Run (8 page)

“She’s fine. She was just tweaking.”

“Tweaking?”

“Yeah. You know, zooming … on meth.”

“Oh.” I stopped and readjusted my backpack on my shoulder, trying to process what she’d just said. Meth. Crystal meth. I’d never seen anybody on drugs before. I’d never even seen anyone smoke pot. At least, not that I knew of. A lot could happen without me noticing. But still. I’d never really even thought about meth. The idea of someone’s mom doing it blew my mind.

“Don’t know why you’re surprised,” Bo said. “Ain’t uncommon around here.”

“It’s not?”

Bo snorted. “You really are blind,” she teased, slapping me on the arm. Then she headed off down the hallway, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll see you after school.”

“Where’d the money come from, Bo?”

My hands tighten around the steering wheel. “What money?”

“The money you bought the car with,” Agnes says. “Where’d it come from?”

I take a deep breath. In the backseat, Utah shifts and lets out a long, bored groan. We’re all stuck in this car, and there ain’t no way I can avoid this question. I’m surprised it took this long for her to ask in the first place.

“I … I stole it.”

“What?”

“Mama’s been dealing,” I say. “Has been for the last few months. I knew where she was keeping the cash, so I took some before I left.”

“Oh,” she says.

She sounds awful relieved. Like she expected me to say I’d robbed a liquor store. Guess I can’t blame her. That’s the kinda thing people in my family do. I used to think I was different, but in the last twenty-four hours I’d taken my mama’s drug money and stolen a car. A Dickinson through and through.

“But if you have money, why do we have to find your dad?” Agnes asks. “Aren’t we looking for him so we can get some money?”

I keep my eyes on the highway, letting the pavement and the road signs fill my vision. I can’t look at her. I can’t lie to her face.

“It ain’t enough,” I tell her. “We just spent most of it on the car. What I got left ain’t enough to live on long. We still gotta find my dad if we wanna stay gone till we’re eighteen. We’re gonna need money for all kinds of shit. Like … gas and rent if we wanna find a place to stay … Mama didn’t have that much saved.”

I’m sure it sounds flimsy coming out of my mouth, but it’s good enough for Agnes.

“Right,” she says. “That makes sense.”

My hands relax, and my foot eases up on the gas. I hate that I’m relieved. Part of me wishes she’d called me on my bullshit. That she’d demanded I take her back home.

I just can’t stop thinking of her parents and how much they gotta hate me now. There are about a million other things that oughta be on my mind, but that’s what I keep coming back to. I can hear the names they’re probably calling me. Can hear their voices cursing my name up to the high heavens.

Maybe if they’d never let me into their house, this wouldn’t be happening. Maybe if I’d never gone over there to work on my algebra, Agnes would still be at home, instead of in a shitty car with a bad haircut and fifty dollars of stolen drug money.

I hadn’t even cared about the algebra anyway. I’d just … wanted to hang out with her.

I wish I could regret all of it, but the truth is, if none of that had happened—if I didn’t have Agnes now—I ain’t sure I’d have had the nerve to run. Despite everything I’d always said, all the promises I’d made myself, I probably would’ve just sat there in the trailer, waiting for the cops to come. Because I couldn’t do this alone.

I couldn’t do this without her.

Even if I feel awful about dragging her into my mess.

“Okay,” she says. “So we don’t know where your dad is, right? How do we find him?”

I shake my head and clear my throat. “I know someone who can tell us where Daddy is. We’re about there now.”

I turn off at the next exit. A couple stoplights and five minutes later, we’re pulling into the parking lot of an apartment complex. It ain’t fancy, but it ain’t a hellhole, either. Half the lawn out front is brown and dead. A few of the cars are old and dinted, but others seem all right. And the parking lot ain’t too dirty. Just a few crushed beer cans on the concrete by the Dumpster.

It’s no paradise, but it seems safer than the motel we stayed at last night. That’s for sure.

“Get your stuff,” I say as I climb out of the Reliant K.

“We’re staying?”

“Hope so.” I put Utah’s leash on and grab my bag. Agnes’s cane clicks on the concrete behind me as I lead the way to one of the ground-level apartments. I knock on the door, the branches of a cheap wreath scratching my knuckles. 1B is the only door with any kind of decoration on the outside.

“Who lives here?” Agnes asks.

Before I can answer, the door swings open and a tall, skinny boy is standing there. He’s got a mop of reddish-blond hair and eyes like sweet tea. Eyes that can only belong to a Dickinson. And right now, they’re staring, real wide, right back at Agnes and me.

“Bo? What are you—?”

“Hey, Colt,” I say, giving him a half-guilty smile. “I need a favor.”

“So
x
would equal fifteen.”

Bo stared down at the paper where I’d been working the problem with a thick black marker. “Wow,” she said. “Seems a hell of a lot easier when you do it. Mr. Ryan makes it look so hard.”

“Yeah.” I capped the marker and dropped it onto the dinner table. “He’s not real clear when he teaches. And he’d always forget to make large copies of the homework when I had his class, too. Mama ended up going down to the school to give him a talking-to more than once.”

“Seems like your mama really fights for you.”

“She does. It’s embarrassing sometimes.”

“I think it’s great,” Bo said. “If I was you, I wouldn’t be embarrassed at all.”

And, like she’d been summoned, Mama and her big blond hair appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Sorry to bother y’all
again
.” She probably didn’t emphasize the
again
, but I sure heard it that way. This was the fourth time she’d come out of the kitchen in the past hour, always with some excuse for why she needed to poke around the dining room for a few minutes.

