“I’m sorry.”
I only slightly reacted, but he noticed.
I don’t respond to his words and watch with strange fascination as my dark green bag makes a hole in the waters of Willow River, like a bullet into human tissue. Fountains of water spray upward, then whitecaps form on the swelling water. My things are gone—swallowed, disappeared.
My heart beats faster. Suddenly, my chest doesn’t feel so constricted.
Should I run away with River? What do I have to lose? But I’m afraid to leave our house. How am I supposed to function on the road? I don’t even eat in front of strangers!
But what else is there?
I close my eyes for a moment and feel dizzy.We’ll get you. All of us. I can almost feel Chester’s face close to mine, his disgusting odor, as if he’d eaten a thousand McDonald’s pickles in one go, and his wet, greedy hands on my bare skin. I feel the smelly water he dips me in and the panic of choking. My hands shake. I should tell Dad. But Dad wouldn’t believe me, and that would be the scariest of all possibilities.
But I can’t go back to Kensington. I’m too afraid of what Chester and Hunter will do to me if I don’t tell anyone—and what they’ll do if I do tell someone.
As we walk down the valley, River no longer takes any risks and follows closely behind. Withered autumn leaves from last year rustle under his soles while I walk almost silently in my flip-flops.
“We have three options,” I hear him say halfway through the walk. “I can take you to your family and tell your mom or dad what happened, or I can take you to a clinic and tell the doctorswhat you’re planning to do. If you don’t want to go to your family, that’s fine.” Maybe River thinks I’m being mistreated at home. “And you know option three, so take your pick, Kentucky. You might as well get it in your head that I will no longer let you go anywhere alone.”
Dad will find out what happened no matter where River takes me. If I’m unlucky, Dad will use his influence to get me out of the psych ward, and I’ll be back in school quicker than I can thinkKensington.
I give River a sideways glance. What if he’s up to something terrible? Something I can’t even imagine? I mean, he could have been following me the whole time. But, if he wanted to harm me, he would have done it long ago. Nobody is here. He would have had all the time in the world.
“My car is down in the parking lot. Have you made a decision?”
I take my cell phone out of my pocket.Where would we go?I type.
He catches up, reads the text, and takes the cell phone from my hand.To the land of dreams, he writes back.
That sounds too mysterious to me, especially since he’s typing instead of speaking. Who knows what he means by that? I look at him questioningly and take a deep breath before answering.
I’m coming with you. I really don’t want that either since I don’t want to go anywhere with a stranger and I don’t know him. It seems easier to jump—no more compromises. And who knows if we’ll get picked up by the police because I’m only seventeen? Who knows if Dad will report me missing? On the other hand, that would at least allow me to avoid summer school.
River reads my sentence and smiles cautiously. “We’ll see, Tucks, we’ll see.”
A strange warmth spreads through my lungs as I breathe, possibly because he’s making up nicknames for me, which you only do when you like someone or hate them. And I don’t believe he hates me.
As we walk the last few feet through the forest, he cheerfully hums “Jump” by Van Halen to himself.
There’s only one car in the deserted parking lot at the abandoned quarry, so I assume it’s his. A black Porsche Carrera 911 convertible like the one Chester drives. It’s even the same model, with the same metallic paint and eye-catching matte black rims. My stomach instinctively tightens, but before I can react, River opens the passenger door for me.
I reluctantly sink into the seat. It smells like a new car and cigarette butts.
River fiddles around in the trunk for a while, and I wonder if he’s rearranging or hiding something. But when he gets in, he puts a dark blue sleeping bag on my lap. “It’s hot, but you’re wet and will be cold on the journey.”
A wave of gratitude rises within me. I can’t remember the last time someone worried about whether I was cold or not.
As he revs the engine and drives off, I give him a sideways glance. His hair blows back in the wind, revealing his crystal-clear profile. His left elbow is relaxed over the door with the window down. I spot a straight scar across his eyebrow and a mole at his hairline.
He takes the highway toward Cottage Grove.
I must be crazy. How am I ever supposed to eat or drink with him around? What if there isn’t a bathroom anywhere?
At a red light, I hold my cell phone under his nose.
Can we stop at a gas station? I have a girl problem.
Oh God, that sounds terrible. Luckily, I wrote it and didn’t say it.
