Authors: Sara Alva
“Um…” I swallowed a lump of mashed potatoes. “We can go pick it up.”
“All right. And did you finish the last week’s packet? We’re supposed to turn it in to that teacher…what was her name? Ms. Cranfield?”
She was pretty much talking to herself, so I just shrugged.
Greg made a harrumph sound. “You should finish it.”
“Sure. I’ll do it tonight.” No sense in upsetting them now.
Practically swooning at my obedience, Eleanor stumbled to her feet. “I think we should have a special dessert. I’m going to go get that ice cream cake that’s in the freezer.”
She returned with a blue-frosted cake and a fancy silver serving knife. “I was saving this for tomorrow—oh, that’s right! I haven’t told you!”
I raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“Dylan is coming by! I’m sure he’ll be excited to meet you. Maybe you boys could hang out…go to the movies or something. Won’t that be nice?”
A large slice of cake was placed in front of me, and I stuck my fork in to take a bite before answering. I didn’t feel bad for what I was about to do. They were nice people, but they already had their picture-perfect family to go with their picture-perfect house.
They didn’t need me. And I didn’t need them.
“Sure. Sounds great.”
~*~
I stared at the green-glowing clock numbers that night, so anxious I had to keep reminding myself to blink. At around eleven, the sounds of an active household stopped and I was left with the crickets. I'd never appreciated their shrill song as much as I did then, and I listened to it for about an hour before the agony of waiting got to be too much.
Still fully dressed, I rose from my bed and quietly slung my backpack over my shoulder. I kept my shoes off so my footsteps would be softer as I tiptoed across the room. My door slid open with a tiny squeak, and I froze for a moment, counting ten seconds of complete silence before continuing down the hallway. Creeping along the wall, I hid in shadows until I reached the stairs.
Those I took like a tightrope, placing one foot directly in front of the other, straight down the middle. Even though the carpeted steps creaked a lot less than Ms. Loretta's wooden ones, I didn't want to take any chances. Avoiding the more trafficked spots meant only the whisper of my swishing jeans could be heard as I pressed forward.
At the landing, I sat down under the chandelier and pulled on my shoes. I secured the laces several times, determined not to let my footwear fuck up my escape this time. Once I was satisfied I'd be able to make a run for it if I had to, I stood and cautiously made my way toward the front door.
My fingers poised on the handle, I took a deep breath, waiting for any last minute doubts.
None came. This was almost too easy. I could’ve done this at any moment, here or at Ms. Loretta’s, if I’d wanted to.
But I hadn’t.
I hadn't because I'd had Seb. He'd given me a reason to stick around in that strange place. Somehow talking and sharing my secrets with him had made me feel like I wasn’t so lost. But without him, I was just a pathetic little foster child, letting a system boss me around. No friends, no family. Alone, I was a
victim.
I pushed back the deadbolt in a sudden rush and flung open the door. A gust of floral-scented wind hit my face, and the unfamiliar smell filled my nostrils, reminding me of how far I was from home. Not that we didn’t have flowers in Watts, but there weren’t as many, and there were other, less appealing smells that could sometimes overpower them.
But it didn’t matter, because home was
home
. And the breeze along my skin meant I’d left my fancy prison behind, hoping for the chance things could return to normal—
my
normal—once again.
A twelve-foot high hedge woven around a fence and the mighty iron gate loomed in front of me, blocking my escape. That meant I was stuck with the hedge. Sure, I’d fuck it up a bit as I went, but it’d be nothing their gardener couldn’t fix.
I shoved my foot in to get to the fence, grabbed some of the leafy clumps, and pulled myself up. The green bristles attacked my face as I jostled them, so I closed my eyes and shut my mouth, heading up through the foliage by feel alone. One branch snapped back and caught me in the cheek, but I didn’t stop to check the wound. Grasping the top of the fence, I threw myself over and then dropped down the rest of the way. I hit the street with a thud and toppled back onto my ass, but I barely felt the impact. I was much too high off my accomplishment.
