Run (26 page)

“Agnes?”

Bo’s voice on the other end of the line almost made my heart stop beating. I’d never heard it sound so fragile.

But then, she’d never called me at two in the morning, either.

I was downstairs, my face still swollen from crying, when the phone had started to ring. I’d snuck out of my room, knowing my parents had long since gone to bed. No matter how angry I was, I still needed to eat, and I knew Mama would have saved the leftovers from dinner. I hadn’t even opened up the fridge yet, though, when I heard the phone.

In all my life, I couldn’t remember anyone ever calling our house in the middle of the night. For some reason, my mind immediately snapped to the horror movies Gracie made me watch when we were kids. Mama and Daddy hated horror movies, but when Gracie babysat me, she always wanted to watch them, even though she knew they scared me. Even thinking of them just then, of the creepy calls girls always got in those movies, with heavy breathing and weird voices threatening them—well, it made me shiver and look over my shoulder.

Not that I could see if someone was behind me. I hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights when I came downstairs. I was regretting that now.

But then my thoughts shifted to worry. What if something was wrong? What if it was Gracie? What if something had happened to her? What if someone was calling in the middle of the night because the thing they were calling about couldn’t wait until morning?

Another ring, and this time I moved toward the counter, using both hands to feel for the phone. It only took me a second to find it and answer.

“Hello?”

And that’s when I heard her voice. The way it shook as she said my name. “Agnes?”

That’s when I really got scared.

“Bo? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“It’s Mama,” she said. “She got arrested.”

“What? How do you know?”

“Heard on the police scanner.” She sounded half out of breath, like she was moving around her trailer as fast as she could. I heard rustling and the sound of a zipper.

“Bo? What’re you doing?”

“They’re gonna come here soon,” she said, the panic rising in her voice. “I told you, Agnes. I ain’t going back into foster care again. No fucking way.”

I felt like all the wind had been knocked out of me. Like I’d fallen and landed hard on my chest. Because I knew exactly what she was gonna say before I even asked the next question.

“What’re you gonna do?”

She stopped. For a minute, I didn’t hear any more rustling, no more movement on the other end of the line. Just Bo, trying to catch her breath before she said it.

“Run.”

I know it must take the Atwoods hours to get to me. But everything after that phone call comes in flashes.

I’m lying on the floor with my face in the carpet, which smells like liquor and piss.

Then the door’s opening and Agnes’s daddy’s picking me up like I’m just a sack of potatoes.

And then I’m lying in the backseat of their car, my head in Agnes’s lap as she whispers, “You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’m right here.”

“Should we take her to the hospital?” Mrs. Atwood sounded so far away, even though I could see her in the front seat.

“I don’t think she’s got insurance,” Mr. Atwood says. His voice is coming from a distance, too. It’s like I’m underwater, listening to the conversations happening on the shore. “She’s just drunk. She’ll be all right in a little while.”

“That bottle was empty,” Mrs. Atwood says. “And she’s so small …”

“Bo,” Agnes whispers, her fingers combing through my hair. “What happened?”

It’s too bright. I ain’t never seen the sun so bright. I gotta shut my eyes, but I can still see it through my lids and I’m worried I might puke again, but I don’t wanna do it in the Atwoods’ car because they already hate me.

I have to push the words out. Because saying them makes them true. Makes the pain worse.

“He … didn’t want me.”

The next time I wake up, I’m somewhere familiar. I’m on a pallet on Agnes’s bedroom floor, one of her stuffed animals resting on the pillow beside me. Utah’s there, too. Curled into a ball with her face pressed to my stomach. She ain’t asleep, though. Her big brown eyes are wide-open. Watching me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her.

My throat’s real dry and my head don’t feel great, but the dying feeling has passed. Now all that’s left is the guilt.

I hear voices down the hall. I figure they must be coming from Agnes’s parents’ bedroom.

“You can’t call social services.” It’s Agnes’s voice, fierce and desperate. “That’s the whole reason she took off. They put her in foster care before and it was awful. You can’t send her back there again.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Mrs. Atwood says.

“Let her stay here.”

“Agnes.”

“I’m serious. Why not?”

“For starters, it’s probably best for you and Bo to get some distance,” Mrs. Atwood says. “Y’all aren’t good for each other right now.”

“That’s not true!”

