Runaway Girl (Runaway Rockstar Series Book 1)

by Anne Eliot

  I feel my face heating. “I used Dad’s elbow-back-smash move on him so he’d let my arm go. And I did it really, really hard.” I shrug. “It worked.”

  “Of course it worked.” Now my brother’s looking at me I’m some sort of murdering monster. “A rockstar’s face is their career. If you used Dad’s move then you could have cracked a nose, or a jaw, or his cheekbone, or given him a serious concussion. The guy could be in the hospital right now.”

  I put my hand up to my mouth, and if it weren’t for the ten thousand dollars I’m not going to get, I might even laugh a little. Instead, I can only pull a ragged breath, and agree with him. “I know. I don’t know what I hit exactly. I only know it made contact, because I heard a horrible smacking sound before he grunted and fell back. Which is why I’m probably not going to get that phone call.”

  “Oh crap.” Sage half-kicks at one of our tires as hard as he can over and over. “Crap. Crap! And crap!”

  “Don’t say crap, and be careful. Sage. You’re going to break your toe.”

  “Oh, sure. You can say ass to describe the guy I’ve been dreaming to meet my whole life. You can smack that same guy in the face, but I still can’t say crap? My dreams are ruined. How about crap-crappity-hell-crap-damn? Is that better?” He kicks at the tire again. “You’re right. You are not getting this job, and I will never meet my favorite band.”

  I roll my eyes toward Angel, who appears to be almost laughing all over again.

  “I’m sorry, Sage. I did what I had to do,” I answer finally. “And Angel, I’m also sorry you gave them your number and said what you did. I think the phone call we should be expecting might come from the police. To file a report against me for assaulting the famous, Royce Devlin.”

  For some reason Angel seems to have paled. “Please take that back. You have no idea how much it would suck in every way for me personally if the police started calling my cell.” He pulls out his phone and glances at the now buzzing, lit-up screen.

  Sage hugs himself, and whisper-chokes, “Oh, God. Is it them calling already? The band?”

  My heart also flips to my throat as I choke out next, “The cops?”

  Angel smiles at both of us. “How about, it’s my mom texting me? The dinner offer is very real and she’s worried about her pasta timing. I already told her you both had agreed to come.”

  I sigh. “You even lied to your mother?”

  Sage crosses his arms. “You live with your mother? Aren’t you too old for that?”

  One ink-black brow shoots up and Angel frowns first at me, then at Sage. “If you come eat dinner with us, half of what I said won’t be a lie anymore. And yes, I live with my mom and you will see why when you meet my family in person.” His expression grows more earnest. “I told my mom a lot. About you, your car and how you’re stranded. She’s also offered you two a place to stay tonight. If you need one. I think that you do. Don’t you?”

  I back away from him. “We don’t. And how could you tell your mom a lot about us when you don’t even know us. We spoke for like ten minutes max. You don’t know anything.”

  The air grows tense.

  Sage stands up from where he was flopped on the pavement and comes to stand next to me, taking up my hand. I can tell he’s trying to play along, but doesn’t want to.

  Angel points to the car again. “Like I said, I saw the stuff you have packed in the car. And I saw you both eating your…lunch. I think you’re out of money, you’re out of luck, and if the kid was eating dry oatmeal packets this morning and snacking off what’s left under the seats, you’re also way out of food.”

  I can’t think of anything to say that’s not a lie, so I simply stay quiet and cross my arms.

  Sage does the same.

  Angel’s voice drops to feather-soft as he asks, “You two are homeless, aren’t you?”

  His words have knocked the air out of my lungs and turned the back of my throat to sandpaper. I’m suddenly trying to decide if the word homeless sounds worse than what I was calling us yesterday in my head: teen runaways.

  Are we now homeless teen runaways?

  Or, have we been that since we stopped staying in hotels?

  Homeless. Teen. Runaways.

  I glance at Sage’s face, which has gone completely pale.

  “Dude,” my brother says firmly, sounding all offended. “No one is homeless here. We’ve been car camping.”

