Running Lean (32 page)

“So, I guess you’re not really my little brother’s new girlfriend,” he said.

That made her want to laugh. She shook her head instead. Nathan pursed his lips for a moment. “He’ll get over it. He always does.”

Stacey shook her hair away from her face. “Where is he? I’ll talk to him.”

“Bedroom or bathroom. I saw him go into the hallway.”

Two places she really didn’t want to be alone with Noah Dickerson. Oh well. She’d just apologize nicely and ask him to take her home. It might not be a fun drive, and there’d be a bigger problem waiting at home, but at least she could put this night behind her.

Stacey left the kitchen and turned down a short hallway. The first door she found was closed, while the other opened to a surprisingly neat bedroom with a large bed. A cell phone sat on the nightstand, plugged into its charger. Stacey glanced over her shoulder then strode across the room to pick up the phone. She loosed it from the charger and turned it on.

“What are you doing?”

She spun to face Noah, hiding the phone behind her back. “I was looking for you.”

“In here? Did you change your mind?” He stepped closer.

“Oh!” She slipped the phone into her hoodie pocket and put both hands up to ward him off. “No. I mean—”

He frowned and stopped short. “Zoe’s out on the balcony cursing the birds. You’re having a pretty good night, aren’t you? I mean, if you planned to alienate all your friends.”

“I’m sorry, Noah. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

“Sure you did—that’s how you get your way. That’s how all girls get their way. It’s cool. I get it. Maybe I should be glad you told me so soon.”

“Noah—”

“Thing is, I usually get something in return. You know?”

“Don’t. Please.”

“Come on, Stacey. You wanted to do something tonight so you wouldn’t have to deal with your parents. And you called me.” He shrugged one shoulder and edged closer. “It’s okay. I won’t force you into anything.”

“Thank you.”

“One little kiss, though? Your other boyfriend will never know about it.” He managed to get an arm past her barrier.

Stacey planted her hands against his shoulder and chest. “Noah, no.”

He broke through her defense with little effort, and roughly
pulled her next to him and covered her open mouth with his. She tasted the beer he’d been drinking. The bedroom swayed as her joints turned to mush. This wasn’t romance; it wasn’t even lust. If Noah’s arms weren’t holding her, she’d tumble to the floor.

And someone would call 9-1-1.

Stacey struggled to keep herself alert as she fought Noah off. Her teeth scraped the top of his tongue. He grunted and shoved her away.

“That hurt!” Noah pressed his hand to his mouth then pulled it away. Blood tinged his skin. “What is your problem, woman?”

She ran. Someone in the living room bellowed a protest, and she heard Zoe call her name. Stacey hit the door with both hands and found the knob. Everything looked fuzzy as she lurched toward the steps. Hands alternately clasping and flying over the stair rail, she stumbled down two flights.

A voice from above yelled something, and another person’s laughter followed.

Stacey staggered into the parking lot. Woods to the left made it too dark to see any kind of path. What happened to the daylight? She collided with a dumpster. Should’ve smelled it coming. She pinched her nose and felt her way around the side.

Rats. There would be rats. And a billion gazillion germs.

She squealed and pushed away. Streetlamp light glinted off parked cars, giving her something to aim for. She waded through the narrow space between the bumpers and a hedge until something metal bashed her shin and pitched her forward. Stacey collapsed to the asphalt, curled up, and grabbed her lower leg. Something wet and hot oozed between her fingers.

She held her breath so she wouldn’t scream.

C
alvin moved slowly, the cup of hot chocolate in his hands filled almost to the brim. He eased the mug down near the computer keyboard, an act that would have drawn a reprimand if his family wasn’t at church. He settled into the chair, turned on the computer, and sipped while the computer booted up. The hot chocolate soothed his raw throat.

Scamp squeezed under the desk and lay down, his warm fur tickling Calvin’s toes.

