Chance
This girl is goingto test every ounce of strength I have. August is out cold, splayed out on the bench as if gravity were pinning her to the wooden planks.
I had a feeling that there would be a breaking point sooner or later. The way she looked at me just a few minutes ago, I nearly fell into her. Aside from the scent of whiskey, she smells like tropical flowers, and her skin is softer than silk. She's doing something to me, but I refuse to be her crutch. I would be nothing more than a bandage for her, and I can't be that. She needs help, real help.
As much as I don't want to touch her personal belongings, I slip her purse off her shoulder and reach in, searching for her phone.
She has no missed calls or messages, making her statement about being a loner seem accurate. I know her sister seemed to care about her, so hopefully, I can find May in her contacts.
Of course, the phone requires a password. I lift August's heavy-weighted hand and press her thumb against the button, hoping that'll do the trick. Unlocked. Perfect. The background image on her phone is of a peaceful lake with hues of blue and teal. Nothing too personal.
I press the contact button, landing in her Favorites, finding Keegan's name first, then May below him. I dial.
"Auggie, why are you calling so late?" she asks.
"Don't get startled," I begin. "This isn't August. My name is Chance Miller. I'm friends with her, though." Kind of—friends. She tried to kiss me, so I guess that should put me on some friendly page. "She seems to have had a bit too much to drink tonight, and I don't know where she lives, so I'm hoping you could swing by and pick her up?"
"Dear Lord. What is her problem?"
"I—I think she's having trouble dealing with Keegan's death."
"You know Keegan?" May asks.
"It's a long story, but yes. Your sister needs some help."
"Thank you, Chance. I'll—um—I'll be there in about ten minutes. Is that okay?"
"I'll wait with her until then, sure. We're at the bridge near Main Street. There's a bench overlooking Lady Bird Lake."
"I know where you are. I'll be there as soon as I can. Thank you for keeping an eye on her."
"Anytime." I end the call and go to replace August's phone in her bag, but instead, I scroll through her settings searching for her phone number that should be under her user information. I'm going to want to check on her tomorrow. She may not want a friend, but I won't sleep well tonight as it is, and I don't want to be wondering all day tomorrow if she's all right. Once I transfer the number into my phone, I put her purse back together and set it down by her dangling hand.
I take the free edge of the bench and settle back into the seat before resting my hand on her ankle.
I'm unable to stop myself from glancing over at August's resting, her relaxed face, and beautiful perky lips that are slightly ajar, long dark lashes—perfectly fanned over her high cheekbones. With her hair swept back behind her hair, she's pale under the moonlight. She looks so pure and innocent, which I think she might be, but when someone like her goes looking for trouble, it doesn't always end well.
I tested this theory out myself once.
I was a few months shy of turning ten when I took a look at the reflection in the mirror and told myself I was a man. My next thought was that men shouldn't have to live in a foster care house with a raging lunatic and an angry middle-aged woman.
I wondered what good a foster care house was to me if no one had adopted me yet. The facts weren't written down anywhere in ink for me to see, but I wasn't stupid. I watched the little kids get scooped up after being in the house for less than a week sometimes. I was the oldest and had outstayed the rest of them twice over. There was no luck left for me.
With my torn black Jansport backpack unzipped and hanging open, I tossed the few tee shirts and pairs of blue jeans I owned. I grabbed my lucky rock that looked like a turtle and broke out the paint sealed window. The farther I made it from that rundown ranch, the lighter I felt on my feet. Hope from the unknown seemed brighter than the grit I grew accustomed to every day.
Dale, the foster dad, was terrible at emptying his pockets after work at night, and dollar bills and loose change would show up in the dryer vent day after day. Being the oldest, I was the only one who figured out what time was best to collect the forgotten change. I stashed it away, saving it for the day I'd take a bus ride far away from that joint.
The bus station seemed closer whenever we would drive by it to take a kid to the doctor's office, but it took me a little over two hours to make it on foot. Still, I persevered.
It wasn't until I saw a bus ticket price compared to the amount of money I had that I realized I would need to take extreme measures. At that moment, nothing would get in my way of escaping the town of Montley.
I shuffled my way onto the bus that was going God knows where situating myself between a man and a woman. They were suitable enough to look like my pretend parents for a few minutes.
I got about an hour outside of Montley when the bus driver asked to see my ticket. I stared at him blankly, unsure how to respond. What was there to say?
"I get damn kids like you trying to sneak onto this bus all the time. Not on my watch, buck-o." The driver grabbed me by the back of my shirt, the scoop-neck hem strangled the front of my neck, causing me to choke out as he yanked me off the bus. "Hey!"
A sheriff turned around in response. "Help me out with this kid. He snuck on at some point over the last six stops."
