Runaway Twin (3 page)

I didn't want to waste the time of the police and others who would look for me if they thought I was lost or the victim of a crime. I wouldn't tell Rita where I was going, only that I was okay and would be in touch. Rita had been nice to me, so I added, “I'm not leaving because of anything you did.”

If the whole state wasn't looking for me, I had a good chance of getting away. Just to be sure, I decided to change my appearance.

I made careful plans, thinking through each step. I would leave on Friday morning because Rita taught yoga classes on Fridays and was always gone from eight in the morning until two-thirty. It was the longest period of time that I could count on being alone.

I checked the local Greyhound bus schedule. A bus left at nine-thirty. If I started the minute Rita went out the door, I could cut and dye my hair and make it to the bus depot in time. I'd be off the bus before Rita got home and found my note.

Taking twenty dollars from the bag, I headed for the mall to purchase hair dye. I had no idea there would be so many choices. I read labels and instructions for thirty minutes before deciding on the one that sounded the fastest to use. I didn't care how I looked; I only wanted to look different.

Once I was safely out of town, I planned to let my hair grow to shoulder length again, and revert to its natural light sandy color. In the meantime, it was going to be Deep Burgundy Brown.

On Thursday night, I packed my backpack. I had decided to leave my suitcase and everything in it, except the money and the picture. A girl carrying an old suitcase would be identifiable; girls wearing backpacks are on every corner. I wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Three sets of underwear. Toothbrush and toothpaste. Shampoo. An extra pair of jeans and two T-shirts. Socks. Pajamas.

I put in my favorite red Nebraska sweatshirt, and then took it back out. It was too easily identified because I wore it a lot. Instead, I packed a UCLA sweatshirt that I'd bought for a quarter at a garage sale but had never worn. I didn't think Rita had seen it.

The bulky sweatshirt took up a lot of space, but I was afraid I might be cold without it, even though I also planned to wear my Windbreaker. I hoped to find an inexpensive motel every night, but I needed to be prepared to sleep outdoors, if necessary. Even in summer the nights can get cool.

I looked longingly at my hair dryer and curling iron but left them on the bathroom counter, along with my nail polish and my creme rinse. I would worry about beauty after I found Starr. For now, I needed to travel light, taking only the essentials.

Food. I should have some food with me for times when I couldn't buy any, but the backpack was nearly full. I took two PowerBars and an apple from Rita's cupboard.

I sat on the bed and tried to think of what else I would need. I put in a small notebook and a pen, in case I needed to write down an address or phone number or directions, and the flashlight that Rita had given me. It doesn't require batteries; you just wind it up. Rita had one in every room, in case of a power outage.

I looked around my room. Of all the foster homes I'd had, this room was the best. Before I came, Rita had tried to make it a room that a teenager would like and not a babyish room all pink and with ruffles. The bedspread was two tones of purple, with three big puffy pillows on top. A matching purple Lava lamp perched on the bedside chest. A radio and CD player sat on a small white desk. If Starr could be here, too, I wouldn't mind staying in this room.

But Starr wasn't here and there was no guarantee that Rita would let me stay, even if I didn't run away. There are never any guarantees.

I awoke early on Friday and went downstairs to eat breakfast with Rita.

“Not sleeping in today?” Rita said. “Do you have plans?”

“It's too nice out to sleep,” I said. “I thought I'd go for a walk.” I didn't add,
To the bus station.

“Would you like to learn to play tennis?” Rita asked. “One of the women in my yoga class gives tennis lessons and she offered to trade me. She'll come to my class for free, and you and I can take free tennis lessons from her. What do you think?”

“I don't know anything about tennis,” I said. “I don't even know how to keep score.”

“Neither do I, but it might be fun to learn.”

“Okay,” I said. I felt like a rat agreeing to tennis lessons when I knew I was not going to be here, but I didn't know what else to do. If I said no, Rita would ask a bunch of questions about why not. The truth is, tennis lessons sounded great, and if I had planned to stick around I would have wanted them.

“No cutesy little white skirts, though,” Rita said.

“Shorts and T-shirts,” I said, and then quickly changed the subject. “What's so nutritious about oatmeal?” I asked, knowing that if I could get Rita started on healthy eating, she'd forget about tennis lessons.

“All whole grains are good for you,” Rita said. “Oatmeal provides all of the B vitamins, plus calcium, iron, and vitamin A. It's high in fiber and low in fat.” While Rita extolled the benefits of oatmeal, I tuned out.

Ten minutes later, she waved good-bye and left for her yoga class. I fought an urge to hug her before she left. I couldn't do anything that might tip her off that today was different from any other day.

The minute the car pulled out of the garage, I dashed upstairs, put my note on her bed, and grabbed the scissors and hair dye.

I snipped about three inches off my hair, which put it just below my ears. It looked pretty good on the sides, but the back was uneven. I didn't have time to try to fix it. It took over half an hour to dye my hair. I put the empty box and the hair clippings in a plastic bag, to throw in a public trash can. If I left them here, Rita would know what I'd done and would change my description when she reported me missing.

My hair was still damp as I slipped on my backpack. I took one last look around my purple bedroom and left. Maybe Starr and I would come back sometime to visit Rita. I would tell her that of all the foster homes I'd had, this one was the best. Except for the food.

