Run and Hide (7 page)

“I can help,” he repeated, slowly releasing his hand from my elbow.

As I lost the feeling of his touch and he looked to the ground, I began to notice the feeling returning to my various body parts. Once I had a little control, I fought to think clearly, to be my own rock, if only for a minute.

He wanted to know my secret. He wanted to meet
Sydney
. He had seen the shades of gray that were Ana, found chips in the paint of my disguise, and was going to do his best to peel the rest off. While his offer was attractive: a confidant, a way to let it all out, it wasn’t worth the risk. He could tell someone any minute. He already knew too much.

I’d worked too hard making sure no one could get inside me again, and to control who could get close enough to hurt me. After all, even if—best-case scenario—a human were capable of always being dependable, trustworthy, understanding, supportive, and interested in me for an entire relationship, God could always come in and snatch them right out of my life. I couldn’t stand that again.

I looked back up and met his eyes again. They stared anxious and timid into mine. I opened my mouth to answer.

“No, you can’t.” I paused. “There’s nothing to help.”

I turned sharply then, wondering if he might stop me again—hoping? But he didn’t, just stood silent behind me as I walked away toward the door.

My arms were folded tight into my chest and my eyes watched the grass race past beneath my feet. The loud music inside the clubhouse thrust me back into reality. Grateful, I filled a cup with lemonade and went to sit at one of the tables. I dodged eyes along the way, until finally I reached the folding chair I was headed for and plopped down.

The lemonade was pungent and warm, so I set it on a table, not planning to touch it again. When I looked up from the table I noticed Eric leaving the refreshments room and entering the main room, walking toward the tables where I sat. He caught me watching him, and immediately I turned away—guilty for leaving him alone outside in a closet with no explanation, and afraid of giving myself away even more than I already had.

After what I thought to be enough time I glanced back to see him walk past the dance floor to the bar. He slid to a spot on the wall far enough away from the crowd so as not to invite conversation. He saw me staring more, but I didn’t turn away.

That was, until Taylor and Brit interrupted the stare, standing directly between Eric and me.

“Hey, guys,” I greeted them, almost having forgotten that tonight I was Ana Smith who came to the first party of the year with five of her new girlfriends: not Sydney who was almost caught living alone under a fake name.

“What was that about, Ana?” Taylor spoke urgently, seeming appalled that I hadn’t told them yet—even if it was only two minutes ago.

“What do you mean?” I asked. My mind was in a completely different realm.

“What was that? With Eric Brantley?” Brit’s speech was choppy, her eyes questioning.

“Oh, you saw that? That was nothing,” I cawed. “He just needed to talk to me, about nothing really.” I quickly realized how hard it would be to tell what had happened, and to explain why any of it made sense, and why all of it made me feel like throwing up or throwing a tantrum. So I lied. “It was just about a History thing, he just wanted to go outside so we could hear. No big deal.”

Taylor seemed to go for it, but still rolled her eyes, and exhaled so that I noticed.

“I’m keeping my eye on you two,” she said, her tone suggestive and joking, and trailed back toward the poolroom. Brit still stood next to the table; she’d been looking at Eric until Taylor left, but now faced me.

“Eric Brantley does not ask for help in History.” Brit annunciated her speech as if to point out what an unfitting lie I had chosen to tell. As I realized the trap I’d set for myself, I looked at Eric leaning on the wall in the distance, and remembered that day in History when he went off ranting about history to the teacher.

“I had a question for him,” I told her.

Whether Brit believed me or not, she could sense my overwhelming desire to be done with the conversation. “Okay,” she said, inflecting her voice to let me know she hadn’t yet let the incident go. But then she smiled at me, genuinely, and I returned it.

I exhaled as she walked away and sought comfort in the lemonade, forgetting that I’d left it alone for a reason. The bitter taste struck me hard, and it took all I had not to spit it out. I forced it down and breathed heavily, not hiding the distaste I felt. Then I noticed two eyes watching me from across the room, with that charming smirk below them, enjoying every moment that Ana struggled and Sydney shined.

