The only question is: would they follow me? So, I only text my dad every other morning before we leave and then go offline. One of them could theoretically follow me, but they would never know where I’d be in the evening.
That afternoon, we drive north past Yellowstone National Park, and at some point, River stops at a supermarket. It’s dusk, and the wind has picked up, blowing empty plastic packaging across the parking lot.
“Let’s have some fun,” he says cryptically and opens the passenger door for me like a chauffeur.
What do you have in mind?I type.
“It’ll be a surprise.”
Riv, tell me!
“Since when do you call me Riv?” He raises an amused eyebrow.
Well, you call me Tucks.
“Would you prefer something else? Mary as the nickname of Maryland?”
I have to smile. I’ve been doing that a lot these last few days.Tucks is okay. Still, I want to know what we’re doing. We went shopping yesterday.I think of all the sandwiches, granola bars, jerky bags, and cans of food.
Luckily, we sorted out the money issue. River said he found a wad of bills in the Porsche, which I can certainly imagine when I think about who this luxury car belongs to. Chester probably deals drugs.
River grins slyly. “We’re going to have some fun! You look like you could use this.”
Was the evasive maneuver in the car the other day fun too?I dare ask for the first time.
For a split second, a shadow moves across his eyes like storm clouds, turning them stormy blue. “That was necessary. They can’t catch me.”
That confuses me.The people in the black Camaro?
He nods and looks at me seriously.
They’re making a zombie out of me!I think, but type:
Who are they?
“Hey!” River brushes off my concerns with a smile worthy of an Oscar. But he’s not as super casual as he acts. I know that for certain after the phone call I overheard. “I’ll tell you later, but not today. Agreed?”
What if I don’t agree?
He reaches over the door into the glove compartment of the convertible, takes out two pairs of mirrored sunglasses, puts one on, and hands the other to me. “Put these on.”
Why?
“It’s better that way, believe me!”
Naturally, I do what he asks. Why doesn’t he want to show his face? Why did I have to black out his face before sending Dad the photo? Does he not want to be recognized? I look at him thoughtfully and frown as his hair falls across his face.
“Race to see who gets to the entrance first,” he suddenly calls out and starts running. I run after him without thinking about how stupid I might look. After a few feet, he lets me catch up and pass. “You’re taking the lead!” he shouts after me. “But I’ll catch up with you!”
I run faster, suddenly eager to win. I hear him approaching—Fast. If I were a normal girl, I’d scream or squeal with joy or whatever girls do, and he would catch me. I’m silently gasping for breath when he overtakes me with a grin. I grit my teeth and keep running. I’m close behind him, so maybe he’ll slow down a bit.
“Hey, Tucks.” He slows down, but he’s not out of breath in the slightest. My heart beats like a drum. I wipe my forehead with my fluttering blouse and slow down. On a scale of one to ten, I’m a minus five when it comes to sports. Competitive running never helped me at Kensington, and hiding only did sometimes.
When I’m even with River, he takes my hand as if it’s second nature now.
“Bad news,” he says seriously.
I immediately turn to look for the black Camaro, but I don’t see it.
