Kat slipped on a pair of dark-framed glasses I’d never seen before, then looked down over the top of them. “Having a mother with a unique profession has its perks.”
Not sure perks was the right word, but right now, it sure as hell worked.
Kat checked herself in the mirror, then grabbed her purse off the bed and strapped it across her chest like a pageant ribbon.
“Kat, wait.” I hopped off the bed. “We should go with you. It’s not safe for you to go out alone.”
Kat reached into the side pocket of her purse, pulled out a small canister of pepper spray, and flashed a wicked grin. “Not safe for who?”
Twenty-two minutes later, the door rattled and Kat let herself in. Plastic swished as she carried two bags past us and plunked them down on a tiny wooden desk. “So, who’s first?” Kat’s head twitched back and forth between Billi Jo and me as she held up a pair of shiny new household scissors.
My stomach sank to my toes. It wasn’t that I thought my hair was awesome or anything; it’s just that it reminded me of my mom—my hair was exactly like hers. And maybe it was stupid, but my life had taken a dark turn, and holding on to anything that made me resemble her was like holding on to a glimmer of light.
It wasn’t like there was another choice—our faces were in the paper and all over the news. I was wanted for murder. Ironic how my desire to be “wanted” by Logan got me into this mess in the first place.
I sucked in a long breath and pulled the twisty out of my hair, unleashing the knotted poof. “Let’s get it over with,” I grumbled as I stood and took the three steps across the room to grab a tiny desk chair.
“This should be good.” Billi Jo dipped her hand inside her Twizzler bag and settled back against the headboard like she was preparing to watch a movie.
“After I cut it, I’m going to transform you into a bleached blonde.” Kat pulled a box of hair color out of one of the bags. “I hear they have more fun.” She winked at me.
I glared at her wig. “Based on experience?” It came out as a question, but it wasn’t one I wanted an answer to.
She ripped the blonde wig off, spun it on her finger, and then tossed it in her suitcase. “I wouldn’t know.”
Neither would I. It was no secret that Kat slept around when it suited her, but she didn’t divulge specifics, and I never asked.
“This is going to be epic.” Billi Jo kicked her legs on the bed from her lounge position. “‘Member that time in sixth grade when you got gum in your hair and your mom had to cut it all off? Your hair poofed up sooo huge.” Billi Jo made a circle with her arms around her head.
That very incident was an example of why my hair hung halfway down my back; the weight of it made it lay down. “Yeah,” I took in a deep breath when Kat yanked the last tangle out of my hair and gathered it in a ponytail in her hand, “the good ol’ days.” I squeezed my eyes tight when she picked up the scissors.
“If she dyes your hair blonde, your head will look like a giant dandelion puff.” She laugh-snorted and slapped her thigh. “Talk about noticeable.”
Kat paused for several seconds, then dropped the scissors on the desk beside me. “She’s right,” she said, and I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “You’d blend in about as well as Lady Gaga at a teachers’ convention.”
Billi Jo bit off the tip of her Twizzler and grinned at me. “You’re welcome.”
I smiled for 0.2 seconds until Kat grabbed another box of hair color from the bag. “Alright, it’s settled; Billi Jo gets the chop job and bleach. You get to keep the length but you’re going red.”
I gulped. “Red?”
Kat waggled the box. “The cops aren’t looking for two blondes and a redhead.”
“Look on the bright side.” Billi Jo tilted her head as she surveyed the fiery-haired model on the box. “Justice has a thing for redheads.”
Justice. My heart twisted, and heat welled behind my eyes. I hadn’t even had time to think about Justice since we took off.
I ripped Billi Jo’s Twizzler bag out of her hand, plucked one out, then threw the bag at her as I headed for the door.
I let the door slam behind me and dropped down on the sidewalk like I was a thousand-pound sack of potatoes. I tore off a bite of Twizzler with my teeth then spit it out as soon as it hit my tongue. I hated licorice. And I hated skeezy motels in skeezy locations. And most of all, I hated being a wanted fugitive. But that was way too big to wrap my mind around right now, so I went back to hating stupid, Justice-stealing, redheaded girls.
