FIVE YEARS EARLIER
I walk for what feels like forever, but is really only twenty minutes. I trudge along, a backpack slung over my shoulders and only seventeen dollars to my name. I snuck into Mom and Dad’s bedroom and stole all the loose change I could find in the pockets of Dad’s jeans. It’s enough to catch a bus out of Santa Monica. I don’t know where to yet, but I won’t be picky.
I need to get to the promenade first. I know there are buses that leave from downtown, but it’s miles away, and the sun is slowly beginning to set. There is no turning back now, though. I’ve already snuck out of the house, so if I do return home, I’ll be in a lot more trouble than I already am.
I keep on walking, my pace slowing, kicking at the sidewalk and keeping my head down. I zip up my hoodie. Now that it’s almost December, the weather is changing. The temperature has been dropping. It’s not cold, but I’m missing the hot summer sun, even though the cool breeze on my face is offering some relief to my injuries. I stole a packet of painkillers from the bathroom too.
I’m somewhere over in the next neighborhood, somewhere in Wilshire, and I think Jake lives here. I’ll know his house if I see it, so I speed up my pace again, my head swiveling back and forth as I scan all of the houses around me. Maybe his parents will let me crash at their place for the night. I even pass my school, but it feels weird when the campus is so empty, so I keep on walking straight on by it in search of somewhere more welcoming to stop.
But I don’t find Jake’s house, nor do I get any closer to catching a bus out of here. At the very least, I am thirty minutes away from home, from Dad, and that’s good enough for me. I sigh deeply and come to a stop by a huge oak tree with roots that have begun to crack open the concrete of the sidewalk. I throw my backpack down onto the grass and then plonk myself down too. I lean back against the tree, my legs hugged to my chest, watching the passing traffic.
Maybe this is stupid. Maybe I should go home. But I’m too scared to do that, so I muster up some courage and stay put. I pull out some painkillers and a bottle of water from my backpack, then take two of them. Even just sitting here, still and unmoving, everything hurts. So I close my eyes, listening to the cars, feeling the breeze on my skin, my breathing slow and deep. Until I hear a car roll to a stop in front of me.
My eyes flicker open and there is a police car parked up by the sidewalk, its engine still running. My breathing quickens as the window rolls down.
“Hey, buddy,” the officer says, propping his arm up onto the door. The smile he gives me is friendly but concerned. The same smile that Mr. Hayes and Dr. Coleman give me. “What are you doing out here?”
“Hanging out,” I tell him bluntly. He’s going to arrest me for being a delinquent. And then I’m going to be in even more trouble. And then I will need to run away for sure next time.
“Uh-huh,” the officer says slowly, as though he doesn’t believe me. He shouldn’t. “Which house do you live in?”
“I don’t live in this neighborhood,” I admit. Quickly, I zip up my backpack and sling it over one shoulder, prepared to leg it down the street if I need to. I stay down on the grass for now, though, praying that he will just leave me alone.
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Hanging out,” I say again. I’m running away from my abusive father.
The officer remains silent for a minute, but I can see the curiosity in his features as he studies my face. “What happened?”
“I got in a fight at school,” I say, shrugging. Even pull my hood up over my head to shadow the bruises. “I’m suspended.”
“That’s not good. You shouldn’t fight,” he says with a frown. He shuts off his engine and gets out of the car, taking a few steps toward me. He is tall and he towers over me, casting a shadow from the sunset. “What’s your name?”
“Tyler,” I tell him. I shift a little, getting into a better position for making a quick getaway. Should I have lied? I don’t think so. He doesn’t seem that scary. He doesn’t look like he wants to arrest me. At least not yet.
“Alright, Tyler, I’m Officer Gonzalez,” he says. To my surprise, he sits down on the grass next to me, a safe distance of several feet between us, and he reaches over and offers his hand out to me. “Nice to meet you.”
I stare at his hand for a second, and then at the small, sincere smile he’s wearing, and I decide then that he’s nice and doesn’t seem like he will arrest me. So I shake his hand.
“So,” Officer Gonzalez says, pressing his palms down flat against the grass and leaning back a little, “do you want to let me know the real reason why you’re out here? It’ll be dark soon.” He glances up at the sky, then back down to me. “You can tell me. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
Maybe. I don’t know. He’s not giving me trouble or anything, so that’s good, I guess. Right now, I could do with having someone to turn to, and a nice cop seems like just the right kind of person. That’s why I trust him enough to admit, “I’m running away.”
“Now why would you want to run away?” he asks, cocking his head to one side. He narrows his brown eyes at me, analyzing my expression. I try to keep my features as blank as I can, showing no emotion whatsoever so that he can’t possibly read them.
“My parents were mad at me for the fight at school,” I say. I slide my backpack off my shoulder again and set it back down on the grass, because I definitely don’t plan on running from Officer Gonzalez now.
“Hmm. I’d be disappointed too if my son was fighting,” Officer Gonzalez says. He speaks in a gentle, quiet voice. One that is making me feel a tiny bit better. “But I’d also be extremely worried if he were to run away. Don’t you think we should get you home?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. My home isn’t safe anymore. It hasn’t been for four years. I’m more likely to end up hurt at home than I am out on here on the street, so I think I would rather take my chances.
“You can ride up front in the car with me,” Officer Gonzalez says, his smile widening into a grin as he raises an eyebrow at me. He nods to his patrol car, then holds out his hand to me again. “What do you say?”
I glance at the car, then my backpack that barely holds any clothes or money, then back at Officer Gonzalez and his warm, friendly grin. I like him, and besides, it’ll be dark soon, and I don’t really want to meet the kind of people who roam the streets after dark. So, I shake his hand once again.