When I’d told her Bo Dickinson was coming over, she’d been surprised, to say the least. But she hadn’t said no. Or tried to discourage me from spending time with Bo. Which, honestly, I’d half expected her to do. My parents had never been as outright hateful toward the Dickinsons as Grandma was, but still. Bo Dickinson wasn’t exactly the girl parents around here wanted their kids hanging out with after school.

I think she was winning Mama over, though. She’d been real polite since she got here, and even complimented the cookies Mama had made from scratch. And now, my guess was, Mama had just overheard our conversation about Mr. Ryan and how Bo didn’t think she’d done anything embarrassing by confronting him. I imagine she probably liked that an awful lot.

“You girls need anything?” Mama asked. “Some tea or more cookies, maybe?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Atwood,” Bo said.

I shook my head. Just like I’d done when she’d asked fifteen minutes ago.

“All right. Well, if you change your mind, just let me know. I’ll be in here on the phone with your sister, Agnes. I’ll tell Gracie you said hello.”

“Thanks, Mama.”

When she left the dining room again, Bo said, “That reminds me. I gotta call my cousin and make sure he’s still taking me to Dana’s party tonight. You coming?”

“Coming … where?”

“To Dana’s party.”

“Oh.” I shook my head. “No. I don’t really go to parties. They’re usually pretty dark, and my vision is even worse when there’s not much light. It’s just too much of a pain for Christy or someone else to guide me around all night, so …”

“I’ll do it,” Bo said.

“Do what?”

“Jesus, you don’t listen for shit, do you?” She laughed. “I’ll guide you around all night. I don’t mind.”

“Oh. No, that’s all right. I couldn’t be a burden.”

“You ain’t a burden,” Bo said. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

It was something I never in a million years thought would happen—Bo Dickinson sitting in my dining room, inviting me to a party. And it certainly wasn’t something I’d ever thought I’d want to say yes to so badly.

It wasn’t a good idea, hanging out with Bo. People would talk. I was having a hard time caring about that as much as I ought to, though. Because I’d never been to a party before, and the idea of going with someone like Bo, someone who didn’t treat me like deadweight or a thing to be pitied …

“Mama?” I hollered. “You on the phone yet?”

She was back in the doorway in half a second. “No, but if I was, yelling at me would be awful rude, now wouldn’t it?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Can I go to a party at Dana Hickman’s tonight? With Bo?”

“Oh. Um …” She hesitated, and I wished I could see the details of her face, be able to use that to know what she was thinking. “Well …”

I felt a little guilty all of a sudden. I could tell by Mama’s voice that she didn’t want to say yes. Of course she didn’t. I was asking to go to a party with a Dickinson. But I’d put her on the spot by asking in front of Bo. There was no easy way to say no.

“Uh … Will there be parents there?” she asked.

“I think so,” Bo said. Though, from everything Christy had told me about the parties she’d gone to, that seemed real unlikely.

“Well … uh … I guess that’ll be okay.” She sounded a little defeated. “But you’ll have to be home by ten thirty.”

I frowned. When Gracie was my age, she’d been allowed to stay out until eleven—sometimes twelve—on the weekends.

“Can I use your phone?” Bo asked. “I gotta call my cousin and make sure he’s still driving us.”

“Oh. Sure. It’s in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Bo stood up and headed through the door.

After a second, Mama asked in a quiet voice, “Will Christy be at this party?”

“Um, I doubt it,” I said. “She was out sick today. Strep throat.”

“That’s too bad,” Mama said. “I was just … Bo knows you can’t see real well when it’s dark, right? Will she be able to help you get around? She knows not to just walk away or—”

“She knows,” I said quickly.

“All right. Well, if something happens, you call me, okay? I’ll be right there.”

I nodded. “Okay, Mama.”

I sure didn’t remember Gracie getting this many questions before she went to parties.

A second later, Bo came back. “He’s gonna pick us up here at seven,” Bo said. “If that’s all right with you, Mrs. Atwood?”

“I suppose that’ll be all right,” Mama said.

It wasn’t even five o’clock yet, which meant we had two hours to hang out and get ready.

Well, I got ready. Bo said she was just gonna wear the shorts and tank top she’d had on at school that day. But me, I had to try on about six different outfits. I sure wasn’t going to my first party in beat-up jeans and one of Mama’s hand-me-down shirts. Maybe it was silly, since I’d just seen all these people at school, but I wanted to look nicer. Prettier.

Maybe … sexier?

I shook that thought away. It didn’t matter what I wore. I was still the slightly too tall, slightly too chubby girl with the white cane. No one was gonna think I was sexy. And, even if they did, I wasn’t sure there was anybody in Mursey I wanted to find me sexy.

After a lot of going back and forth, I decided to embrace the last breath of summer and picked out a yellow sundress Mama had bought me last year. It fell just above my knees and had halter straps that tied behind my neck. I loved the way it hugged my curves, and even though Gracie used to tell me I was too pale to pull off yellow, it was my favorite color.

I pulled my hair into a long ponytail and put on my nicest black sandals. Then I turned to face Bo, who’d been sitting on my bed, flipping through my braille books and asking me questions about them for the past two hours.

“What do you think?” I asked.

Bo hesitated. “Well … It’s nice. But you look like you’re going to homecoming, not a party in someone’s backyard.”

I groaned. “I’ll change.”

“No, no,” Bo said, hopping to her feet. “You look real nice. You should wear what you want. Besides, I think my cousin’s downstairs. I see his truck through your window.”