ing out and up the stairs, to my room. I close the door and pretend everything’s right with the world.
Let’s see how long the illusion lasts this time.
“Going somewhere?” Dad asks as I cross the living room a few days later.
I flinch. Hard. I hadn’t seen him lurking by the TV. “Yeah. Going for a jog.”
He’s sprawled on the sofa, his considerable bulk taking up most of it, a drink in his hand. “With that buddy of yours?” He places the glass on the coffee table slowly, deliberately. “North, what was his name?”
“West,” I say through gritted teeth. My heart bangs around inside my chest. And it’s all lies. I haven’t seen West since our fight Saturday morning.
“That’s right. West. Why don’t you come here, son? Come here.”
Jane isn’t home. She said she was going to her Tai-Chi lessons. There’s nobody else at home but Dad and me. I could run, but eventually I’ll have to come back.
Fucking shit.
My feet feel too heavy to lift from the carpet. I drag them, fighting myself every step of the way as I approach him. “What is it?”
“Here.” He waves me closer, and I cringe but take another step. He lifts his hand to my face and my stomach churns. “That’s my boy. Who have you been hanging out with? Any new friends at school?”
I frown, try to pull away, but he grips my chin to keep me still. “No. Same.”
“Have you been talking to anyone else? I need to know.”
“No, Dad, I… no.” Sweat rolls down my back in shivery trails. “Haven’t talked to anybody.”
“Good boy. Our private business is our business and nobody else’s, right?” His grip tightens.
I nod, my mouth bone-dry, my skin crawling.
“Excellent.” Finally he releases me. “Now go and meet your friend. Have fun, but don’t stay out late. I need you here by ten.”
Swallowing bile, I nod again, and he finally lets go.
No matter how hard I try to go slow, I end up bolting out the door, running down the stairs and spilling out to the street—as if I can escape.
Finding my feet, I keep running, past our building, the row of shops, the great oak and old man Johnny’s house. Running away, running alone. Pulling my hood over my head, I sprint as if I have devils at my heels, snickering and laughing.
Hands grabbing at me, holding me still.
No, no, no.
Don’t think. Just run. Just fucking run, Nate.
I just need to save some more money before I make it out of here. Before I run away for good and don’t come back.
“Nate! Nate, hey!”
I’ve been tearing down dim streets, sprinting between the pools of light cast from the street lamps, fighting off buzzing insects and trailed by stray dogs hoping for a bone, delaying my return home.
But here I am—and here she is.
“Syd.” I stop and bend over, bracing my hands on my knees. Fuck, my blood is pounding in my ears. I feel sick.
Real sick. Fuck. My stomach cramps, and I take a few stumbling steps before I puke my guts out into the gutter.
“Nate.” She touches my arm lightly, and I straighten with a groan, wiping a hand over my mouth. “How long have you been running?”