The door squealed then clicked shut when Kat came out to join me, sitting on the sidewalk ledge. “She didn’t mean it.”
“Yeah, she did.” Billi Jo always said what she meant, which happened to be the most endearing yet annoying quality about her. It was true; the girl Justice ditched me for my freshman year and his current girlfriend both had red hair.
“For the record,” Kat unraveled the plastic string on a new cigarette pack, “the red dye will wash out in about six to eight weeks.”
“It will?”
“It’s only a temporary color.” She tapped her pack of cigarettes on the heel of her hand. “I was afraid to get permanent in case it turned green or purple—that would be noticeable.”
“That’s a possibility?”
She shrugged. “I’m not a hairdresser.”
“Thanks for the reassurance.” I picked up a small rock beside me and lobbed it into the parking lot.
She bumped her shoulder against mine. “None of this is about hair color; you know that, right?”
It wasn’t about hair at all. I wrapped my arms tight around my knees as if holding myself together. It was about me missing my childhood best friend. It was about me not knowing if I’d ever see him again. It was about me not being able to forget the look on his face the last time I saw him. “Sure would be a lot easier if it was.”
Kat nodded.
“Kat,” I said as I rested my chin on my arms and stared out at the black sky beyond the parking lot, “I’ll see him again someday, won’t I?”
“I don’t know, River.” Kat scrubbed at her face as she gazed out at the abyss alongside me. “I don’t know.”
The hole in my chest opened up and began to fill—with quicksand. For once in my life, why couldn’t my friends just lie to me?
I blinked several times in the gas station mirror, trying to adjust to seeing myself with red hair. It had been three days since my makeover, and it still shocked me. I finished brushing my teeth, splashed water in my face one last time, and scooped my hair into a messy bun.
“Damn, River. Put these on.” Kat handed me the black-framed glasses she’d been wearing and shifted around me to take her turn at the sink. “Now that your eyes aren’t bloodshot anymore, they’re that wolf-dog blue again. And your red hair only brings out the color more.”
Billi Jo came out of the stall, squinting like my eyes were blinding her. “Yeah, they’re abnormally creepy.” She tilted her head as she looked at me through the mirror. “It must’ve been what Rudolph’s dad thought when he tried to put that mud on his shiny red nose.”
I raised my eyebrows as I appraised her new bleached faux-hawk. “Or what Billy Ray thought about Miley when she chopped all her hair off, bleached it, and went punk.”
“Maybe,” Billi Jo ruffled her long side-swept spikes and glared at Kat, “but at least her haircut didn’t look all zig-zaggedy jacked like this.”
“Maybe that’s because she could afford a hairdresser.” Kat smoothed her silky black hair into a tight ponytail and let the rubber band snap. “And maybe because—I don’t know—her biggest crime was trying to make the switch from teen idol to adult starlet.”
Through the knife wound in my back, I gave her a chin lift. “Thanks for the shout-out.”
“Damn, River, it’s reality.” Kat tucked on her platinum wig, untwisted the strap on her black cami, and snatched up her makeup bag off the sink ledge. “Look, we’ve all committed crimes on som
e level here, and the pressure is getting to us. We’re running out of money, and if we don’t find a way to make some fast, we’re going to have to resort to desperate measures.”
The rusty metal door that led to the parking lot squealed when Billi Jo opened it. “I thought this,” she motioned to the littered sidewalk and jammed traffic riddled with noisy car horns, squeaky brakes, and exhaust fumes, “was desperate. Not to mention changing our appearance, sleeping in a car for the last three nights, and eating gas station hot dogs for every meal.”
Kat’s breathing hitched and her eyes went wide as she stopped to stare at a huddle of girls who didn’t look any older than us standing near the intersection. I didn’t understand why until a guy in a black sports car pulled to the sidewalk and one of the girls stumbled over to him in her minidress and four-inch heels.
Kat nodded her head toward the girls. “That is desperate.”