The party wound down and eventually Kylie and Michelle were able to pull themselves off the dance floor. Taylor rounded everyone up, except Arianna; Brandon was going to give her a ride home. The rest of us walked out in our pack-like fashion toward Taylor’s car. They all chatted loudly, but Kylie and Michelle were the loudest as they droned on about the gossip they’d heard and witnessed at the party.

We were among the last to leave, and only a few scattered cars covered the lot. My attention was on the small gray one parked in the spot directly to the right of Taylor’s car. I noticed it because Eric stood leaning on the right side of it. Alone.

I tensed at the sight of him, and his posture straightened as we moved closer. He took steps toward us and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Speaking of new romances,” Kylie said, “what happened with you and David, Ana?”

Having completely zoned out of the girls’ conversation, the question pulled me back in. My face wrinkled as I tried to remember.

“Um, nothing really, now that I think about it. He came late, and we danced a little, but … I think he left when the rest of the guys did, all of them except for Brandon I guess.” By mentioning Brandon, I was attempting to shift the conversation to Arianna.

“You couldn’t care less about David now, huh?” Brit said, and Kylie and Michelle swiftly became more interested.

“What do you mean?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“I’m saying, you’re interested in this one now, right?” Brit’s nod sent my eyes to see Eric standing expectantly as we walked closer to him. I had no intention of answering Brit’s question.

“What is he doing?” I asked, to any of the girls who were listening, or to no one, I couldn’t be sure. Kylie and Michelle shared a shocked gasp while Brit and Taylor side-eyed at me knowingly as if to say,
You aren’t fooling anyone.

“What’s he doing? Go see,” Taylor demanded as we approached where he stood.

“No, let’s just get in the car, please—”

“That’s no way to make friends, Ana. He’s waiting for you,” Brit said. “Go see what he wants.”

“Guys—”

“We’ll be in the car,” Taylor said as the pack left me without backup. Taylor unlocked her car’s doors, let the others in, and then she got in herself, shutting the door.

I rushed after them and pulled on the door handle to the back door. It was locked. Kylie and Michelle giggled inside, and shooed me with their hands. I tried to tame the fury rising in me while they laughed and forced me into a crisis none of them understood the severity of.

“Ana,” he called.

I stopped and looked at him. “What now?”

“Why don’t you let me take you home?”

“I have a ride.” I crossed my arms and leaned on one leg, hoping the show would make the girls let me back in the car.

“I know,” he said, and then he chuckled. “Ride with me anyway.”

“No, I’m riding home with them,” I said, pointed a thumb at the car and turned toward it. I pulled the handle again without success, only to watch the girls laugh and shoo me more. I let out a grunt that came out louder than I planned.

“Dammit.”

“You know, I’m not so bad,” he said, but I ignored him. “Just give me a chance to apologize. I was out of line before.”

A weakness slipped through his voice and when that happened, it was hard not to give in to him. I turned to see him standing, hood on his head and hands in his pockets, head cocked to the side so his bangs fell over his eyes. Brown flip-flops slid between his big toe and the others and as I watched him wiggle his toes, a raindrop kissed my forehead.

That one drop turned into a few, and we both looked up to find threatening clouds above us.

“Ride with me and let me apologize, and I promise I’ll leave you alone forever after today.” He tossed his head to swing his bangs out of his eyes. More droplets bounced off my forehead and arms, and small wet spots begun to cover my shirt and shorts.

“It’d be nice if you could say yes before we get poured on, though.”

“Fine,” I said, arms still crossed. Having this guy off my back was more than worth it.

“Fine?”

“Fine.”

“Perfect,” he said, to the air perhaps, because as he said it he was walking past me and approaching Taylor’s driver’s seat window. He tapped it, and she rolled it down and played it cool, as if they hadn’t been listening and swooning over our every word.

