thirteen

I wake in flight. I’m falling, and I scrabble, all four limbs flinging out before I hit the floor. I leap up, my hand going to my pillow for my knife, before I realize my pillow is on the sofa and I’m on the floor and staring at a man’s boots.

Familiar boots.

I lift my head and look up to see my father. He’s stocky and fair-haired and blue-eyed; nearly the polar opposite of my slight build, brown hair, and dark eyes. There was a time, in eighth grade, when a boy at school found out his dad wasn’t really his father, and I wondered if that was why Bert hated me so much, if he thought I wasn’t really his. I am, though. We have the same nose—too strong on me—and the same chin—too sharp on him. But I’ve seen the photos of my mother that Cadence squirreled away, and I know who I take after more, and I’ve wondered if that’s why he hates me.

Bert’s standing there, holding the blanket, having yanked it off me and toppled me to the floor in the process, and now he’s glowering, like I’ve fallen to spite him.

“Get up,” he says.

I do, as I try to see past him to my bedroom door, which is thankfully shut.

“You’re back?” I say, raising my voice in hopes Lennon will hear.

“I live here. Right now I’d like to know why the hell my daughter is on the couch and who the hell she brought home last night.”

“Br-brought home?” I straighten and look around in panic that I don’t need to fake.

“Miz Reid stopped me at the gate. Said she saw a boy sneak in with you.”

I open my mouth to protest and then shut it fast. I’m still half asleep, and I need to get my panic under control or he’ll know I’m lying. I also need to get Lennon out of my bedroom. I’m not sure if he’ll fit through the window, but he sure as hell needs to try, because if Bert finds him here…

“Boy?” I manage a snort. “Mrs. Reid is overdue for her cataract operation. Long overdue. She probably saw Susie sneaking a man back while Pete’s on the road. You know what she’s like.”

Bert’s eyes narrow, as if I’m pointing out that he knows that from personal experience, being one of the men Susie invited over when her husband was on a long haul.

I continue, “I slept on the sofa because my room got hot and I had to shut my window before I got a contact high from all the pot smoke blowing in. Someone was definitely celebrating the long weekend early.”

“You didn’t have a boy over?”

“I didn’t bring a boy over. If one was sneaking around, he sure wasn’t invited.”

Bert surveys the trailer. His gaze lights on Lennon’s Coke can.

“That better not be mine,” he says.

“I don’t touch your stuff, Bert.”

His eyes narrow more. “Don’t call me that.”

“What do you want me to call you? Dad?”

“Show a little respect.”

“I will…when you earn it.”

He raises his hand, but I dodge and he doesn’t come after me. My flinch is satisfying enough when he’s sober. The exchange has the desired effect, though—he’s forgotten about “the boy.”

“Get ready for school and go,” he says. “And keep it down. I need sleep.”

I wait until Bert stalks toward the bathroom. Then I say, “If you want me gone, I’m going to need to use that first.” He slams the door behind him. I hurry to my room and ease open the door.

There’s no sign of Lennon. I exhale in relief…until I see that the books piled by the window are still there. He couldn’t have slipped off without moving them. There’s nowhere else in my room to hide—it’s a twin-sized berth with every spare inch converted into makeshift storage containers.

That’s when I see the note on the bed.

WINTER,

I’M GOING TO FIX THIS.

—LENNON

Shit! No, no, no. You idiot.

I race out the door. Bert’s still in the bathroom, shower running. I fly outside, bow over my shoulder, knife in my pocket.

I run straight for the forest. I get ten steps in before I freeze.

I’m running into the forest. Where we escaped a dog-killing psycho. And I called Lennon an idiot?

I bounce on my toes and look around. Lennon isn’t in there. I know he isn’t. But I need to do something. I need to talk to someone. Who can I confide in?

No one.

For the first time in my life, I’m utterly alone. As estranged as Cadence and I became, she’d still been my sister. I could count on her when it mattered. Edie had been there too, for anything I needed, even after she left, telling me to call anytime, night or day. And I do have friends. I’m not a complete loner.

No, let’s be honest. I have school friends. Kids I see in class and in the halls and maybe chat with if I bump into them around town and stop—like Tanner—but that’s it. There is absolutely no one I can go to with a problem like this. No one I can run to and say, “I’m in trouble and I need help.”

Except it’s not me in trouble. It’s a guy I met two days ago.

That doesn’t matter. I’m not even sure it’s about him as much as it’s about me. Like why I helped him in the first place. Why I didn’t want to leave him alone at night. Because if anything happens, I’ll suffer the guilt of it.

I head back into my room, on the off chance Lennon left something else there. He did, tucked under the pillow. Three hundred dollars. I curse him for that—I don’t want his damn money; I want him to take better care of himself.

Don’t go running off to save a girl you met at a concert, Lennon. Don’t go running off to protect a girl you met in the forest.

His heart might be in the right place, but his brain really isn’t. He’s not stupid—just impulsive. I could add brave, but honestly, there’s a line between brave and foolhardy, and he’s crossed it.

Damn him.

I take the money, namely because I don’t want Bert finding it. I check the note again for clues, but it’s written on paper from my stash.

I’M GOING TO FIX THIS.

What exactly are you going to fix, Lennon? How are you going to fix it? Have a reasonable chat with the guy who beat the shit out of you?

I can’t even fathom what was going through Lennon’s head. His words make no sense, and I don’t think they’re meant to. They are a talisman to ward off the boogeyman in the night.

I can handle this. I can fix this.

Except he couldn’t.