  Angel taps his fingers on the hood of the car. “I know what homeless looks like, and it looks exactly like you two look.”

  “And how do we look right now?” I finally respond, trying to sound tough like my brother.

  “Like you’re afraid, but you’re both trying to be brave. Like you want to say yes to me, but you’re tracking each other’s signals in case I do something off that would make you want to bolt. Like you two are about to break down as much as your car did. Like if days like today keep repeating themselves, you will wind up in some kind of danger or…worse.”

  “How can you tell all of that?” Even though I’d tried to hold it steady, my voice has wavered and that salt-water taste is hitting in the back of my throat again.

  “Because I’ve been there.” Angel answers after a long beat. “Because you and Sage remind me of how my sister Cara and I used to act when we were once in your same shoes. We tried to stay positive. Tried to make things seem fun, told each other all would work out when our mom couldn’t be with us and my sister got really stubborn and kept trying to make it right, all while, despite our best efforts, our whole world fell apart around us.”

  I snap, “That’s not what’s happening to us and—how dare you assume that I—”

  He holds up a hand so I stop. “I don’t pretend to know your deal, nor will I pry, but ten years ago, when I was thirteen and skinny and hungry all the damn time like your brother is now,” he points at Sage. “I thought I could protect my eighteen-year-old sister, and she thought the same about protecting me. We were vulnerable, on the razors edge, shit out of luck and money, whatever you want to call this moment that I think is happening to you two right now. My sister—Cara, I loved her so much.” He winces, and his face looks like it’s crumpling as he adds in a whisper, “Things got out of control, and she wound up dying.”

  Sage puts his hands over his mouth as I gasp out, “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but we aren’t in that type of a spot. Not even close.”

  “We denied it, too. Okay?” He shrugs. “Maybe you’re not at rock-bottom where we were, but we didn’t know we’d fallen so far until it was too late. Either way because I’ve met you two, and because of my sister and our past, I had to butt in and ask.” Angel’s voice returns from sad to steady. “Which is why, for tonight, maybe longer, my mom and I invite you to car camp at our house.” He glances at our car. “Only without the car, considering…it’s not going anywhere.”

  His eyes flick over me and Sage again. Then, like he didn’t just rip out his heart and share too much of his past and personal pain with us, he pulls in a big breath and forces a smile as he points toward where the sun has finally set. “We live on a small farm about eight minutes up the highway. If you don’t like what you see, I, or my mom, whomever makes you feel safer because ultimately your safety is what this is all about, one of us will drive you straight back here. If you need to sleep in your car like I think you’ve been doing for a while, I will come back here and park nearby to watch over you and try to help in a different way. Even if it means I get no sleep, and even if you don’t take the job, or don’t want to be friends, even if all of this gets me fired I can’t stop myself. It’s your choice, but unfortunately it won’t be mine. It’s not easy to trust strangers and to invite them home, but in your case…the similarities between you and Sage seem exactly how Cara and I were ten years ago.” He points at me, “How you look—and how you two act and interact, is exactly how Cara and I used to be when we were together. Frankly the parallels are freaking me out, to the point where I must listen to my gut, to my he
art, hell, and to my mom. The idea of you two has made her all emotional. Without sounding crazy, because we’re not that, we both feel like my sister, Cara, is somehow deeply involved in bringing us all together.”

  Flushing, at that last comment like he’s not at all one to say stuff like this to anyone, he turns away and directs his comments to Sage. “If you do stay, you’ll have to eventually tell us your deal. Oh, and I’ll have to ask you to promise that you’re not into drugs or going to steal from us, or anything like that.”

  “Dude. Really? We won’t even-ever come close to doing those things,” Sage protests. “Wow. No way.”

  Angel nods, staring into my brother’s earnest expression. I see a layer of worry instantly removed from his face. “Good, because we’ve got my two little cousins living at home, too. I won’t let them be hurt or afraid. This job supports them and my mom which is, again, why I can’t lose it. Please.”

