as I admit the truth. “I’m not sure.”

“You mentioned a friend,” she murmurs.

The termfriendis generous. I met Harper Wilson last month when I was granted a rare leave from the compound. It’s almost unheard of that a young lady such as myself is allowed to venture beyond the commune limits alone. Father declared that I’d proved myself to be trustworthy enough for a short trip. It was a test of my loyalty, a slice of freedom that I wouldn’t take for granted.

That opportunity led me straight to a small town called Knox Creek. Harper spotted me and my wide-eyed wonder while I wandered aimlessly along Main Street. Her bold attitude immediately called to me. She was confident and outspoken andeverything I’m not permitted to be. Unless I escape the narrow-minded community of Billmoore permanently.

Harper is little more than a stranger, but she’s the only option I have. I want to be like her. Desperately. Just for a day, or maybe a sleepless night. A few hours where I’m in control of my own destiny. The potential of making a single reckless choice is almost too appealing.

“Yes,” I finally respond while breaking from my thoughts. I tuck the memory away for safekeeping and clutch tight to hope that she will accept me. “I’ll visit the woman I told you about. That’s where I’ll go. Maybe she has somewhere I can stay until I find my own place. She might be able to help me get a job too.”

Mother gasps and lurches toward me as if the idea is unheard of. She collects herself almost immediately, retreating to her spot at the threshold. “Calliope.”

My shoulders bounce in a shrug. “That’s normal. Women work. They’re independent. Self-sufficient.”

“But it’s not…” She stops before finishing that rehearsed sentence.

“It’s not our way,” I recite for her.

But that’s not true.

These restrictive rules arehisway. The self-appointed dominant sex is in charge and dictates how we live. It’s a core value in Billmoore. I’ve survived in this intolerant environment for twenty-one years. That’s somewhat surprising since the urge to rebel and buck the system has been rooted within me for almost as long. I’m ready to break free from the oppressive cycle where I merely exist under Father’s roof.

Especially now that I’m expected to marry and start a family. Several eligible suitors have already been selected and deemed worthy to be my husband. Not by me, of course.

The reminder squeezes my lungs until it’s difficult to breathe. My chance to flee is slight to begin with, becoming less likely thelonger I delay. The men are currently distracted by an annual event that kicks off the hunting season. This is the first year my brother was invited. It’s considered a privilege to attend. Even so, that type of prey only holds their attention for a short stretch. They’ll return in an hour or two, expecting gratitude for their efforts.

I begin to pack my meager belongings faster. “Will you come with me?”

It’s not the first time I’ve asked her. This drastic move would be considerably easier with her beside me. She’s my mother. My only source of support. Nothing competes with the comfort she provides. But the grip Father has on her is too strong. Those shackles have become more unbreakable over the decades.

Her continued silence proves as much. I still glance at her over my shoulder. She’s shaking her head. Silent sorrow spills down her cheeks in rivers that she doesn’t bother to stem.

“You better hurry,” she urges.

I nod and zip the bag I’ve filled. “Okay.”

“Send a message to let me know you’re safe? Be mindful of his shifts at the mill.” The reminder isn’t necessary, but I pocket the advice all the same.

“Of course,” I say and turn to where she’s standing. “Maybe you’ll be allowed to visit once I’m settled.”

Her smile wobbles at the edges. “I’d love that. Very much.”

And I’m sure she would. But we’re both aware this could be the last time I see her. At least for a while. Which is why I hug her extra tight and let the embrace last longer than usual.

A hollow pang spreads through my chest. “Love you, Mama.”

“I love you so much, baby girl. Don’t ever forget that.” Mother wraps her arms around me and slips something into my pocket.

My fingers curl around the wad of money, ready to return the generous gesture. “I can’t accept—”

“You can.” She stills my motion. “It’s not much, but enough to get you started.”

“Where did it come from?”

“That’s not for you to worry about. Just take it.”

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