“If you don’t drink, what are you doing?”
He screwed off the lid. “One beer won’t hurt.”
I put my hand over the top of his beer. “Would you for once answer me? What are you doing?”
He looked at me, and for a second, I saw a flash of pain in the shadows of his eyes. But just as quickly it was gone.
And then I knew what this all was about.
“I get it,” I said slowly. “All the stuff online. The accusations. I get it.”
And I did. Relief surged through me as I realized our rendezvous was about him, not me.
I took my hand off his beer and waited for him to take a drink. But he didn’t. He rested his head against the cracked bark on the tree and closed his eyes.
“I’m going to California,” I blurted.
His eyes shot open. “What?”
“Yeah. Denny’s with Dad now.”
“Aren’t you with him, too? Doesn’t your dad live with you both?”
“I tried to get rid of him. The other day, he came home drunk.”
Fresh Meat said nothing, only nodded.
“But he won’t leave. Denny wants him to stay.”
“So you’re going to leave. Who will you live with in California? You have relatives there?”
“I’ll make do.”
“Going to live on the streets?”
“It’s warm.”
He leaned toward me, and I felt his breath on my mouth “Are you nuts?”
My eyes narrowed. “No. I’m not nuts. I have a plan.”
“You know what happens to kids on the streets?”
“What are you? My parent?”
Anger flashed across his face. He squinted at me, his expression hard. “You’re a fool.”
I jumped up. “So are you.”
We glared at each other. Who did he think he was?
“Run away a lot, do you?” His voice was so low, I could barely hear him.
I scrutinized him for a long minute. Then I pulled myself up another couple inches. “That’s rich, coming from you. Isn’t running away why you’re here?”
He winced slightly and shuffled his legs in the sandy dirt. “Okay. Fine. You got me.”
I sat back down, and my voice was quiet. “There’s no reason to stay.”
The muscles around his mouth tightened, and he set the beer onto the ground where it tipped, and the liquid slopped into a puddle on the ground. He grabbed the half-empty bottle and held it to his chest.
His breath seeped out, and the mood shifted. His anger filled the darkness, taking over the very air around us. I tensed and itched to run.
Had I hurt his feelings? I couldn’t wrap my mind around what had just happened. I jumped up, and my long shadow fell across his face. “I’m out of here.”
Why had I come in the first place? A stupid move from the start.
He got up and dusted off the back of his jeans. “Yeah. You should go. But I’m walking you.”
“Don’t bother,” I said, pivoting toward the opening.
He grabbed my arm, pulling me up short. “I said I’m walking you.”
I wrenched my arm from his grip. “And I said, don’t bother.” I ducked through the opening and marched across the sand. I heard twigs snap behind me.
If he wanted to follow like some pathetic puppy, fine by me.
But his legs were longer than mine, and within a few yards, he was beside me. I kept my gaze straight forward. We strode across the sand without a word. When I spotted the approach back into town, I began to jog. I didn’t get far when I rammed my canvas shoe right into a half-buried log.
“Crap!” I cried, bending double to clutch my throbbing foot. I hopped on one leg, sinking sideways. I lost my balance and fell over, getting a mouthful of sand as I hit the ground.
In a flash, Fresh Meat was squatting beside me, his hand on my shoulder. “Tiffany, you all right?” His voice was thick with concern, and in that split second, even after such a sucky meeting, my heart fluttered.
“I think I broke my toe.”
He leaned back and sat down. “Take off your shoe and let’s see it.”
“No way! Besides, it’s dark. You can’t see it. Ow!”
He dug in his pocket and pulled out his cell. Two seconds later, a light beamed on my foot. “Now take that shoe off, or I will.”
I scrambled to a sitting position and gingerly slipped off my shoe and sock. My middle toe was red and swelling. “See. It’s broken.”
He took my heel in his hand and directed the stream of light right on my toe. “Doesn’t look good. I’ll carry you back.”
I yanked my foot from his hand. “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t be stupid. You can’t walk. It’s the middle of the night. Does your dad even know you’re gone?”
I stuck my foot back into my sock and groaned with pain. “No, he doesn’t know. He’s not going to either.”
“How do you plan to get your foot in your shoe when you’re crying like a baby over your sock?”
“I’m not crying!”
“They can probably hear you in Astenia.”
I stretched my shoe open as far as it would go and attempted to put my foot inside. I yelped in pain. “Crap!”
“Told you.”
“Fine. Carry me. But don’t get any ideas.”
Fresh Meat gave a rueful laugh. “Yeah, right.”
He took my shoe and stuck it in his jacket pocket. “You ready?”
“No.”
He slipped one arm under my back and one under my knees. With an easy move, we were both up. If it had been another world and I’d been a different person, I might have melted against the hard muscles of his chest. I might have sighed over how close his lips were to mine. I might have buried my face into his warm neck.
But it wasn’t another world. It was this one. And I wasn’t a different person. I was me. The girl whose mother was dead and whose brother had switched sides. The girl whose dad was probably snoring off his beer that very moment.
I held myself stiff in Fresh Meat’s arms all the way home.