“Hey Eric, what’s up?” she asked, glancing up at the increasingly more menacing-looking sky.

“I’m going to take Ana home, she’s right on the way for me.”

“Yeah?” Taylor sent a glance my way, her brows raised. I nodded, trying not to look miserable.

“Okay, text us when you get back, Ana,” she said.

“Text all of us,” Michelle corrected from the backseat as she stuck her head between the two seats in the front. “See you later, Ana.”

Taylor smiled and rolled up the window, leaving Eric to turn and face me. He walked to the passenger side of the car to open the door for me.

“After this, you leave me alone.” I said to him, noticing the droplets falling more steadily.

“Get in,” he said.

I sat in his car’s gray leather seat and started to buckle my seatbelt as he closed the door and slipped behind the steering wheel. Taylor’s car pulled out of the lot before he spoke again.

“Where to?” he asked, purposely pompous. And I realized that after spending the night as Ana, I’d actually forgotten that Sydney had gotten herself into the biggest mess of her life. One more person to think I lived in a house I didn’t live in. One more dumb Sydney move. I’d have to stick with Ana’s neighborhood.

“I live in Highland Oaks, you know where that is?”

“Yeah, I know it.”

Without a second passing, he cranked the ignition and the car grumbled on. Soft jazz bled through his speakers, loudly before he readjusted the volume. Raindrops blurred the front window until he instructed the windshield wipers to smear them away. Horns sounded through the speakers softly while raindrops danced down each window around us.

“You like jazz?” he said.

“It’s getting late. We should get going.”

He pulled out of the lot and turned onto the street that would lead us out of Hailey Green’s neighborhood while I hugged my ribs.

“Jazz is my music, it’s like the genre was created just for me,” he said. “Like Miles Davis and Billie Holiday, only the good stuff, you know?”

I watched him turn to me, and turn back to watch the road, and then repeat the process.

“Come on,” he said. “It’s the last time you’ll ever talk to me, remember?”

With a sigh, I responded, “I’m more of an acoustic kind of girl,” and it was out before I could decide what kind of music Ana should like. I had told him Sydney’s truth.
Why am I in his car again?

“So like, Jack Johnson, John Meyer stuff?”

“Something like that.” The best I could think to say. I shifted my torso to face away from him and watched yellow streetlights paint the streams of water falling down the black canvas of the window.

“Okay,” he answered. “Sorry for before. Like I said, I was out of line. I was just jumping to conclusions, I guess. Wishful thinking.”

“Wishing what exactly?”

“That, I don’t know. That you might be someone I could talk to, or whatever.” His words hung heavily from his lips until they crashed on the denim of his pants and spilled to the floor.

“Thanks for taking me home,” was all I could say.

“Thank
you.
”

“For what?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t say something else to make me want to open up to him.

“For riding with me.”

More time passed in silence.

“So what time is your curfew?” He glanced between the clock and the road.

“Twelve, same as driving curfew.” That made sense, right? Curfew back home was 11, but I was fifteen then, not sixteen. The clock read 11:56.

“Is your mom pretty strict about it?” His words stung, and Ana couldn’t shield Sydney from their venom.

“Well she’s serious about it, but a minute or two late should be okay.”

“I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble, especially after I made you ride with me.”

“I wouldn’t say you
made
me. Convinced, maybe.” I almost found myself smiling as I looked to him to await his answer.

“Where to now?” he asked.

We were at the Highland Oaks entrance, and he turned in before I could answer.

“Just stop here,” I blurted.

“No, I meant which one is your house—”

“I’ll walk from here,” I said, eyes bulging at the ridiculousness of my own words. This was the worst idea I had ever had. Or perhaps the string of decisions I’d made in the past two weeks were the worst ideas I’d ever had. Either way, this was bad.

“Ana, it’s raining outside, where’s your house.”

“Just let me out!”

