Run (18 page)

“Yeah … sure does.”

“Anyway, it got me thinking,” she says, “where do you think we ought to live? Once we get the money, I mean.”

“Um …” I focus on the turn, my hands tight on the steering wheel. “I dunno.”

“The mountains seem nice. And a little one-bedroom might not be too expensive. And if we can get to your daddy’s house today, we could start looking tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah … maybe.”

“We might have our own place this time tomorrow.” She laughs. A big, loud laugh that startles me a little. “Sorry, I just … I never thought I’d get to live anywhere but Mursey. Hell, I never thought I’d get out of my parents’ house. This might not be the way I wanted to go about doing it, but I’m just … I’m excited.”

In the rearview mirror, I can see that my face has gone green.

“We’ll fill a bookshelf with nothing but poetry. Maybe we could even paint the walls. I’ve always liked the idea of painting my bedroom blue.”

“Agnes …”

“I know, I know. I’m getting ahead of myself. We don’t have the money for all that yet. And it’s probably gonna be real tough until we both turn eighteen, since we’ll have to keep our heads down. But still. It’s nice to think about, you know? To have something nice to look forward to.”

I swallow hard and take a few deep breaths, trying to settle my stomach. The mountains are up ahead, round and misty and bluish gray. Like smoke drifting closer and closer.

“I know it’s gonna be tough,” she goes on. “I’ve never had to rough it before, and it’s gonna be a challenge. But, honestly? It just … It feels so good to be free. To not have Mama and Daddy breathing down my neck, panicking over everything I do.” She reaches across the console and grabs my hand. “But we’re gonna be all right. Just you and me.”

I swerve into the parking lot of a gas station so fast that the tires squeal. Utah slides across the backseat with a yelp, and Agnes gasps. I slam my foot on the brakes, barely missing another car. We ain’t even in a real parking spot when we come to a stop.

I barely hear Agnes say, “What are we doing?” before I shove open the car door, lean out, and throw up on the pavement.

“Oh my God! Bo?”

I sit up and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Did you just throw up?” Agnes asks.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” I lean back in the seat, closing my eyes for just a second. “Must’ve just ate something bad.”

“The barbecue last night? We ate the same things. And I feel all right.”

“I dunno, then. But I’m fine.” I shut the door and shift gears, backing the car up so we’re in line with the gas pump.

“What are we doing?” she asks.

“We’re almost out of gas. And we should probably grab something to eat.”

“Do we have the money?”

“I got a little left.”

We both climb out of the car, and I roll down a window for Utah. Agnes leans against the side of the Reliant while I pump, still talking about the apartment we’ll get once we find Daddy. I don’t hear much of what she says, but I nod along anyway.

I don’t fill the tank. We ain’t got the funds for that. But I give us just enough to hopefully get the beat-up car the rest of the way. I put the nozzle back and start walking toward the little convenience store. Agnes walks next to me, her cane dragging across the pavement.

“We ought to get something for the dog, too,” Agnes says once we’re inside.

There’s a loud air conditioner blasting and the man behind the counter’s got the local news on a tiny black-and-white TV. The store’s real small. There ain’t much in the way of people food, never mind dog food.

“Guess we could get something to share with her.”

“Like what?”

“Bologna? That’s what I’ve fed her before when Mama’s forgotten to pick up the dog food.”

Agnes wrinkles her nose. “Ugh. I hate bologna.”

“Well, I can’t think of anything besides lunch meat. You got something else in mind?”

“I’m guessing a lobster dinner is out of the question, huh?”

I force a laugh, and Agnes smiles.

“I’m okay with lunch meat. We can make sandwiches.”

“Just not bologna sandwiches.”

“Definitely not.”

I grab some ham and cheese. Utah will be happy with both. Then I grab a loaf of bread, and we walk to the counter. The cashier, an old man with a big white beard, looks up from the TV.

“Afternoon,” he says, picking up the package of ham. “How’re y’all today?”

