Runaway Model (3 page)

Senseless to steal it then, wasn't it? He ended up tossing it unopened into a neighbor's bin.

And then there was old man Nielsen's long-dead wife's little collection of miniature glass dogs in a glass cabinet. It was beyond tacky.

Yet Kyle found himself nicking the glass Schnauzer and telling the old man the Lab broke it.

They must know
, he thought.
They must put up with it because it's worth it to them to get some attention. Their own family neglects them, so they turn to Kyle the Klepto.

Besides, it isn't quite right to push temptation right in me face, is it? They make it too hard to resist.

But he couldn't quite convince himself. Always, always, he felt bad and wrong. Always, always, he felt as if he were looking behind his shoulder to see if Roman Nigel was spying on him.

I need to have something. I need to be free to get away with... something.

He couldn't feel right about it. How he wished he understood why he did the things he did.

But he wasn't going to turn himself inside-out for a school therapist. Someone who snooped around in his secrets for money. Someone who tried to hunt down his emotions as ruthlessly as Roman Nigel hunted down his physical location.

Kyle had to have something private, if only in the dark corners of his own mind.

The only thing that made sense was Stoney Rockland's music. Kyle was counting the days until the next album.

The next tour.

***

"I
've never laid a hand on you."

"You follow me everywhere."

"This is a small village. I have the right to walk the public streets like everyone else."

"You're stalking me."

"I always let you go when you want to go. You could be running now, but you're not."

True. Kyle always felt wrong-footed with the man. Maybe it
was
all in his head.

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

"There's something special about you, Kyle. We both know that. Most people are... distasteful. Fat and sweaty. Disgusting."

"You're disgusting."

"And you're a thief."

"What do you want with me then, mate? Why can't you leave me alone?"

"I want to help you. I want to keep you out of trouble."

Kyle turned. "I've got to finish me run. I'm timing me self."

And he was gone.

Stoney was his only escape. There was a rumor about a pop-up concert in a club in Manchester. Kyle and Morgan left a note taped to Morgan's mother's refrigerator. Morgan wasn't as avid a fan as Kyle was, but she wouldn't be left behind.

Morgan's mum had never lost a moment's sleep over Kyle. She was glad Morgan had a "safe" boyfriend. Kyle's mum was less chill. She knew perfectly well it wasn't completely unknown for a gay boy to give a girl a baby, especially when he was young and experimenting. Kyle knew how she felt. He just couldn't let a mother's feelings slow down his real life.

They were back two days later.

"We were just filming, mum," Kyle said. "I needed someone to take the second camera, innit? Morgan is my film crew."

"I don't want to hear any more about your fabulous YouTube career. You are fifteen years old, Kyle. You will stay in school. You will come home to this house every night. You hear me?"

"Fuck you, you can't make me." He didn't mean to be so hateful to his mum. The words came out before he knew what he was saying.

Kyle didn't go back to school. He thought about it. Morgan went back. But he was always too busy. There was the professional edit of his latest video. There was his blog to maintain. His asks, his private messages, his Instagrams, his Twitter, his Tumblr.

Stoney Rockland's people didn't notice his YouTube this time. Or maybe they did, but they decided he was a semi-pro pirate videographer instead of a mere fanboy, and they decided not to promote his link. Didn't matter. This video was even bigger than the last.

He was becoming a well-known superfan, the go-to boy for information and rumors about Stoney. When news was slow, he couldn't resist inventing some of the rumors himself.

***

L
ate autumn. The nights came early. Kyle wore a tracksuit with reflective stripes as he jogged down randomly selected country roads.

Sometimes he wouldn't come home. There were no-hopers in every village. Once Kyle trained his eye to see them, he could always meet someone who'd invite him over for the night. He was careful not to go with the older ones. The ones who'd expect him to trade for sex.

Instead, he'd hang with girls his own age or a little younger. Talk music. Swap playlists and mp3s and rumors. They might smuggle him into their bedrooms but they wouldn't try it on when he said he was gay. Or they might try, but not too hard, just wanting to test him with a few kisses.

