“Stop. Listen to me. If you disappear now, all this blows up. If youlie, the evidence you found so far will be thrown out in court because now you’re the liar who said he was hired by the Beaumonts.”
“I already am a liar!”
Miles lowers his voice as a hint that I should lower mine. “It’s different! No jury is going to look at you, at what you’ve been through, and say you’re a terrible person. Maybe you need to hear this because no one has ever said it to you before, but you’renota terrible person.”
The pulse pounding in my ears slows and I replay what Miles said. Because it’s not true. Even if it is only Marcus who’s guilty, I’ve been lying to this whole family. And I don’t care how desperate I was when I first told the lie. I could have come clean at any time. It’s possible they might not even have sent me home.
I just didn’t know what to do at the time.
“You made a mistake,” Miles continues. “But if you run off now, you’ll be making another one.”
He’s wrong. I shouldn’t have even stayed this long. When I don’t answer him, he reaches out and gently grabs my wrist. It’s like an electric shock and breaks me from my thoughts. I look up at him, and his expression is one of pity.
“I know this is a shitty situation, but I promise I’m going to help you get out of this. For now, stay calm. And whatever you do, don’t talk to Grant again.” He smiles, trying to play it off as a joke.
I nod and take a deep breath, then tell him the lie he wants to hear. “You’re right. Okay. I’m good now.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Thanks for talking me down.”
“Anytime.” He nods over my shoulder. “You should probably water those hydrangeas again.”
I turn to see that some of the hydrangea leaves have turned brown and droopy, which is strange considering it’s ten degrees cooler today than it was yesterday. Sorry, Valencia, I don’t have time to rescue your plants today. Miles and I say our goodbyes and I go back in the house.
Despite what Miles thinks, I’m not staying here anymore.
I race up to Nate’s room and grab the duffel bag from the closet. It’s a little after five. Valencia is going to be home within the next hour. Marcus won’t get here until after six, and I have no idea where Easton is. Probably hanging out with JT.
I unzip the duffel and throw in my toothbrush and toothpaste. Then I grab one of the library books I checked out today and throw that in as well. I’ll rip out one of the blank end pages for the note. And leave the book too, because the librarians might be able to track me down better than the cops.
“Nate?”
I freeze. Shit. Valencia is home. I look at my phone and, yes, there are notifications that the downstairs door was opened. My opportunity is gone. At least for now.
I’ll use Easton’s trick later tonight after everyone has gone to bed. Actually, that’s a better idea anyhow because it will give me more of a head start. No one will realize I’m gone until the morning. I turn to put the duffel bag back in the closet.
Only the sweat on my hands causes the bag to slip. I try my best to catch it with my knee, but that topples it over. My clothes, food, toothbrush, and the library book spill out onto the floor, the cans making loud thuds as they fall out from between the folded clothes.
“Nate? Are you okay?” The floorboards creak as Valencia comes down the hallway. I scramble, trying to throw everything back in. My hands shake nervously and I almost drop another can before tossing it back in the duffel.
The bedroom door opens, and I freeze.
There’s a look of confused humor on Valencia’s face when shefirst enters the room. But that slowly drops when she takes in the scene. Me, with clothes and canned food, my toothbrush, and a duffel bag.
“What is this?” she asks. But the tone of her voice says she knows exactly what this is. She’s just hoping she’s wrong.
I don’t have an excuse ready. My mind is completely blank. Now all my plans and preparation are for nothing. She’s going to take the duffel bag and food and probably lock it up. It’ll end up being more secure than the gun Marcus has in his fucking closet. So she can make sure I can’t run. At least not prepared. I’ll still find a way to get out of here.
Valencia shakes her head. Her eyes are glassy.
“What is all this, Nate?”
She wants to hear me say it. But I can’t because she looks devastated. My own eyes start to burn and everything catches up with me. Before I know what’s happening, my chest is aching with sobs.
I want to get out of here. And the most disturbing part of all this: I want to gohome. How fucked up is that? I wouldn’t let my parents send me to conversion therapy—maybe after all this I’d be able to stand up to them. Yell at them and tell them I’m not going. That they can try to send me there but I’ll keep running away. I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet. They don’t even have to know about my love life. When I get married to a man and adopt three amazing kids, they can continue to think I’m single. We won’t talk about it.
Valencia wraps her arms around me, tight. I shake against her as tears drip from my face like a broken spigot. Her hug makes me feel safe, but that feeling is at odds with the confusion in my gut. Shewalked in on me very obviously with my queer homeless kid bug-out bag. She should be yelling at me. Calling me an ungrateful brat and locking me in my room.