My stomach bottomed out and my mouth went dry. It was the first indication I’d ever gotten that Kat viewed her mom’s work as desperate. It was also the first time I’d seen real fear in her eyes.
“Can we take a break?” Billi Jo stuffed a finger into the heel of one of her ragged red Chucks. “My feet are killing me.”
“No breaks. We’re running out of money, and we needed jobs yesterday.” Kat motioned for her to walk on. “If you don’t want to sleep in the car for the third night in a row, and if you plan to keep eating,” her eyes darted to the licorice in Billi Jo’s hand, “fucking Twizzlers, then I suggest you keep moving.”
Billi Jo groaned, slipped her shoe back on, and followed us.
As we rounded a corner, dodging caution tape used to block off mounds of dirt and construction equipment, we met three sketchy-looking men who looked a little too happy to see us. My heart rate picked up as they stepped into our path. Surveying every inch of us, a dark-complexioned guy with a black goatee and neck tattoo grinned. “Hey ladies, you lookin’ for work?”
I held my breath. This was generally the kind of remark Kat lived for, so she could tell them exactly where to go and how to get there. But she only answered with an abrupt, “No,” as she walked past them like they weren’t even there. No attitude, no smart remarks, not a single expletive. Her lack of fire meant there was an obvious threat and we’d better get the hell on down the road.
“Aw, come on, I know how you could make some real good money,” chided the taller, reptilian one.
The third guy, bald-headed and wearing a thick gold necklace, walked alongside Kat and stared down at her chest. “With a fine rack like that, mama, you could make top dollar.”
Chills inched up my back and crawled to my scalp, but oddly, my fear was only for my friends. I scanned the area for something that could be used as a weapon and quickly spotted an iron pipe lying next to a pile of gravel. If these guys touched my friends, they’d be sorry. They wouldn’t expect to be attacked by a teenage girl—especially one who had nothing to lose.
When several bulky, orange-vested men came around the corner, the predators scattered like cockroaches in daylight. After we were a safe distance away, Kat stopped at the side of a squatty metal building. “Did you see that?” She leaned over to put her hands on her knees. “That is why we don’t rest. That is why we don’t give up. Those guys were pimps looking for runaways and desperate young girls they can turn into prostitutes.” She stood up and ran a shaky hand through her blonde wig. “If we don’t pull it together and find a job soon, that’s what we’re facing.”
Billi Jo’s eyes bugged. “No way. No way do I ever want to be a prostitute. I—”
Kat’s sharp glare cut her off. “Do you think anybody wants to be one? Do you think that’s what my mother aspired to be when she was young?” She shook her head. “Like I said earlier, that’s the kind of shit that happens when people get desperate.”
The urgency in her voice and the fear in Billi Jo’s eyes made my insides twist. This was my fault, and all I could do was stand here and try not to vomit.
11
CHANCE ENCOUNTER
The sky turned an ominous shade of deep purple-ish blue and yellow as the sun prepared to set. Kat gripped the steering wheel as she stared out at the buildings that lined both sides of the street. A different street than we’d roamed earlier today. A different part of town: sketchier, cheaper.
A half-lit lamppost across the street flickered, drawing attention to the crumbling brick building looming above it. Its windows were busted out and multi-colored graffiti was spray-painted on its sides. Despite its condition, it was beautiful, with tall window frames and a massive wooden front door. I envisioned what it must’ve looked like when it was taken care of. Maybe it was a hospital or an apartment building, or maybe even a library. I closed my eyes and imagined inhaling the scent of paper and plastic book coverings…
“This is it.” Kat’s announcement ripped me out of the safe haven of my imaginary library. “This is where we have to find jobs. If we can’t find some kind of work in this part of town, we’re not going to find any. We have $102.54 left, and it’s going fast.”
Billi Jo braced her scruffy red Chucks against the dashboard and pulled the half-tied shoestring. “We’ll find work today,” she said with an unusual air of confidence.
“We have to.” Kat straightened her wig in the rearview mirror. “We also have to ditch this car. We’ve never stayed in the same area twice, but once we get jobs and an address, that has to change.”
