I’ve been doing it my whole life, when everyone nopes out on me. And Z is more important than a cat, no matter how cute she is.
Marie’s house is nice. Not Westfield McMansion nice, but solid middle-class nice with actual furniture that doesn’t look like it was rescued from the dump. Her kitchen smelled like cinnamon instead of stale beer and cigarettes. Plus, her mom was cool about me crashing for the night, barely asked any questions when Marie said I was her “new friend from school” who wanted to sleep over. She seemed really excited, actually, and I’m betting it’s because Marie doesn’t have a lot of friends at that place.
But I was just waiting until it was too late for her parents to drive me, then I said I actually wanted to sleep in my own bed after all. I said I lived really close—within walking distance—and that I’d see her at school on Monday.
All lies. I’m planning on walking out their front doorand never coming back. I feel shitty about it, but some things are more important, like getting Z away from Frank.
“Text me when you get home safe?” Marie says, and the genuine concern in her voice makes something in my chest twist uncomfortably.
“Yeah, of course.”
I’m good at lying. Been doing it my whole life. But I’ve never liked it. It’s part of the person I’ve been hoping to leave behind.
I walk down her driveway into the cool night air, and with each step away from her house, the weight on my chest gets heavier instead of lighter.
The football game was... It was actually fun. Caleb explained the plays like I was worth teaching. Like, he didn’t talkdownto me; he talked to me like I was as smart as him. It was the same with his friends. They just treated me like I was… I dunno.Normal. Not like I was trailer trash. Sara even shared her nachos like it was no big deal.
And that moment on the field, the confetti falling like snow, Caleb’s hand warm in mine, looking at me like he wanted to?—
Stop it.
That’s not real. None of this is real. This is just another of Silas’s cons, another temporary stop before everything goes to shit the way it always does.
Z needs me.
Z is the only person who’s ever been there, who’s never left, who knows exactly who I am and doesn’t expect me to be anything else.
Z asked me to marry him.
We have a plan.
And I’m not the kind of girl who abandons her best friend just because some preppy bastard with perfect hair made her actuallyfeelsomething for a few hours.
I pull out my phone and the cash in my pocket. Thirty bucks that Helen handed me so willingly. The bus ticket to Selbyville is seventy-five.
I know Z suggested I lift the cash out of Helen’s purse.
And I… I actually went into her bedroom one time this week when she and Dad were downstairs, found her purse, and even thumbed through it until I found her wallet.
I’m ashamed just remembering it.
That’s what I felt as I stood above her purse, too.Shame. I froze, feeling so fucking awful. Sure, Z and I steal the odd stick of beef jerky sometimes from Smithy’s, but Smithy is an asshole pervert who deserves only bad things and whatever karmic hell fate may decide to revisit upon him.
But Helen. Helen is just… really fuckingnice. And not that fake nicey-nice that like, the people from CPS are. She’skind.
I mean, the woman bakes me snickerdoodles and leaves community college brochures on the counter like breadcrumbs to a future I didn’t know I could want?—
I stared down at her wallet, and my stomach just kept turning over and over on itself until I thought I was going to be sick.
I’m not like this, I realized, yanking my hand out of the purse.I’m not like my dad.
I ran out of Helen’s room and hid in mine the rest of the day, only giving Z monosyllables during the call that night when he asked if I’d done it yet. I could tell he was starting to get frustrated with me, and that the situation with Frank was only getting worse, and then I wondered if my stupid new conscience was worth Z getting another beating that he might not survive this time.
So hitchhiking it is.
It’s not that far, I tell myself. Like four hours. With hitchhiking, probably a lot more. Maybe overnight if I’m unlucky. But still, it’s so close it’s ridiculous. Plus, I’ve done stupider shit. And truckers are always looking for company on long hauls, right? I just need to find someone going east.
It’s only about a half mile to the gas station near the highway entrance. It’s exactly what I’m looking for—a big truck stop with diesel pumps and a parking lot full of semis. Neon signs buzz in the darkness, advertising coffee and diesel and lottery tickets.