“Not too bad, thanks,” I say, putting our food on the counter.

He looks surprised and stares at me for a second. Probably thought I was a boy until I started talking. But then he stares harder, and when his eyes shift to Agnes, I think I might throw up again.

“Wait a second …” he says.

Fuck. I start backing away, real slow at first. There’s a chance he might not recognize me with the big shiner on my eye and the short hair, but Agnes …

“I know you,” he says, looking at her. “I’ve seen your face.”

“Uh … I don’t think so,” Agnes says, but if I can hear her voice shaking, I know he can, too.

Shit, shit, shit. I reach for her hand.

“Nah, I have …”

My fingers close around hers.

“Wait! Y’all are the girls from the news.”

“Run!”

I nearly pull Agnes’s arm out of its socket when I bolt for the door. She keeps up, though, and we burst out of the store at a sprint. I only let go of her hand when we reach the car. Inside, Utah’s barking, panicked. I yank open the driver’s-side door and climb in. It takes Agnes a second as she fumbles for the handle.

“Come on!” I yell.

She pulls the door open and throws herself inside. She ain’t even closed it all the way when I take off.

The tires screech and I smell burnt rubber as I speed out of the parking lot. In the rearview, I can see the cashier, standing in front of the store, shouting words I can’t hear and waving what looks like a loaf of bread in his hand.

“We didn’t pay for the gas,” Agnes says.

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” I make a sharp turn and see Agnes grip the door for dear life. “We got bigger problems than stealing a few dollars of gas.”

“Sorry, but I’ve never stole anything before.”

“Except your sister’s car.”

“It’s not the same.”

I yank the wheel too hard, and the Reliant K skids, almost missing the turn onto a gravel back road.

“Where are we going?” Agnes asks. She sounds scared.

I’m scared, too.

Running from the street fair last night was different. No one had recognized us. As long as the cops didn’t get a look at our faces, we were gonna be okay. But now, if that cashier calls 911, the police will be out looking for us, for our car. Not just two random teenagers.

“We’re getting off the main road,” I say. “So no one’ll see us.”

“But we’ll get lost.”

“We’ll be fine.”

She’s right, though. It ain’t twenty minutes before we’re weaving our way down into a holler with the shadowy mountains rising up around us. And I’ve got no clue where we’re at.

“We’ve got to ask for directions, Bo,” Agnes says.

“No! They’ll recognize us like the guy at the store. They’ll call the cops. This car’s license plate might already be on the news.”

“It’s better than getting lost out here!” she argues.

“No, it’s not. And I’ll find the way. Just give me a damn minute!”

It’s the first time I’ve ever yelled at her, and it makes me feel more like a monster than any of the other awful things I’ve done.

But there’s no one to ask for help anyway. What Agnes can’t see is that there’s not a whole lot around us. We passed a few trailers a mile or two back, but now, there’s nothing. Just the big, smoky hills and this narrow little road.

There’s no street signs, neither, which ain’t helping me at all.

I press my foot on the gas again, speeding up and looking for something—anything—that might tell me where the hell we are.

“Slow down!” Agnes yells as I swerve to avoid some roadkill.

“Just let me think!” I yell back.

In the backseat, I hear Utah whine.

The gravel turns to dirt, and the path takes a tight turn. I throw my weight into the steering wheel. The car tilts, and for a second, I’m sure we’re about to flip over, to roll down the hill in a pile of metal and breaking glass. For just a second, I think Agnes and I are gonna die out here.

But somehow I manage to right the car, and we’re back on the road. Only now, Agnes looks petrified and Utah is barking and my heart is pounding so hard it feels like someone is firing a shotgun inside my chest.

“We’re gonna be all right,” I say. I mean to sound comforting, but I don’t think I do.

And right then, I hear it. Agnes does, too.

A loud pop!

“Goddamn it! Motherfucker!” I scream, slamming my fist into the steering wheel.

The car slows to a stop.