  Humiliated, humbled and feeling like a failure even more than I did this morning, I feel my lungs collapsing along with an anguish that’s crumpling my resolve to push this guy away despite how his questions have made me mad.

  My voice is very quiet as I answer, “I can only tell you that we want to move to Orlando. That I came here to get a job so I can support my brother while our father is, uh, working overseas. That’s our only story and that’s all I can tell you. For now, anyhow. Maybe forever.”

  “So you’ll come to dinner?” Angel blinks, like he’s good with what I’ve said. “Eat and rest? See if you do get the job at least?” When his phone goes off again, Angel starts texting, walking over so I can see what he’s written: Ma, text me a photo, a selfie of you and the girls. Whatever you are doing right now, so I can show Robin and Sage who is who.

  Someone texts back: I’ll do it, but you get yourselves here. My beautiful sausage is almost cooked and I want to add the pasta to the water.

  In a few seconds, his phone dings again.

  He hands it to me so I can see a photo of two little dark haired girls wearing princess-bride outfits paired with little plastic, glass-slippers. They’re both blurry because they were twirling around in front of a kitchen table that is in perfect focus. The water glasses are already filled and there’s a big basket of bread. Each place has been set with white plates, and it’s all on top of a red and white checked tablecloth just like the kind you’d see in in Italian restaurant.

  While I’m holding the phone a text comes in that says: I couldn’t do a selfie. They wanted to dance for you.

  “Aww,” I hear myself saying while he laughs, reading the text.

  “My cousins are called Anna and Julia. They’re my uncle’s kids. They’re six and seven. This job pays for their princess outfits. I’m sort of their stand-in daddy because, using your words, those two girls also lost the daddy-lottery. They lost the mommy lottery, too.”

  I stare at the photo and push away thoughts of our own mom and how she left me and dad when I was smaller than these two girls--when Sage was only a baby. Getting dumped by one parent was sad enough, I couldn’t imagine how I could have faced that reality without my dad holding steady as our rock.

  Angel continues, “The only downside to this offer is that the room you and Sage will be sleeping in matches their horrible outfits. Princess-bride junk infects that room down to the pillowcases. We are very far from a perfect family, but we do have fun.”

  Sage squeezes in to see the photo, too. Guarderobe forgotten he whispers, “It looks so nice in that kitchen.”

  “Promise me no more questions? None?” I look up.

  “Promise.” He bends down, like he’s trying to really connect to me. I swallow, looking as deeply as I can into his eyes. I’m trying to see any sort of flickers that would make his offer ring false, but there’s only truth, sincerity and a deep sadness, one I now understand, behind his obsidian gaze.

  He whispers, voice all broken up again. “It’s safe. I understand you don’t know us yet. I can only repeat, my family…we’re safe.”

  Chapter 13

  “Mrs. Perino, I can’t take another bite. Thank you again for the delicious food, the hospitality, and the place to stay for a night,” I repeat, even though it might be the fifth time I’ve told her thank you in the last hour.

  “Prego. It means you’re welcome.” Mrs. Perino’s kind grey eyes shine with the same genuine smile she gave us when we entered her home and she had kissed both of our cheeks, then hugged us tight acting like we’d known her forever before dragging us to this kitchen. “I love how the family grows bigger when we have invited guests.”

  Angel had warned me that the similarities between me and Cara might choke his mother up some, but she hasn’t shown any signs of that at all. She’s only been smiling at us and stuffing us with food the whole time.

  She talks over our silence, ever-smiling, “I do wish you’d stay longer than only one night. You wouldn’t hurt an old woman’s feelings by leaving before I make you my some of my special chicken dishes, would you?”

  “I don’t see any old women in here,” I evade, ignoring her offer to stay longer, because we aren’t guests. And though they did invite us, we’re strangers, we sure aren’t family, and her generosity, concern and kindness, like Angel’s, has been overwhelming.

  Needed, I’m finally admitting, just like Angel had suspected, but still, overwhelming.