****
The blanket resting on my foot hurt. By morning, I was ready to scream. I turned on my bed light to inspect the damage. My middle toe was twice its normal size and an angry purple. I sighed and flopped back on my pillow. How was I going to walk around at school?
But if I stayed home, I’d have to suffer through Dad all day long.
Someone knocked on my door.
“Go away.”
The door opened and Denny stuck his head into the room. “How come you’re not up yet?”
“I’m up.”
“Aren’t you going to school?”
“Of course I am.” My mind plotted. If I could make it downstairs, I could drive Denny to school and then hole up somewhere for the day. I could pick him back up after school and neither he nor Dad would know I skipped. Then it would be the weekend, and school wouldn’t matter.
The weekend. Two whole days of Dad.
“Go on, Denny. Get the cereal ready, and I’ll be right down.”
He walked in, and I quickly flipped off my light. No need for him to see my toe.
“You mad at me?” he asked.
“Of course I am.”
“Don’t be mad, Tiff. Please. It’ll be okay with him here. You’ll see.”
“Yeah, we’ll see all right.”
“Courtney called.”
I sat up. “Did you tell her?”
“I didn’t tell her anything. Only that things were going fine.”
I touched his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“You better get up.”
“I am, Mr. Bossy Pants.”
He giggled and left the room. I slipped my legs over the edge of the bed and tested my weight on the floor. Shivers of pain ran up my leg. I sucked air and forced myself to stand. The toe throbbed enough to explode. I fell back on the bed, panting.
This would never work. I turned the light back on and inspecte
d my toe again. A pool of blood was pushing under the nail. I’d read once that if you stuck a needle through the nail, blood would spurt out and the pain would leave.
I glanced around my mess, wondering what I had that was sharp enough. I eyed a crusty old bulletin board I’d put up when I was in elementary school. It still hung behind the door. A row of orange push pins ran along the top of the cork. I hopped over and pulled one out. The sharp part looked too fat to cram through a toenail.
Someone knocked on my door.
“Denny, I told you I was coming!” I hollered.
Another knock.
I hopped to the door and yanked it open. “Den—” I stopped short. Dad stood there.
“Denny said you weren’t up yet. Everything okay?”
“I told him I’ll be down,” I retorted. Hot pain shot up my leg. I gasped and leaned on the door.
Dad stepped inside. “What’s wrong?”
“Get out! Nothing’s wrong. I’m coming.” I turned my back to him.
“Tiffany…”
“Get out!”
He sighed and left. I slammed the door and hobbled over to my bed. There was no way I’d make it to school. I shimmied back under the covers, hanging my bad foot over the edge.
My cell rang, and I grabbed it off the bed stand. Fresh Meat.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, it’s Jason. Thought I’d call and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing fine,” I said, gritting my teeth with each word.
“You don’t sound fine. Want me to come by and get you for school?”
“You have a car?”
“Yes, Tiffany, I have a car.”
“Then why weren’t you driving last night?”
“I like walking.”
“Can you take my brother, too?”
“Sure, why not? I’ll be there in a few.”
He hung up. I held my breath and sank to the floor to dig through my dirty clothes. I hadn’t done laundry in forever and knew my dresser drawers were empty. I found a shirt that didn’t stink and put it on. I had a pair of moccasins somewhere — a snort-worthy gift from Aunt Marge. But they were loose, and I might be able to get my foot inside. I crawled around the floor like a seal, burrowing my way into all the garbage sacks of belongings, courtesy of Courtney. At the bottom of the final sack, I found the moccasins. I held my breath and stuck my foot inside, silently howling as sweat broke out over my entire body. I lay there for a minute, gasping.
Another knock.
“Are you kidding me?” I hollered. “I’m coming!”
“Tiff, we’re gonna be late.”
“A friend is coming for us. Let him in would you?”
At that very moment, the doorbell rang. I heard Dad’s footsteps walking to the door.
“Denny, go on down. Hurry up.”
I raised myself from the bed and then pressing my lips together, walked to the door. I could do this. A stupid broken toe couldn’t stop me.
Fresh Meat’s voice floated up the stairs. Dad was putting on all nice, chatting about the weather. I leaned heavily on the bannister and made my way downstairs. Dad’s back was to me as he visited with Fresh Meat. But Fresh Meat was facing me and saw my agony. His face blanched, and he rushed to the stairs to meet me halfway down, taking my arm like he was escorting royalty. I gave him a warning look, hoping he’d stay quiet about my toe.
“You ready, Tiffany?” he asked in a jolly voice.
Fresh Meat being jolly? I could’ve kissed him.
Dad handed the lunch sacks to Denny, and we hustled out the door. Fresh Meat folded me into the front seat of his Volkswagen. Denny squeezed behind the driver’s seat into the back.
“Tiffany, what’s wrong with you? Were you limping?” Denny asked.
“Hurt my toe is all. I’m fine.”
“Your face is white.”
“So?”
“Why didn’t you stay home? You probably need a doctor.”
Fresh Meat put on his seatbelt and started the car. He adjusted the rearview mirror and backed out of the parking space.
“Doctors don’t do anything for broken toes. And I’m not staying home. I’m fine.”
“You just don’t want to be with Dad.”