No more answering to strangers. No more letting Suzie dictate where I went and what I could do and who I could see. No more feeling small and insignificant.
I was my own man now.
After about thirty minutes, I found my way out of the maze of hills that was Bel Air. Lights and noise greeted me on Westwood Boulevard, and another swell of confidence hit me. I’d reached
city
—maybe not my city, but it meant I was that much closer.
I was right near a college—UCLA from the looks of bumper stickers on passing SUVs—and even though it was one in the morning, the place was alive. Girls in short shorts and tight tank tops traveled together in little packs, their high-pitched laughter filling the air. There were plenty of guys, too, looking casual in jeans and t-shirts, hands in pockets as they overlooked their domain.
Some of my teachers—the smarter ones—had tried to convince us that college was the place to be because it was
fun.
It sort of looked like they’d been telling the truth. I passed a line of people waiting for ice cream cookie sandwiches, the scent of alcohol floating all around them. A blonde with a bobbing ponytail was blasting a song on her cellphone, swaying drunkenly on the sidewalk to the delight of her friends. A few feet in front of her, a tiny Asian girl was busy sticking her tongue down the throat of a white guy about a foot taller than her. He hunched over awkwardly to meet her mouth, but didn't seem too disturbed.
Partying late into the night while still doing
the
right thing
and going to college? Seemed like a pretty good deal, actually.
Not that I’d ever get the chance. Even if I’d wanted it. I'd already realized that consequence of running away, but I honestly hadn't given it much thought.
No more school. Not unless I got a fake ID and enrolled myself somewhere, and that was about as likely as me ever getting into college in the first place.
So I was a high school dropout. Kind of cliché…but I’d always had a sneaking suspicion that was where I was headed anyway.
The college activity died down as I headed south, the sounds of happy partygoers fading to just the murmur of excitement. Less people were on the streets, and I started to feel out of place walking around by myself. I quickly retreated to the shadows, ducking from one storefront to another, until I arrived at the next major crossroad.
And there, on Wilshire Boulevard, I found my people.
They were at the bus stop, many of them still dressed in their cleaning uniforms. Must’ve been the night shift for some of the huge office buildings I could make out down the street. They crowded around the metro sign, occasionally checking the time, occasionally yawning with spent, weary faces.
Maybe they weren't laughing and dancing in the street and having the time of their lives, but their presence put me more at ease than any college kid ever could. In the sea of brown, I could easily blend in, and chances were whatever buses they were waiting for could take me where I needed to go.
I approached an older woman who was clutching a worn gray purse to her chest.
“Excuse me, how much is the bus here?”
“One feefty,” she replied in a thick accent.
“Can I borrow that? I’m trying to get home.”
She immediately turned away from me and dug her way deeper into the crowd, holding onto her purse for dear life.
Damn. Now why hadn’t I thought to steal the measly bus fare in advance? It certainly wasn’t grand theft, and it would’ve been easier than hitchhiking.
I weighed my options, glancing at the map on the little glass enclosure by the bench. A highlighted route headed straight to South LA caught my eye, and I made my decision. I couldn't let this good an opportunity go by.
After backtracking a few blocks to the ice cream shop, I set my sights on the little Asian girl. She was holding hands with the guy now, resting her head against his arm. I pulled my nervously clenched fists out of my pockets and put on my most innocent expression, walking straight for them.
“Excuse me, but do you maybe have a dollar fifty? I’m trying to get bus fare to go home.”
The girl automatically backed up against her towering boyfriend, like I might try to snatch the money by force. But then she took a second look at me, probably to guess my age, and her expression softened.
“Why’re you out so late?” she asked.
“My friends brought me here for a party, but I didn’t like it and I want to go home.”
I was glad to see my lying abilities were still intact after my fuck ups with Suzie. Maybe I just needed to keep my mind focused—by keeping thoughts of mysterious blond boys out of it.
She looked up at her boyfriend, craning her neck to catch his eye. “You have any cash, Brent?”