  It wasn’t until Mrs. Perino—a woman who’s turned out to be as tiny as Angel is gigantic—was telling me to test out the comfort of the pillows on Anna and Julia’s twin beds that she’d made up. While hugging the pillow she’d handed over, and breathing in the fresh-washed-flowery scent of whatever magical detergent she uses, I realized how much this woman and her son were giving to us. This was more than dinner and a place to sleep.

  This was them giving me back parts of my sanity that I hadn’t even known I’d lost yet.

  Somewhere in the middle of her dragging me from room to room to show us her house, and explaining how the hot-water knob in the bathroom shower was to be pulled, “extra hard, because it sometimes sticks.” I was able to fully relax for the first time since we ran away.

  Maybe since my father disappeared.

  Then, in the middle of showing me how to lock the door to our bedroom in case I felt uncomfortable sleeping in a strange house, I had this sensation of a huge weight being lifted off my back. I also knew right away there would be no need to lock our door in Mrs. Perino’s house, ever. They were the real deal, and they were all amazing.

  My lungs and shoulders ached with relief as some of the tension I’d been holding there left me. Suddenly the air that went in and out of my lungs came easier and smelled fresher--felt like it was filling me up instead of only escaping out of me like it had been. This warm home was full of laughter, food, family and most of all safety. It held a family that seemed happy that we were at the table, not like a nuisance how Joanie had always treated us.

  And not like we owed them somehow, which was constantly how Joanie had acted. Even though, we didn’t owe her. Our father was paying for our upkeep, and I had stepped up to fill Joanie’s weekend child care needs because Joanie’s husband, our father’s best friend, was deployed along with our dad, so she needed help.

  The deployment was only supposed to last for eight months. My brother and I had been through long deployments before and we had stayed with other caretakers during those times so at first we hadn’t minded. Joanie’s little boys were cute and nice, and Joanie was at least grateful for how well I did care for her kids, but it had never been a real home. Never felt right.

  Never once felt like sitting around this table feels right now.

  Mrs. Perino intercepts me at the sink, taking the plates from my hands. As she rinses, I start stacking the dishwasher. “Does anyone have room for tiramisu for dessert?” she asks.

  “I absolutely do not.” I groan pausing to try to stretch my back again.

  “Oh, I do.” Sage looks as if he might leap out of his chair and attack Mrs.
Perino as she pulls a gorgeous cake-looking concoction out of a corner.

  “Good answer, Sage. I know the little girls always have room for dessert, too.” Mrs. Perino walks to the door and calls down the hallway to Angel’s little cousins who were too wiggly-and-giggly to sit through the entire meal. They’d been excused to go play right after eating their vegetables. “Anna and Julia, if you pick up your toys and get ready for bed, I will give you each a small plate of tiramisu.”

  “Okay!” It’s impossible to tell which one answered, because their voices are nearly identical. We hear plastic toys being pelted into a toy bucket as quickly as possible.

  Angel’s smile for me matches his mom’s. I return it, hoping my expression says that over the last two hours he and I have started to become the friends he suggested we’d become; but more importantly, I hope it also says that I will work hard to pay them all back for this kindness someday.

  Sage takes the remaining salad bowl and his glass to the sink while Angel gets a cloth to start wiping the countertops. “Anna and Julia say there’s live chickens and rabbits out back? Do you need any help with them?” Sage asks.

  “We always need help with them, but for now, Sage—you take dessert to the girls.” Mrs. Perino hands him a tray with two small plates of what looks like layers of cake, chocolate cocoa, and some sort of whipped layered cream-pudding. When he has the tray in his hands, she slides on a third plate with a huge square of the same dessert. “And that one is for you, growing boy.”

  He beams at her like he couldn’t be happier, and takes the tray out of the room.

  When he’s gone Mrs. Perino turns back and points to two large bags in the back hall. “Can you and Angel take the trash around front? Tomorrow is trash day.” She asks, her cute accent coming through.

  “Not a problem at all.” I walk down the narrow back hallway and pick up a bag, puling the red drawstring on top to tie it in a bow. “After this, I can help get the girls to bed. I could draw some special pictures for them and tell them stories. Sage used to love that.”