Cheep. Cheep. Cheep. Cheep.
When I heard the familiar sound outside my window, I glanced over at the red glow of my alarm clock.
10:45.
Jackson was right on time. I slid out of the queen-size bed I shared with Sara, making sure not to wake her. But the truth was, she slept like a bear, and I knew she wouldn’t budge. I slid my feet into the boots I kept at the end of the bed. I knew I was safe from my mom and Duane. I could hear his snores from the other side of the house. He was coming down from his latest bender, no doubt. And I’d seen my mom take a pain pill before bed, so she was down for the night. She’d told me she had a headache—considering the hit she’d taken just a few hours ago, I was surprised it wasn’t worse.
As soon as I lifted the old window, the brisk night air hit me in the face, momentarily stealing my breath. I straddled the windowsill and carefully slid down until my feet hit solid ground. I quietly shut the window before I turned my back to the house and saw Jackson’s shadow as he ran into the darkness.
I followed him into the overgrown field and made my way to our spot. In the middle, surrounded by brush and weeds, sat a tiny, dilapidated shed Jackson had built from different sizes of wood he’d salvaged from random places. It barely kept itself upright, but it was my escape. It was our refuge from the lives we were forced to live. Jackson had the idea over a year ago when he had grown tired of his parents fighting. His father was a raging alcoholic who took his anger out on his son more times than he could count. His mom took kindly to sneaking men inside the house while his dad got plastered at the bar. Jackson’s life was anything but normal, which was probably what drew us to one another. I had known him since elementary school. We rode the bus together, but Jackson was two years older than me and went to a different school now. He was in middle school while I was still stuck in the intermediate building—this was the only time we saw each other anymore.
“Your bird calls are ridiculous,” I whispered with a giggle and bent my head down far enough to walk through the makeshift door.
“My bird calls kick ass.” He gave me a wink and held his hands in front of the battery-operated heater he’d brought from his garage. It was a memento of a time long gone when his dad had taken him camping as a child—there wasn’t a chance that anyone would notice it missing.
“If you say so.” Giggling, I sat on the musty blanket across from Jackson.
We sat in silence as he proceeded to carve a stick to a sharp point with his pocket knife. He shined his flashlight toward it and inspected his work. Boys were weird.
A rustling sound behind me caused my body to tremble, certain we had been caught and I was about to be dragged out of here by my hair.
“Calm down, it’s just Danny.” Jackson shook his head, irritated by my paranoia.
I peered over my shoulder to see Danny duck his head low through the makeshift doorway. He wore a heavy leather jacket and his dirty-blond hair pulled into a tight ponytail.
“What’s up, fuckers,” he whispered as if anyone could hear us way out here.
“Hey, man.” Jackson spoke but didn’t make eye contact. Keeping his attention on the stick he continued to sharpen, he blew the dust into the cold, night air.
“Anybody thirsty?” Danny pulled half of a six-pack out from under his jacket.
“Where’d you get that?” Jackson gave a half-hearted chuckle because we all knew that Danny’s parents didn’t drink. They had plenty of habits, but booze wasn’t one of them.
“Your garage.” A devious laugh escaped his lips, and he tossed a beer in Jackson’s direction.
“Liar,” I insinuated, staring between the two of them.
“Your garage was open, and your pops wasn’t around, so I grabbed them from the fridge.” He opened the can and took a hearty gulp. “Don’t worry, man, no one saw me. He won’t even know they’re missing.” Danny attempted to sound convincing before he tipped the beer to his lips and finished it in one continuous chug.
Jackson just stared at his stick, his fingers gripping the alcohol. We both knew his dad would notice, and Jackson would pay for it. Part of me wanted to punch Danny in the face for the pain his little stunt would cause Jackson. But Danny was harmless—he didn’t know any better. I was the only one who got the details about the abuse he suffered. And I had to keep my mouth shut.
“Fuck it,” Jackson mumbled before cracking the can open and taking a long swig.
“You want a drink, Rach?” Danny extended his arm in my direction, holding the last can.
“Sure.” I had never tasted beer before. I was nervous but didn’t want to look like a chicken in front of them. Bringing the aluminum to my lips, I inhaled the sour smell and tried to prevent my nose from crinkling. I took a tiny sip and wanted to spit it right back out. It was bitter and foamy. And disgusting. I swallowed what I had in my mouth and then handed it to Jackson.
“Good, ain’t it?” Danny laughed at the repulsed expression I surely wore.
“Not really.”
Both boys laughed as they continued to finish their beer.
“I almost forgot,” Danny blurted out after a few minutes, reaching inside his leather jacket.
Jackson and I glanced at each other before turning our attention back to Danny.
“I’m full of presents tonight.” He chuckled as he held up a skinny joint and then held it under his nose, inhaling deeply with a huge grin. It wasn’t even lit yet, and he was already so happy with it.
Like I said, boys are strange.
These boys, anyway. Maybe it was all of them, I didn’t know very many that well. But these two were definitely odd. But I didn’t mind. They were my only real friends. Weird or not.
“Fire it up.” Jackson grinned, his worried expression from moments ago long gone.
I watched as Danny pulled the lighter from the pocket in his jeans and lifted the flame to the twisted end of the paper. I stared at the fire as the familiar smell filled our shed. Danny inhaled deeply and tried to hold his breath before letting out a choking cough.
“Puff, puff, pass, dude,” Jackson demanded, holding out his fingers anxiously.
Danny laughed through his coughs and handed the joint to Jackson. He took a long, drawn-out hit before passing it back in Danny’s direction.
“You forgot Rachel,” Danny reminded him with a quiet snicker, his eyes squinted and red as he nodded in my direction.
“She doesn’t smoke.” Jackson blew him off, shaking his head and offering the joint back to Danny.
I stared down at the ground and picked at the loose fibers on the blanket that covered the dead grass and dirt. It was true. I had never smoked pot before. I didn’t really have the desire to.
Pot reminded me of him.
And I hated him.
But out here, away from that house, I could forget about him for a little while. Even when the familiar smell lingered around me, my friends were a welcome distraction. Besides, even high, they were nothing like him. They got giggly and stupid when they smoked. It was fun to watch. He was never fun. He was just the opposite.
“Let her decide,” Danny coaxed. “It’s no big deal, dude.”
Jackson dropped his head, scratching his fingernails along his worn jeans. I knew he wanted to protect me, but he also didn’t want to fight with Danny.
“I’m good, thanks,” I muttered and glanced over at Jackson who let out a quiet exhale.
“Suit yourself.” Then Danny pulled in a deep inhalation from the joint, smoke billowing around him.
“Pass it, bro. Fucking stingy, man.” Jackson held his hand out impatiently. There was no sign of worry or anger. Maybe I imagined it.
We spent the next hour or so talking about music and where we wanted to go when we were finally old enough to get out of this town—at least off this old, fucked-up road.
This place. My friends.
My only escape.