“Why do we have to get rid of the car?” Billi Jo finished the last loop on her shoestring and tightened it. “I’ve already told you Travis isn’t gonna report it stolen because it was already stolen when he won it.”
“Your jackass uncle isn’t the one I’m worried about; it’s Ace.” Kat poked a straggling dark strand of hair back under her platinum wig. “He saw what we were driving the night we left his pawn shop.”
Billi Jo yanked her other string and put her feet on the floorboard. “Ace won’t rat us out; he’s scared shitless of Travis.”
“Yeah, he looked real scared the other night when he was hitting on you.” Kat painted on her fire-engine red lipstick.
“Hitting on me is one thing, ratting me out is another. Ace considers himself a smart businessman; he rats me out, his clients start wondering if he’ll rat on them and his business goes to shit.”
“That may be true, but it’s a chance we can’t take any longer.” Kat smeared on lip gloss then popped her lips.
My stomach churned. My friends were in this for me, because of me. Making a fist, I reached my arm over the seat between them to offer our ‘all for one’ sign. Kat’s shoulders relaxed and she turned sideways in her seat to meet my fist, along with Billi Jo.
“Same rules as always,” Kat started. “If for some reason we get separated, we meet back at the car. Look around; remember that building.” She pointed at my library. “It’s the tallest one around here, so no matter how far we go, it’s our north star.”
We bumped our fists together one last time and exited the car. At least one of us had to score a job by the end of the night. The alternative was going on the run alone or turning myself in.
“It’ll be dark in less than an hour.” Kat scowled at the sky. “We need to close a deal, then head back to the car.”
Billi Jo pointed to a strip mall a couple blocks away. “Looks like some prospects down that way.”
We took off for the two-story strip mall, and when we reached the sidewalk, I nodded toward the red and green trimmed building. “I’ll take the pizzeria.”
“Billi Jo, you’ve got the laundromat, and I’ll take the tobacco store.” Metal pinged when Kat smacked a blue postal box. “We’ll meet back here.”
I tucked my hair behind my ears, pushed the black-framed glasses Kat gave me further up on my nose, and pulled open the glass door to the two-story building. The smell of cheese, sauce, and pepperoni made my mouth water and reminded me how badly I needed a job. I straightened my shoulders, swallowed hard, and step
ped up to the hostess stand.
“Hi,” I pronounced with a long ‘i’ instead of the short ‘i’ that would give away my southern accent. “I’m wondering if you’re hiring?”
A stocky middle-aged man with a mop of black hair and an equally moppy mustache reached beside the register, ripped off a piece of paper from a thick notepad, and slapped it on the counter in front of me. “Fill this out.” He nodded to the only two empty booths to his left.
I picked up the application and took a pen from a red can, then took a few steps to an empty table.
Name: Should be easy; not so much when your name is River Daniels. REEVA, I spelled the alias Kat suggested after seeing our names in the newspaper. Should be easy enough to remember—on paper anyway. BRADEN, I filled in Justice’s last name because it’s also the easiest to remember. And because it’s the only last name I’ve ever wanted.
I take a sharp breath and move to the next line.
Date of Birth: Another easy answer if you’re not a fugitive. I scribbled in the month and day of Jamie’s birthday and subtracted a few years from my birth year. My mind flashed to our trek to this part of town. Something told me as long as I proved to be a decent employee, certain indiscretions could be overlooked.
Address: Tricky one. I tapped the pen against the table as I laughed to myself. Can’t get an address if you can’t get a job, and you can’t get a job if you don’t have an address.
A bell dinged, signaling incoming customers. Two guys who looked to be around my age swaggered to the counter. “’Sup, Rodolfo. Where’s my cousin?” asked the taller one wearing a backwards black ball cap, a t-shirt, and baggy jeans.
“Tony just left.” Coins clinked into the register drawer as Rodolfo emptied a roll of quarters. “Said he’d be back in thirty.”
Tall Guy’s mouth twisted. “Asshole could’ve left his apartment unlocked.”
Rodolfo chuckled as he counted coins. “I think he knows you, Wick.”
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