Desperate for anything to take his mind off Stacey, Calvin went to his Facebook page. A message and three notifications waited for him, but his eyes drifted down the page to the spot that stated “In a relationship with Stacey Varnell.” He couldn’t change it last week, making the breakup official for all his 216 Internet friends to see.

Single.

Calvin’s throat and chest constricted around the weight of that word.

Had Stacey changed her relationship status? He went to her page, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Her profile photo arrested his eyes. Taken from a downward angle before she’d put the pink streaks in her hair, her cheek pressed against his, her eyes sultry and her lips puckered, like she was about to kiss him. Which she
had after the shot. A silly, happy moment in time when things were normal between them.

Beneath her picture, her relationship status still listed his name.

“Stace,” he whispered. The webpage blurred as his eyes filled with tears. His heart cried out for “normal.”

Where are you, Stace?

Nothing he could do. Let her parents take care of her—that’s what everyone was saying. Tyler, Mom, Peyton … But no one was telling him what to do with the worry and the pain.

Clicking away from Stacey’s page ripped something out of him. He swallowed hard to open his airway then clicked on his waiting message to occupy his mind with something else.

His cousin Trevor wrote,
Where you been? Reached level eighty. Bring it on, dude!

Hours of mind-numbing online gaming certainly work. He could melt into his character and forget everything else.

Calvin shook unwashed hair out of his eyes and clicked to the bookmarked website. A familiar logo flashed on a black screen then faded away while an alien landscape slowly appeared, revealing twin moons in a red sky along with a band of human freedom fighters marching through a ravine toward the twisted spires of a city.

He looped the headset over his head, positioned the speakers against his ears, and clicked through to the login screen. But he paused, his finger hovering above the mouse button.

Would Stacey be online? Waiting for him in her gaming guise of Shiyama Lee?

Crazy thinking. If she’d run away from home, she wouldn’t be messing around on a computer. She hadn’t even played in months.

“Where are you?”

A sense of smallness came over him. The world outside was so huge, and Stacey walked somewhere in it, beyond his reach. Dancing pixels on a screen could never drive that reality from his head.

Calvin flopped back in his chair, whipped off the headset and tossed it on top of the keyboard. He stared at the telephone in its cradle on the desk. The silent phone.

He grabbed it and punched in Stacey’s cell number again. Same result. Calvin tugged his hair. It had been two hours since her mother had called. Would anyone remember to call him back if they found her? Gritting his teeth, he dialed the Varnells’ home number. The phone rang once before someone answered.

“Hello,” Stacey’s father snapped.

“Uh, hi. It’s Calvin.”

“Calvin. Is Stacey with you?” Officer Varnell’s question answered so many others.

“No. I was hoping you’d have news.”

“No one knows where Zoe is either. Where would they go? Who do they hang out with?”

Zoe. Figured. Calvin tried to think. “I can call some people, but I’m not sure—”

“Do that, would you?”

“Yes, I—”

Zoe. Fashion design school. California? She wouldn’t. Maybe … go to Noah’s?

Calvin stiffened. Was it possible Stacey was with Noah?

Half the girls at school might have that jerk’s phone number. Calvin’s free hand snapped into a fist. If Noah Dickerson was responsible for all this—

“Why didn’t she call you?” Officer Varnell asked. “You’re her boyfriend.”

Maybe because you said we couldn’t see each other anymore?

“If my wife hadn’t spoken to your mother earlier—”

What? The man suspected Calvin and Stacey were running away together?

“I don’t understand any of this,” Officer Varnell said. “Why did
she drive all the way to that state park? And now this? What’s going on between you two?”

Calvin unclenched his fist and clawed his head. “We had a big argument last week.”

“And that’s why she’s acting this way?”

“I don’t know. I think the anorexia is weirding her out.”

“Weird is right. But we’re putting a stop to that. If you hear from her or see her, make sure you let me know.”

“I will. And could you call me—Uh, hello?”

Officer Varnell had hung up on him. Calvin pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. Scamp sat up and rested his head on Calvin’s knee. Trying to comfort him. Calvin returned the phone to its cradle and tickled the dog’s ears.