They called him things like pretty. Cute. Kawaii. There was something about him that made girls want to protect him.

"You should go back to school," they'd say.

Or: "You should go back home."

Kyle pocketed silly things from them. Things they'd never be sure they didn't really lose themselves. Nail polish. Body glitter. A handful of coins from a jar.

But most of the time he did go home. He wasn't ready to be a real runaway.

And then the worst happened.

Nigel made friends with his mum.

One night, quite late, he walked inside to see her having a glass of red wine with Roman Nigel.

Kyle gawped at them, then turned to leave.

"Kyle," his mum said. "Don't be rude."

He went to the cupboard. Pulled out a glass. Poured himself some wine. It was cheap nasty stuff but it wasn't about the taste.

It was about the defiance.

"You drink now, son?"

He tossed back half the glass, doing his best to miss his taste buds.

"Mr. Nigel wanted to warn me that the school is asking questions about where you've been."

Kyle slammed down the rest of the wine. It was vinegar, but the little bubble of giddiness in the back of his brain felt all right.

"You must attend school, Kyle," his mum said. "I can be fined if the authorities decide I'm the one keeping you out."

"School is a waste of me fucking time."

"Is that the way to speak to your mother?" Nigel asked.

Of course it wasn't. Kyle already felt a stab of guilt. But he couldn't seem to stop himself. "She's a decade older than you are, mate. Why don't you leave her alone?"

"Kyle!" His mum was shocked. "Is that what this is about? You want me alone forever?"

***

K
yle was the one in the wrong. Kyle was the one who was never where he was supposed to be.

Kyle was jealous. Kyle was spoiled. Kyle was a mama's boy who wanted his mum's undivided attention forever.

Kyle was the one making up stories.

Nigel was ever so kind and patient. He never quite touched Kyle any more, not even on the shoulder. He never stepped foot in Kyle's room.

He was just there. Always there. Popping up in the most unexpected places. Making the most unexpected comments whenever nobody else was about.

Every time Kyle had himself half-convinced he was imagining the whole thing, Nigel would catch him alone and say something off. "You're not like the other kids. You're special. If only you valued yourself more..."

"Fuck off, mate, I'm not talking to you. Why do you insist on pushing your way into me life?"

"You are talking to me. You will listen to me. You will treat me with respect."

"FUck you."

"Your mum and I are engaged. I am your father now, lad."

Kyle turned on his heel and kept running.

M
organ phoned, and Kyle realized he might as well get it over with. He could have texted a selfie but he decided he'd better get used to how people reacted in person.

She was standing near the stone bridge, a French cigarette in her mouth and a gold lighter in her hand. Gifts from Kyle, who'd lifted them from their previous owners.

"Why, love, why? Your beautiful hair!"

"I'm tired of being loved for me luscious locks." He sang a bit of an old Pavement song.

She struggled to keep the smile off her face. "You're not me date for the Titus Andronicus concert looking like that."

Kyle shrugged.

Without notable success, she tried to breathe out perfect smoke rings. Kyle only knew what she was trying to accomplish because they'd both watched the same YouTube compilation of Stoney doing it perfectly.

Stoney did everything perfectly.

All Kyle got out of cigarettes was a coughing fit.

"I'm going to America," he said. He had to say it to somebody or he'd never go through with it.

"Go on with you, you are not."

"I am though."

She handed him the cigarette. He drew on it cautiously, but he still choked. Business as per fucking usual. Morgan giggled. Bald or not bald, Kyle didn't look so tough when he was coughing.

Fuck smoking. It was all very well for some, but it made Kyle look stupid. It must have taken him several minutes to catch his breath.

Finally he said, "There's a three-hundred-pound flight to Orlando out of Manchester every day."

"You have three hundred pounds?"

Kyle's shoulders lifted an inch or two. A micro-shrug.