T
he bus station was not actually a station. It was a small counter in the back of a drugstore. I'd been there a few days earlier to get a schedule, so I knew exactly where to go to buy my ticket. On my way there, I stuffed the plastic bag in the trash container in front of the post office.

I told the woman behind the counter where I wanted to go.

“How old are you?” she asked.

I knew from the Greyhound Web site that kids under fifteen couldn't travel alone, so I said, “Fifteen.”

“One way or round trip?”

“One way.” I thought she might wonder why a kid my age would be going somewhere alone and not coming back, so I added, “I'm meeting my dad there. We're going to go camping and then he'll drive me home.”

The woman printed out my ticket.

There was a display of candy, potato chips, and other impulse-purchase items next to the counter. I picked up a package of Twinkies. “I'll take these, too,” I said.

“The bus should be here in about ten minutes,” the woman said. “Have fun camping.”

“Thanks. My dad and I do this every summer.” The ease with which false statements rolled out of my mouth astonished me. I didn't have much experience in telling lies, but I seemed to have a natural talent for it.

Those lies didn't hurt anyone, I told myself. I'm only making it harder for somebody to find me.

I sat on the bench in front of the store and ate my Twinkies while I waited for the bus. Each time a car went past, I looked down at my lap so that the driver and any passengers would see the top of my head rather than my face. It was unlikely that anyone I knew would happen along, but I wasn't taking any chances on being recognized.

The bus rolled in right on time and disgorged two young men wearing Chicago Cubs T-shirts. I climbed aboard, handed the driver my ticket, and started down the aisle.

I had hoped for a seat by myself, but that wasn't a choice. There were double seats on each side of the aisle and at least one seat in each section was occupied. I wanted to sit toward the front. Did I want to sit next to a white-haired woman who was reading a paperback book, a teenage boy listening to his iPod, or a tired-looking young woman holding an infant? I chose Granny.

I took off my backpack and held it in my lap. Since I was not carrying a separate purse, I had decided to hang on to the pack at all times, rather than put it in an overhead luggage space or in the storage area under the bus. I couldn't chance losing my eight hundred and twenty dollars, which, after the hair dye, bus ticket, and Twinkies, was down to seven hundred sixty-nine dollars and change.

As soon as I sat down, the woman beside me closed her book and smiled at me. I could tell she wanted a nice long chat. Even though I was quickly becoming a world-class liar, I did not relish making conversation with her for several hours, so I smiled, pointed at my throat, and said hoarsely, “Laryngitis. Can't talk.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” she said. She opened her purse, dug around, and came up with a cough drop. “Maybe this will help,” she said.

I mouthed
thank you,
unwrapped the cough drop, and put it in my mouth. Then I leaned my head back against the seat, closed my eyes, and pretended to fall asleep. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes a slit, just enough to see that my seatmate was reading her book again.

Although I was too wired to actually sleep, it was pleasant to ride along with my eyes closed. I imagined how it would be when I found Starr. I pictured her initial surprise, and then her joy. I saw us throwing our arms around each other and exclaiming at how much we still looked alike, even with my new hair color.

She would tell me how much she had missed me, and how she had hoped to find me someday.

We would probably stay up all night the first night, telling our life stories. Maybe we'd discover that we like to do all of the same things.

In the article about the twins who had been separated at birth, then reunited as adults, it had turned out they liked the same food, played the same sports, and had similar jobs. They had even married people with the same first name! I wondered if Starr loved Twinkies.

When the bus stopped at the next town, my seatmate got out. After that I had the space to myself, so I didn't have to pretend to sleep anymore. I watched out the window, each mile taking me closer to Starr.

I arrived at my destination at two o'clock, wishing I could go farther. It seemed too early in the day to quit traveling. The bus stopped at a small diner, which served as the depot, and the driver announced that there would be a half hour lunch break.

I sat on a bench outside the diner, eating an ice-cream bar and looking at my map. It was thirty miles to the next stop and eight miles to the one after that. I had figured if I bought a ticket to one destination, stayed there overnight, and then bought a new ticket to continue, it would make it harder for anyone to track me. But did it matter if the second ticket was purchased tomorrow or right away? Probably not. Maybe I should buy another ticket now, get back on the same bus, and keep going.

As I was trying to decide what to do, an orange school bus pulled into the parking area and a group of girls my age swarmed out and went into the diner. A harried-looking chaperone trailed after them, followed by the driver. The side of the bus said SCHOOL DISTRICT 432.

I looked at the empty school bus. I looked at the diner. All of the bus riders were inside.

I boarded the school bus, walked to the last row of seats, and slid in next to the window. I checked the floor, to be sure nobody had left a sweater or anything that would make them want this particular seat. There was nothing, so I slumped into the seat and closed my eyes. I was good at pretending to be asleep.

About fifteen minutes later, the girls began returning, two or three at a time. An older woman called out, “Get on board, girls. We're leaving in five minutes.”

I heard talking and shuffling as everyone boarded the bus. I didn't dare open my eyes. I hoped there were enough seats that mine wasn't needed, which turned out to be the case.

“Sit down, girls,” the woman said. “Clear the aisles so we can leave.”

The engine started. If anyone had noticed me, they apparently decided not to wake me up.

The bus made a
beep beep
sound as it backed up, then it headed out of the parking area.

It wasn't until we were rolling down the road that it occurred to me that this bus might be going in the wrong direction. I had no idea where these girls were from or where they were headed. What if I ended up right back where I had started from this morning?