“What just happened?” Agnes asks.

I bury my face in my hands. My whole body is shaking, and I ain’t sure she can hear me when I answer.

“Motherfucking flat tire.”

“I crossed the line, didn’t I?”

The beer buzz was long gone.

We were back at Colt’s mama’s trailer. She was out for the night, and it was just Colt and me there. Alone.

I always thought it would be exciting or maybe a little scary to be alone with a boy—especially one I liked—but right now, all I was feeling was guilt and regret.

Colt didn’t answer my question, which I knew meant yes, I had. I’d done more than crossed the line. I’d trampled on it.

“I can’t believe I said that.” I sat down on the edge of his little twin bed.

His bedroom was tiny. Smallest bedroom I’d ever seen. But something about that made me feel safe. There were posters up on the walls, but I couldn’t see what they were of. Sports teams, I figured. That’s what all boys put on their bedroom walls. Other than that, though, the room seemed awful bare. And there were cardboard boxes packed and lined up all along the wall.

“It definitely wasn’t the nicest thing I’ve heard you say,” Colt agreed, sitting down beside me.

“But she just kept pushing,” I told him. “I know it doesn’t justify it. But she just wouldn’t listen. My parents aren’t like hers. They barely let me breathe without being watched—let alone go to another state for a week without them.”

“Have you talked to them about that?” Colt asked. “About how they treat you?”

“No. There’s no point.”

“You don’t know that.”

I groaned. “Not you, too.”

“I ain’t talking about Nashville. Forget about that,” he said. “I’m just talking about you. You should tell them how you feel. They might listen. Might not start letting you run wild or nothing, but they might let you make a few choices, at least. Make it so you don’t have to lie about where you’re going.”

“Yeah … maybe.”

But I didn’t believe it. I’d never realized just how tight my parents kept the leash until I met Bo. Maybe because, before that, I’d never been given a chance to pull at it. Then she came along, and I had a reason to go out, to leave the house, to be like any other girl. And they didn’t even want me walking home from the damn bus stop.

“Far as Bo goes …” He shook his head. “Sometimes she wants things so badly, I think it hurts her. Blinds her.” He paused. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” I said.

“Anyway … She gets these ideas in her head. Ideas about going to Nashville, yeah, but ideas about people, too. And she holds on so tight she can’t see when it’s better to let go. Not until she gets let down. Sad part is, I think she expects people to let her down. But it ain’t stopped her from wanting.”

“That’s why she’s Patsy,” I murmured.

“Huh?”

“Nothing … But maybe it’s not sad. Maybe it’s great she hasn’t given up on wanting things.”

“Wanting things is dangerous when you’re like us,” Colt said. Then he turned to look at me. And we were so close all of a sudden. I could see the color of his eyes. That rich sweet-tea shade. “It’s different for you, though. I think you could stand to want for more.”

“I want things,” I said. I was thinking of something I wanted right then. Something I’d never wanted before he sat this close to me.

“Maybe, but you don’t seem to do nothing about it. Bo chases what she wants, even if it ain’t good for her. You act like you’ve done give up.”

I should’ve been mad about that. Should’ve told him that he barely knew me. How could he have a clue what I wanted or how much I wanted it? But it was hard to be mad when I knew he was right. I said I wanted out of Mursey, said I wanted my parents to treat me differently, but I never tried. Never pushed. Not like Bo.

I wasn’t ready to fight for those other things. Not yet. But I could go after the thing I wanted now.

“I know you like Bo, Agnes. But be careful. It ain’t easy to love a Dickinson.”

That didn’t stop me, though. I leaned toward him and, before I could think twice, kissed Colt Dickinson.

It was quick. Fast. And I missed his mouth—hit right on the corner of his lips. I pulled back a little, wishing my eyes were good enough to really make out facial expressions.

Colt was quiet, and for a second I was scared I’d done something wrong. But then he leaned in, put his hands on my cheeks, and guided my mouth back to his.