"You're going to run away to Disney World then? What, are you nine?"

Another half-shrug.

"I always thought you'd end in Paris. Your pretty face and skinny legs are perfect for designer jeans. The bald head might put paid to your modeling career though."

"Skinny legs. The fuck you say? I do not have skinny legs."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

They wrestled playfully. Brother and sister. The sister he'd never had.

If he was like other boys, then maybe Nigel wouldn't have targeted him. He couldn't pretend the thought had never crossed his mind.
If I was like them. If I was straight.

But it was a thought that left him cold.

If I was straight, I wouldn't be me, innit?

"I'll tell them you went to Orlando," Morgan said. She kissed him on the side of the mouth. "You can rely on me."

"I know I can, mate." He hugged her briefly, quickly. He didn't want to start crying again.

Again?

He'd never started crying.

He'd deny he cried until the day he died.

***

H
is mother let out a startled scream when Kyle waltzed in a few minutes before midnight.

"Scared you then, mum?"

"Your beautiful hair. I didn't know you."

"I'm a man now, mum. I need to look like a man." The shaved scalp did make him look older. He was confident of that much.

Nigel was frowning at the telly. "It's more teenage rebellion, mum," he said. "Best to take no notice of it."

Mum? Nigel was calling his intended "mum?"

Ewwwwww.

***

K
yle's attendance at school was sporadic at best. He wasn't ready to face his class with his new look.

He decided to walk to the next village over. There was a new coffee shop with free wi-fi. The staff didn't know yet that he'd buy one coffee and hang out all day.

How did Roman Nigel know?

It seemed as if he'd actually got to the shop before Kyle. As if he were literally lying in wait. Lurking.

"You can't spoil your looks," he said. "I can see your inner beauty."

The man was completely delusional. There was no fucking inner beauty. He was Kyle the Klepto, for God's sake. Why oh why was this creep so obsessed?

What had Kyle ever done to bring this down on himself?

He didn't bother to open his computer. He didn't even take the coffee. He left without a word.

One more place he didn't want to go ever again.

***

K
yle applied for a passport. Should have done before he'd butchered his hair but perhaps he'd been hoping that Nigel would go the instant he saw his bald scalp.

Nigel didn't go.

Nigel was understanding.

So fucking understanding.

So Kyle had to be the one to go instead. The passport photo was a disaster.
That isn't me. That can't be me.

He was turning into somebody he wasn't.

The sooner he left England, the better.

Kyle could travel and work legally anywhere in the EU. But he wanted an ocean between him and Roman Nigel.

America then. There were cheap packages to Orlando, to Miami, to New York, to Vegas.

He never seriously considered Florida. Orlando was for the kiddies, and he wasn't ready for Miami's gun culture.

He thought a long time about New York. It was his first choice. He had dreams. Big dreams. He could be a model. He could even be a singer. But how did he plan on eating until he made it big?

Vegas had crashed. Vegas was cheap. There were stories of kids only a little older than him having a good day at the card tables and buying entire condos for twenty thousand dollars. The same condos that once sold for hundreds of thousands of dollars during the real estate bubble.

Not that Kyle could buy property and end up in easily searchable public records for anyone to track. That wasn't the point.

The point was anyone could make it there living on a song.

There were other stories. Endless online posts about entire abandoned neighborhoods full of empty houses. Fuck. You could scout the place using Google's satellite search before you ever stepped foot on the street. Pick the house you wanted, and Bob's your uncle. Some people just camped out. But the more intrepid squatters actually used their own tools to hook themselves up to the county's electricity, water, and cable networks. It was just like civilization without having to pay the bills.

You didn't need money.

Vegas it was.

***

T
he resort got famous a few years back when they paid a self-destructive girl singer to drink in their nightclub. At some point in the proceedings, she ran off and married some random in the nearest quickie wedding chapel. The gossip columns still disagreed on whether or not a man dressed like Elvis presided over the ceremony.