“Well, Sherlock, you got that right.”
Denny sat back and shut up. In a few minutes, we were at the middle school. “Here you go,” Fresh Meat said. He pulled up the parking brake and got out. Denny wiggled from the backseat and stomped off without bothering to look back or wave.
Fresh Meat got back into the car. “It’s really so bad as that?”
“Bad as what?”
“You’d rather limp around in agony all day than stay home with your dad?”
“I don’t remember inviting you to the conversation.”
He raised his eyebrows and gave a low whistle. “Have it your way. Want to go somewhere?”
My eyes widened.
He smiled. “I take it that’s a yes.”
“It’s a huge yes. Where d’you want to go?”
“I’m new around here, remember?”
“How much gas is in the car?”
He peered at the dashboard. “Three quarters.”
“Can we just drive?”
“Sure.”
I leaned against the door and angled my body toward him. “Serena will figure it out.”
“Figure what out? That we’re skipping together?”
“Yeah.”
“Will she tell?”
“Serena? No way.”
“Then we have nothing to worry about.”
I nodded. “Nothing.” I watched him drive. His hands looked huge on the steering wheel, and I couldn’t help but imagine them on me again, holding me, carrying me.
He glanced over. “You staring?”
I laughed. “Don’t you wish?” I averted my eyes, focusing on the rows of decrepit beach houses whizzing by outside the window. The dull siding of the identical cabins blended with the dark cloudy sky. A tumble of plastic buckets leaned against one drooping porch, their bold colors stark against the graying wood.
Courtney and I used to build sand castles with buckets and old soup cans. Denny would sit in a tide puddle slapping his hands on the water, splashing us all. He’d giggle and giggle until he’d cough and sputter. Then Mom would yell at us for making him spit up.
Like it was our fault.
I smiled. It’d been fun. Those days so many centuries ago.
“Hey, you there?”
I shivered and focused back on Fresh Meat. “Yeah, sorry. What’d you say?”
“I’m driving south. Is that the direction you wanted to go?”
“You been to Astenia?”
He shook his head. “Can’t say I have. Isn’t that where Teri is from? And those guys, uh, Marc and someone?”
“Yeah, Marc and Cody. You have a good memory.”
“It’s a curse.”
I shrugged.
“Never did like bucket seats,” he said.
I looked at him. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re too far away.” He glanced at me, and his gaze was warm and inviting.
“I’m not your girlfriend.” My voice was edgy, but inside, everything in me reached for him.
“Never said you were.”
“Oh, crap!”
“Am I that bad?” he asked.
“It’s not that. I forgot to take the car keys.”
“So? You’re not the one driving.”
“The last time Dad had the car, he went out and got drunk.”
Fresh Meat shook his head and blew out his breath.
“We have to go back.”
“He’ll know you’re skipping.”
“I don’t care. Denny can’t go home to a drunk dad again.”
Fresh Meat slowed the car to a crawl and pulled a U in the middle of the highway. “I don’t think taking the keys will stop him from getting drunk.”
“It’ll help.”
; My insides had tightened into a fist. I leaned forward in the seat. “Go faster, would you?”
“Sorry, Tiffany. I don’t speed.”
Of course, he didn’t. His friend had killed himself with speed.
We passed one empty school bus on the way into Ocean Mist, and I glanced at the clock on the dash. School had already started. My phone dinged — a text from Serena.
Where r u?
I texted back. Hurt foot. Not coming.
F.M. not here. Ur w/him, rite?
I decided to call her later with all the juicy details. Like how I had to babysit car keys.
Later, I texted.
Fresh Meat pulled into our condo lot and sure enough, the car was gone. I punched Dad’s number on my phone.
He picked up after three rings. “Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“Tiffany, aren’t you at school?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the store buying food.”
“What store? And I thought you didn’t have money.”
“I have a little. We were out of milk.”
“What store?”
“I’m at the market. Um, just a sec.” I heard muffled sounds like he’d pressed the phone to his chest, then he came back on the line. “Marvin’s.”
“I’m coming.”
“Aren’t you in school?” he repeated.
I hung up. “Go back out to Main. I need to go to Marvin’s.”
Fresh Meat grimaced. “Fun day, Tiff.”
“You don’t have to take me.”
“And miss this? Never.” He laughed, and I realized he hadn’t been upset.
I spotted our car right in front of Marvin’s weather-worn wooden doors. The grocery store looked like it belonged in an old TV rerun. Outside, it was a trip back in time. Inside, too, except Marvin carried modern things — packaged food and the latest brands. But everything was in old-fashioned coolers or on thick wooden shelves. Along the back of the store were piles of fishing gear, lures, and waders. He even had one of those old crank-up phones on the wall; although, I never was sure if it worked.
Along the south side of the store was a cooler full of beer. That’s where I’d look first. I opened the car door and swung my feet to the asphalt. No sooner did my right foot hit the ground, but pulsing pain zipped up my leg.
“Crap. Crap. Crap.”
“You want me to carry you?” Fresh Meat asked with his arms resting on the steering wheel.
The Return: Death, Runaways, and Romance (Ocean Mist Book 3) Page 13