It was getting dark again. I didn’t see any road signs, but I was pretty sure I was far enough from home to be safe and I had to pee so bad I could hardly move.
I went into the diner. A juke box was playing kind of low, and people sat in booths and in stools in front of a counter. I asked a waitress for a basket of fries, then headed for the restroom.
There was a whole shower room back there, and I could smell the soap and the steam. A shower would be nice, but I was afraid I wouldn’t have enough time.
When I came back out of the restroom, I checked outside to be sure my ride was still there, and it was.
A pretty waitress handed me a big cardboard basket overflowing with French fries and a whole handful of ketchup packets. “I gave you extra,” she said with a wink.
“Thanks.” I said it on autopilot, taking the fries but paying no attention to the waitress. I wasn’t sure which of the people at the counter was driving the truck I was riding in, and I skimmed their faces, trying to guess. The whole time I was in there, I was worried my ride would leave without me if I took too long. My bike was still in the truck, and I didn’t want to lose it.
There was a payphone in there. I thought about calling my mom. But then I figured she’d see where I was calling from and send the cops to drag me back, and what if the next time my stepdad tried to sell me, I couldn’t get away?
It’s blowing my mind how something told me to get out of there. How did I know?
I bought a blanket and pillow in a cute little “travel bundle,” plus two bottles of Coke, and a box of Hostess Twinkies. Then I took my fries in one hand, my bag of purchases in the other, and I went back to the truck with my haul.
So that was the whole deal. I’m back in, way more comfy with my blanket and pillow, eating my fries and trying not to leave grease stains on the pages as I write.
What was up with the people in the truck stop, though? There were men and women, travelers and waitresses. A few of them looked at me and it made me nervous, but nobody came up to me and asked if I was okay, or if I needed help. I was relieved, not to have anybody bugging me and maybe figuring out I was a runaway. But shouldn’t they care? Shouldn’t a 14-year-old alone in a truck stop in the middle of nowhere raise a few questions?
It seemed weird. I was so worried about getting caught and sent back, but instead, it kind of feels like I’m invisible.
Guess I’ll put this down and read a while. I still have my Greek mythology book in my backpack. I’m afraid that’s one book the library’s never getting back. Maybe I’ll mail it someday. After I read it a thousand more times.
I love mythology. In the stories, before she was a monster, Scylla was a princess who’d betrayed her father. My name is Cilla, and my father betrayed me.
Willow, Sky Dancer Ranch
“How’s your mom?” Drew asked.
Willow’s little, blond aspiring-private-eye cousin was standing in the doorway of Wes and Taylor Brand’s home on Sky Dancer Ranch, looking worriedly past Willow, who’d answered her knock.
Willow nodded. “She’s upstairs. Dad won’t let me near her. Doc Elena’s with her, giving her a sedative, Dad said. He said I should leave her alone for a while.”
“Jeeze.”
“Yeah, he’s really pissed.” Sighing, Willow stepped back to let Drew inside, closed the door, and led her toward the kitchen. Her petite cousin glanced up the staircase when they passed, but Willow wanted to avoid seeing her father again at the moment. She felt guilty as hell.
“But yourmom?Inbed?With asedative?She’s one of the kick-assiest women in the family.”
“I know.”
“Next to you, I mean. You come by it honestly.”
Willow heard her, but the words skated across the surface of her mind without leaving marks. She opened the fridge, took out a beer, and wished it was whiskey, then held it out to her cousin, but Drew shook her head. So she slammed the fridge door, twisted off the cap, tossed it toward the wastebasket, and missed. The cap hit the cabinet door, ricocheted across the floor, and spun on its end before falling with its pointy edges up.
“I can’t believe they kept this from me. And they’re acting likeI’mthe one who did something wrong.” She could whine to her cousins. They were as close as any siblings, Willow thought. Then again, how would she even know what having a sibling felt like?
Drew shrugged one shoulder and averted her eyes.
“What?Youthink I did something wrong?” Willow asked, stunned.
“No!” Drew opened the fridge and took out a beer, apparently having changed her mind. She tossed her cap and it went into the wastebasket without touching the sides. Then she went over, picked up Willow’s cap, and dropped it into the basket before taking a generous sip.
“Youdothink I did something wrong, don’t you?” Willow was a deputy sheriff. She could tell when a suspect was stalling for time.
“I just think you could’ve been…gentler.”