Brent gave her a smile, but me a suspicious glare. Still, the wallet appeared and he fished out a couple dollars so he could look honorable in front of his girl.
I’d been counting on that.
Cash in hand, I thanked them quickly and dashed away, adrenaline pumping from my victory. I’d only been on the streets for an hour, and so far, things were going exactly my way.
My lucky streak continued as I approached the bus stop and saw the line headed for Huntington Park already there. I easily caught up to it in my new sneakers and found a seat all the way in the back.
Now all I had to do was enjoy the ride, and hope the rest of my night would go as smoothly.
~*~
I got off at Compton and Gage, where the sense of
belonging
immediately flooded me. A cheerful yellow rooster glowed from above a fried chicken joint, wings spread wide as if in welcome. And even though it was closed, the
Pizza Loca
I passed smelled of familiar greasy goodness, making my mouth water.
But I had to push those feelings aside, because this was
not
my home, and it was dangerous to get too comfortable. Even a change of a few blocks could have meant new gangs to deal with, and I was a good six miles away. Since no one here would know me, it was likely they’d consider me an enemy first and ask questions later.
I started heading down Compton Avenue, stopping at each side street to peer into the darkness. All I saw were tiny, rundown houses with windows barred and doors double-bolted, bravely defending their occupants from the crime that surrounded them. By the time I hit Florence, I felt like I’d gone too far, so I turned around and tried going north instead.
Ten blocks later, on 62
nd
street, I saw someone who I thought might be able to help. She was sitting next to a bush on the side of the road, wearing a mini-skirt, black hose, and ankle-high boots. Large, squishy-looking breasts—the kind that came from being sort of fat—popped out the top of her low-cut t-shirt.
I headed over at a swift pace, keeping a wary eye out for any trouble.
“Isn’t you a little young, sweetheart?” she asked when I came to a stop in front of her. Then she stood and dusted off her ass. “But hell, if you gonna pay, I can still help you out.”
She had a cold sore on her lip, coated with a blob of makeup, and my stomach turned. “I don’t want…I mean, I’m not here to…”
“I don’t take no little boys to the prom,” she said impatiently, her hands on her hips. “What
do
you want?”
“I’m…I’m looking for Mimi. A friend said she…works around here.”
“Mimi? Boy, you don’t need her. If you got the cash, I’m sure I can—”
“No, no, no.” I shook my head, jerking back as though she’d tried to touch me. “Mimi’s my sister. She’s about…five-five, brown hair, pretty skinny, the last time I saw her…”
The screech of wheels on asphalt had me ducking for cover behind the bushes, and a black car with tinted windows pulled up beside us. Heavy bass pounded out through the speakers, making the ground shake.
A man rolled down the window, a cigarette poised at his lips. “There a problem?”
“Nah. He just wanna know where Mimi at," the girl answered.
“Get moving,” the guy growled at me.
I wanted to tell him to fuck himself, but thank God common sense got a hold of my mouth before I did. His car squealed away again in a cloud of smoke, and I pulled my backpack tighter against my shoulder, preparing to take off.
“Try 71
st
,” the girl shouted after me.
“71
st
? I was already by there.”
She shrugged. “Try it again. You maybe gotta look a little harder. There been police around here lately and we been trying to stay out of sight.”
I nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”
It was nearing three a.m., and I was starting to think it’d been dumb not to have headed straight home, and maybe crashed at José’s or Diego’s. But that was probably the first place they’d have looked for me, and I was
not
going to go through all this trouble just to be sucked back into the system after a single night of freedom.
I didn’t put much faith in the girl’s word, but all the same I turned right when I reached 71
st
and headed down the street, my eyes darting about for any signs of life. After this, I’d have no other choice but to walk the forty blocks down to Watts, and that thought had my feet already dragging in protest.
I saw nothing. Just more little homes, many of them converted into apartments so they could squeeze in as many people as possible. All the lights were off. The place was dead to anyone but the roaches scuttling through the garbage on the street, or the rats that were clever enough to remain hidden.