Who could he call? He mentally ran down the list of his friends. She wouldn’t call Tyler or Flannery. No way. And she didn’t really have a lot of friends at school other than Zoe. And Noah. What about friends she’d had in Rocky Mount? She hadn’t told Calvin much about them.

He remembered a line from one of her poems:
My life began when our paths crossed
. He’d taken it as a kind of romantic awakening, but what if she was saying something more and he’d missed it?

Calvin paced away from the desk.

Let her family take care of her. Yeah, right
.

He hung his head. “God, please keep her safe. And help me figure out a way to find her.”

Calvin sniffed. His sinuses throbbed. He drew several deep breaths through his mouth then headed toward the kitchen for a paper towel.

The phone rang before he was three steps away.

Calvin lunged for it, colliding with the desk. The caller ID was unfamiliar.

“Hello?”

Static on the line and a loud snuffling sound. “Calvin?” Stacey’s voice was a whimper.

“Stacey! Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Calvin.” Her breathing became more ragged.

“I’m here. Can you hear me?”

“Can you come get me?”

He started looking for a pad of paper. “Where are you?”

“Dawson. My leg is bleeding.”

“Your leg? Is it bad? Do you need an ambulance?”

“No. Please come get me. I … I can’t go back in there.”

“In where? Who’s with you?”

“Nobody. I left. Hurry, Calvin. This really hurts.”

“Call 9–1–1.”

“No! They’ll call my parents! Running away is a capital offense!”

Calvin flinched. What? Capital offense?

Her next words were soft, almost breathy. “Can’t you come? Please?”

“Stace—Yes. Okay. Where are you?”

“I can’t stay here. I’m going to the store.”

“What store?”

“By the street. Um. On Highway 301.”

“Highway 301 is in Rocky Mount. You said you were in Dawson. Which is it?”

“Dawson. By a college. There’s a-a … Taco Bell. I’ll be in the parking lot. Calvin, please hurry. I don’t want anyone to find me.”

Highway 301? In Dawson? That road snaked all the way into South Carolina and Georgia, but he couldn’t remember if it went through Dawson. Pretty far south, if it did.

“It’ll take me twenty minutes just to get to the mall in Dawson. I really think you should call nine—”

“Just come! Hurry.”

The muscles in Calvin’s jaw twitched. “On my way.”

He took the stairs up to his room three at a time. His jeans and T-shirt lay on the floor where he’d dropped them, riding boots at the foot of the bed. He threw the clothes on then flew back downstairs.

The family had taken Mom’s van to church, leaving Dad’s pickup in the driveway.

But where were the keys?

He checked the usual spots: the hook by the door, a cluttered corner of the kitchen countertop, the end table in the living room, the top of the antique curio cabinet. Nothing. He flung open the door to his parents’ bedroom and checked the nightstands and a pair of his father’s pants draped across the end of the bed.

No keys.

Still in the ignition? Calvin flew outside and peered into the truck cab. Not there.

Probably in Dad’s pocket.

Calvin swore then ran to the workshop. The camping and riding gear was stacked up where he’d left it. Calvin grabbed his filthy helmet and an older one off the shelf. Stacey wouldn’t like it, but too bad. He looped a bungee cord through the second helmet strap and secured it to the Yamaha’s seat.

The bike started after several kicks and backfired. His breath coming fast and hot, Calvin revved the bike to life then roared down the driveway and turned right. He’d have to get on the Interstate. Going by country roads would nearly double the time it’d take for him to get to Dawson.

The feeble light from the Yamaha’s headlamp bounced on the road ahead of him, as if responding to his thudding heart. Past rush hour, so traffic on the Interstate shouldn’t be heavy. He could push the bike to highway speed. Maybe. He’d only done it for short distances before. And with the engine running rough …

He envisioned Stacey bleeding somewhere.