“What’s the problem?” he asked, mirroring my increased volume, “I’m in the middle of the street.”

I looked around the dark, quiet neighborhood and found few lighted windows. The lawns were big and SUVs covered the driveways. It seemed everyone was in his or her home, sleeping.

“Take this first right,” I told him, “then it’s the first house on the left.”

I braced myself as he turned right and made a U-turn in the cul-de-sac, finally stopping in front of Dr. Gomez’s house, and put the car in park. I worriedly checked the house and breathed through my mouth as I realized all her lights were off. But Eric noticed my worry.

“Everything okay, Ana?”

“Thanks for the ride.”

I pulled my door handle and the door swung open, and left his car and promptly closed the door—a little too hard. I stepped slowly, edging my way around the right side of the large residence, looking up at all the windows for any peeping eyes while still looking like I lived there, for Eric. I turned back to his car, and he sat watching me. I waved, hoping he’d drive away, hoping it really would be the last time we talked.

The rain had slowed, and it was barely sprinkling now. I rushed to round the back corner of the house as I heard Eric pull away toward the main road. I stood there a while, planning to wait a minute before I dashed back toward the shack. My flip flops exposed my feet to feel the soft, tall grass that covered Dr. Gomez’ yard, and I watched them, not breathing as I listened for his car to leave earshot.

“Excuse me.”

Heart pounding in my chest, I found Dr. Gomez standing on her back porch, wrapped in a robe, her brown arms pulling it tight to hug a thin frame.

“Who’s out there?” Her words were poison, sharp and sour.

I stood in silence as she turned on her porch light. The light slapped my skin and she squinted and shrugged as it did. She shook her head. “Wait, weren’t you here before?”

“I’m just going to a friend’s house—”

“It looked as if someone just dropped you off here? Where are your parents?” Her expression requested a sensible response when I had none.

I had nothing but a flood of tears to respond with as I wailed, “Please, I’m sorry.” I stuttered the words out and she shrugged again.

“What’s going on? Do you need to call someone?” She stared at me like I was her pet rat, running on a mouse wheel in my cage. Horror.

I shook my head and sobbed out, “No, I’m so sorry, I’ll leave.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” She stepped to the edge of her porch.

“I’m sorry,” I coughed again before trotting off her lawn toward the sidewalk.

Defeated by the wave of tears that poured out, I moved into a slow jog through the back of Highland Oaks in the direction of the shack. I hugged myself as I jogged block after block in the dark, and coughed on my tears until I could see my shelter waiting for me. I ran up to it, and at my push the old wood door creaked open.

With a cough of sobs I walked into the bedroom, dropped my purse on the floor and slid off my shoes, replacing them with black socks. Sweat from the night’s discomforting end bred a faint must that worsened the sinking air. I changed into pants for sleep, hair scrunchie and phone in hand, and walked to the bathroom to point the phone’s light at my face and use the cracked mirror.

There stood Ana, and Sydney, all jumbled up into one strange image, confusion and pain blurring the view.

I remembered when I was thirteen,
back then,
when Mom would talk to me about growing up. She told me when women are young we always want independence, but we want our mommy or daddy worse when the independence isn’t so easy.

She loved listening to the newest pop on the radio, just as I did, and when my friends rode with us they were always shocked when she’d pass by oldies stations and knew every word to the latest rap song. One time, one of my favorite times, a friend of mine rode with me to our middle school’s basketball game, and Timberlake’s “Cry Me a River” played on the radio. All three of us shrieked in delight. Mom turned the dial up to the point where my ears hurt—but neither my friend nor I complained, just sang, off-key and at a horrific volume, and dramatized each and every syllable of every word Justin sang. Mom added volume at our favorite parts, until at once the song died and we all let out an extended sigh. And we laughed. And I looked at her as she continued driving, her black hair shaken wild from the dancing, face still electric from the thrill. Even then I thought,
How lucky am I?