I could have sworn I’d pressed that damn red emergency button. Fucking hell, did I have to screw every little thing up? I kept running, feeling my purse slamming against me as the revving of Clint’s engine started coming closer to me.
And as it barreled by the elementary school, I was still half a football field away from the road.
“Clint!” I roared.
I felt my voice growing hoarse. I saw the car rush by just as I got past the school building. I bent over, panting for air as I watched the car full of angry drunken idiots swerve down the road. Were there not any cops out tonight? At all? The hell was that about?
I had to get to Clint.
I fumbled with my phone as I stood up, throwing my head back, trying my hardest to catch my breath. Even for someone who enjoyed P.E. and sports, I still couldn't keep up. I grumbled to myself as I clutched my phone. I looked down, hovering my finger over the red emergency button. The dial-out to 9-1-1. The number that would surely bring people to help out this situation.
But then I heard laughing in the distance. I heard Clint’s bike revving before the rickety sounds of the train tracks were heard.
If I called the police, would Clint get in trouble, too?
“I can’t get him in trouble for this. It’s not his fault,” I murmured.
Instead, I dialed Michael’s number. Hoping beyond all hope that he’d pick up the phone. I knew he was done with my shit. Done with me and the idiocy surrounding Clint and me. But Michael was the one with the car. Allison hadn’t gotten her driver’s license yet because of some weird fear of making herself motion sick, so her parents still carted her around.
I put my phone to my ear, listening to it ring as I started jogging toward the road that connected the parking lot of Grady’s Groceries and the elementary school.
Michael chuckled, answering the phone. ”Hey, Allison and I were just talking about you.”
I panted for breath. “Michael. Please. I need your help.”
“Wait, what? Rae, what's wrong?”
“Me. And Clint. It—I’m at the—”
“Clint? What the fuck has he done?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. He—he’s in trouble and—”
“Why are you out of breath?”
I groaned. “Do you have your car at Allison’s?”
He paused. “Uh, yeah?”
I drew in a deep breath. “Please. I need you to come get me. I’m standing outside of the elementary school. We have to go after Clint. It’s important.”
“And why should I give enough of a damn about him to do something like that?”
“Look, I know you’re sick of his shit. And my shit. I know you’re sick of me, despite the makeup session we kind of had in the cafeteria. But I need you to come get me. It’s a very serious emergency, and explaining it only wastes time.”
“You make it sound like he tossed himself off a bridge or something.”
I yelled, “Damn it, Michael. I need you right now. My best fucking friend. Please. If you come get me, I’ll leave you alone. For good. I won’t talk to you. I won’t approach you. I won’t bother you with Clint shit ever again. Just please, this once, come get me and stop asking questions.”
“I don’t want that, and you know it.”
“Well, you’re sure as hell acting like it!”
I heard his bike revving off in the distance. Coming closer, only to fade back. And I could have sworn I heard the skidding of tires. The sound made me sick. So sick that I actually heaved. And when I did, Michael sighed.
“You said you’re at the elementary school?”
I sniffled. “Yes.”