Just getting to the Interstate seemed to take forever. He felt
swallowed up by the dark country roads, as if he’d made a wrong turn somehow and was heading into flat, endless tobacco fields. Finally, a blue sign appeared on the side of the road. Calvin leaned hard onto the entrance ramp.

“Help me get there and not get killed on the way.” The prayer seemed trapped in his helmet. The Yamaha sputtered on the ramp, but then hit its power band and accelerated. Wind battered Calvin’s body and hands. He glanced at the traffic, chose his spot, and merged onto I–95. The Yamaha’s engine screamed beneath him.

A refrain beat in his head along with the whine:
Keep away from the cars. Stay far, far away from trucks
. A blast of wind from a semi could toss him right off the road. The bike was way too light for this kind of riding.

An SUV flew past him doing at least eighty. Calvin held tight, bent toward his handlebars, and angled into the air blast like a surfer riding a wave. His heart hammered in his throat. He’d have a coronary and die if he didn’t get run over first. He glanced down at his odometer. He’d managed to get up to sixty, though the tachometer was redlining. He couldn’t go any faster or he’d blow the engine.

A car behind him swerved around. Its passenger gave him a nasty look.

Roadkill. I’m gonna be a grease spot on the pavement
.

Three headlights set close together glared in his rearview mirror. A big motorcycle zoomed up behind him. Remembering rules from his driving test, Calvin slid to the right so the two bikes were staggered. He expected the other motorcycle to pass, but it stayed there, close to his rear. Roaring pipes competed with the pathetic whine of the Yamaha. Some big Harley protecting him?

“Thank you, Jesus!”

Highway 301—that’s what she said. Past the mall? Gotta be. Please let it be
.

Every mile felt like ten, like he was pedaling a bicycle on the
highway while the traffic flew around him. His muscles ached and his head pounded as if it were about to explode inside his helmet.

Calvin passed the Redville Road exit, the last turnoff in Stiles County. A new sound, a long beep, managed to pierce the roaring, and the other motorcycle was alongside him in a split second. The rider tried to yell something at him over the massive rumble of his pipes, then frantically waved his left arm. Universal body language for “Get off the road!” Calvin hunched his shoulders and looked away from the man. The guy might be protecting him, but he also didn’t understand why this risk was so vital. A moment later the three headlights were in his mirror again.

At last he saw the first sign for Highway 301. Calvin tried to breathe normally.
Gas, food, lodging, three miles. Awesome. Blue sign with an “H.” Hospital. Might need that
.

The Yamaha struggled. The power had dropped off and he’d lost ten miles per hour, though he kept the throttle cranked all the way open. Traffic flew past him on the left. A semi went by. Calvin screamed and fought to keep the bike from getting tossed by the rolling vortex behind those eighteen wheels.

Back in control and still alive. For now. Provided he didn’t hyperventilate and pass out.

He swerved up the ramp heading to Highway 301. The Harley behind him continued on the Interstate.

Calvin eased off the throttle as he topped the ramp. His wrist ached. At the stoplight, he shook out his hand, but the motorcycle’s engine sputtered. He grabbed the throttle and held it steady to keep the bike running. The light turned green, and even though he accelerated hard the bike slogged through the intersection as Calvin guided it toward a cluster of restaurants and motels.

A police car sat at a gas station exit. Almost no other traffic on the road to distract the cop. Calvin looked away from the squad
car and cruised by.
Nothing to see here. I’m just some guy out for an evening ride
.

There, on the left, a building with red awnings and the signature bell logo. Calvin pulled into the middle turn lane and waited for a pickup truck to pass by. Was Stacey in the lot somewhere, watching him? He could see three cars parked there, but no one standing around.

The way clear, Calvin chugged across the street and into the parking lot and rolled to a stop near the building entrance. The bike in neutral idled beneath him … barely.

He swiveled around. “Stacey?”

A woman came out of the building and walked past him, digging keys out of her purse and juggling two sacks of food.

“Excuse me? Have you seen a girl with pink hair?”

The woman did a stagger-step and looked at him. “Pink hair?” She shook her head and moved on to her car.