Chapter Text
“Santa Carla, here we come!” her mother shouted for perhaps the tenth time. Her short red hair blew back from her face as she turned around, trying to get her daughter to share her enthusiasm.
But the thought of Santa Carla didn’t make Michaela Emerson the least bit excited. She slumped in the backseat and stared halfheartedly out the window at the sky. Maybe, she thought, she should sit up and take a look at the coastline flying by. Her younger brother, Sam, was sitting up front with his designer clothes and designer hair, perfectly happy sharing the front passenger seat with their dog, Nanook. Both dog and Sam sat with their heads out the window, watching the world go by.
Michaela knew she should look too. There might be some place she could take her motorcycle, maybe even someplace out of the way she could show to a guy. Or girl, she wasn’t picky. Somehow, though, she didn’t even have the energy to sit up. She didn’t really care. That was it. Right now she really didn’t care about much of anything.
Her life was over. That was it. No matter what her mother said about moving on and finding new adventures, she felt like she’d left her life behind in Phoenix. All her friends were there. She’d been doing all right in school. And there was Billy. They weren’t really close yet, had only gone out together a couple times. Somehow, though, being with Billy had been special—so much different from any of the other guys she had dated. When she had thought of taking someone out on her bike a moment before, she realized she had thought of Billy.
Now he was gone, part of a life Michaela would never see again. Why did her mother and father have to go through their divorce? Oh, realistically, Michaela knew. She had been there for all the fights, after all, had seen her father disappear for two weeks without a word, had sat with her mother all those nights she could do nothing but cry. Had felt it the moment he came home complaining of his new secretary. Had sensed her cheap smelling, yet no doubt expensive perfume, every time her father glanced over at his pager. But why did they have to move away?
Michaela knew that too. Her mother had explained it to her until she had practically memorized the words. She had dreamed of it long beforehand , too. Even after their little scandal, her father was still a pretty important person in their part of town. There was no way they could stay in Phoenix without running into him. He didn’t want the kids, his gay son and delinquent daughter, and Mom didn’t want him. So Michaela and Mom were on their way to Santa Carla, along with her little brother Sam, their dog Nanook, and all their worldly goods. At least, what her bastard father let them take.
Their grandfather lived in Santa Carla his whole life, and from now on they would stay with him. That was fine with her mother, Michaela guessed. And her brother was happy as long as he could buy his comic books and watch his brat-pack movies. Michaela sighed and sank lower into her seat. Was she ever going to find anyplace that she really belonged? She could feel the threads of fate tangling themselves, like a noose around her neck in response.
The car groaned as it started up another incline. Michaela glanced back at the U-Haul trailer they dragged behind them. This old Land Rover of their mother’s could barely take the extra weight.
“Santa Carla, here we come!” her mother kept shouting. With the way this broken-down jalopy was acting, “Santa Carla or bust!” was more like it.
They drove by a group of stores her mother seemed to recognize: a convenience store, a beauty salon, a post office that needed a coat of paint.
“We’re getting close!” she called over her shoulder.
Sam frowned and leaned toward the window. “What’s that smell?” Their mother laughed and took a deep breath. “Ocean air!” she proclaimed.
“Smells like something died,” Sam replied, looking slightly nauseated. Their mother threw her hands up in the air, then quickly placed them back on the steering wheel.
“Guys,” she began slowly, “I know the last year hasn’t been easy, but I think you’re really going to like living in Santa Carla!” Sam glanced back at his sister. He still looked slightly nauseated. Michaela shrugged hopelessly. She sat up enough to look out the window.
Their mother paused for a minute, waiting for a response.
“How about some music?” she asked at last. She reached over and turned on the radio. Steel guitar whined from the speaker while a deep male voice lamented how he’d lost his wife because of whiskey. Sam turned back to her. “Keep going,” he instructed.
She turned the dial. The Thousand and One Strings played a Paul McCartney song.
“Keep going!” Sam insisted even more urgently.
Their mother turned the dial again. The Young Rascals sang about sitting around on summer afternoons. “Keep going!” Sam and Michaela shouted in unison. Their mother laughed. “Wait a moment! This one’s from my era!” She began to sing along.
“Groooovin’!”
Sam looked back at Michaela again. Michaela knew what he was thinking. What was this nonsense? What did you do when you were ‘groovin’’, anyway?
They turned back to their mother.
“Keep going!” This time their voices held a hint of desperation and amusement.
The three of them laughed as their mother twisted the dial again, finding a decent rock and roll station at last. Guitar and drums, a song about being on the highway. Michaela sat up in the backseat and smiled despite herself, gently hitting her leg in time to the radio. Now this was music!
“Here we are!” her mother prompted.
Michaela looked up to see them rapidly approaching a huge billboard. On one edge of the large blue sign was a jumping swordfish, on the other a bikini-clad girl with a beach ball. Between the two were the words:
WELCOME TO SANTA CARLA
So they were finally here. Michaela kept watching the billboard as if those four words and the pictures surrounding them would give her some clue about her new home, as if they would speak up and tell her just what she should do to settle into this new town: how to make friends, how to fit in, how to be happy and forget about other people in other places.
Michaela stared at the sign until the Land Rover passed it by, then turned to look out the back window at the sign’s other side. Somebody had spray-painted something in red across the billboard’s rear. It took Michaela a moment to make out the words:
MURDER CAPITAL OF THE WORLD.
“What?” Michaela turned back to her mother and brother, but they were both facing forward. She was the only one who had seen the sign. Sam pointed at a brightly colored storefront. Her mother laughed.
Michaela looked out the back window again, but the sign had disappeared with distance.
Welcome to Santa Carla.
Murder Capital of the World?
Great….