“We just spent twenty of the last twenty-four hours driving back and forth across the state because you two decided to run off together,” Mr. Atwood says. “We filed police reports. Had to go get Gracie’s car from a stranger’s house, and worried ourselves sick. Sorry if we’re not too keen on the idea of letting you two live under the same roof at the moment.”

“Damn it, Daddy. This is why I went!”

Both me and Utah jump. We still ain’t used to the sound of Agnes yelling. I hope we never have to be.

“I made the choice to leave. Bo didn’t make me.” She doesn’t tell them I lied to her. And I’m glad. They hate me enough as it is. “I didn’t go just to joyride. I went because she was scared and I couldn’t let her go alone. And because … Because the idea of being stuck here, trapped here, without her makes me wanna die.”

“Agnes.”

“You think I’m being dramatic, but I’m not,” she says. “Bo’s the only good friend I ever had. Christy treated me like I was a burden. Like she was doing me a favor by being my friend. Bo never did that. And she doesn’t pity me, either. She’s the only one in this town who treats me like a real person. Like I’m not just some pathetic blind girl everyone’s gotta take care of.”

“Oh, honey …”

“Stop!” she hollers. “You’re doing it
now
. You spend so much time worrying about me that you’ve made me feel trapped. Like I’m never gonna get out of this town. And Bo’s the only thing here that makes it worth staying. And if you send her away, it’s just gonna get bad again.”

There’s quiet for a second. I reach up and hug the stuffed animal Agnes left for me. Squeeze the soft, fuzzy sheep toy to my chest. I’m proud of her for standing up for herself. Proud of her for being the Loretta I always knew she was. But I’m scared, too. Scared of what they’ll say next.

“We talked about that,” Mr. Atwood says. “The night you left. After we argued. Your mama and I talked a lot about that. How we might treat you different from Gracie and … your future.”

“You did?”

“You sure didn’t help your case taking off like that,” he says. “Because now you’re gonna be grounded until you’re forty. But …”

“But?”

“But after that, we’ll talk,” Mrs. Atwood says. “About the rules. About what’s gonna happen after high school … We’ll talk.”

I hear Agnes sigh, but then she says. “Okay. We’ll talk … And what about Bo?”

My stomach churns, and I’m scared I’ll be sick again. Utah turns her body some so she can lick my cheek.

“We know she’s your best friend,” Mrs. Atwood says. “And we’re glad she’s been so good to you, but … honey, she can’t stay here. Especially not with Gracie coming home this week. We don’t have the space or the money.”

“And,” Mr. Atwood adds, “I still think y’all need some time apart.”

“But foster care—”

“There are some good people who are foster parents, too,” Mrs. Atwood says. “And … I promise, if we get wind someone is mistreating her, we’ll do whatever we can to get her out of there. But for now … this is the best option, Agnes. I’m sorry.”

I turn my face into the pillow. It’s over. I spent all this time running, all this time trying to escape, and it don’t even matter. Because tomorrow someone from CPS will come and who knows where I’ll end up.

“Can … can she at least come back to visit?” Agnes asks.

“Of course,” Mr. Atwood says.

“After we’re done with your punishment for this,” Mrs. Atwood clarifies. “Until then, no guests. None. And you’re coming straight home after school this fall. No parties. No going anywhere without me or your father. You’re on lockdown until we can trust you.”

“Yeah, I get it.” She pauses. “I’m sorry. For scaring you. I really am.”

“Good,” Mrs. Atwood says. “An apology is a start.”

A few minutes later, the bedroom door opens and Agnes walks into her room. Her feet move quietly, stepping lightly over me, as she goes to her bed. The springs creak and she lets out a long sigh.

“Bo?” she whispers. “You awake?”

But I close my eyes and keep still and pretend I’m asleep.

And after a while, when she’s done been snoring for going on an hour, I don’t got to pretend anymore.

I wake up early the next morning. Agnes is still sleeping, curled in a tight ball on her bed, snoring a little. Utah wakes up, though, and she follows me down the stairs.

Agnes’s parents are in the kitchen. They stop talking when they see me.

“How’re you feeling?” Mrs. Atwood asks.

“Been better,” I say.

I look over at the door. My bags, the ones I’d taken on the road with me, are there. Waiting.

“We already called Child Protective Services,” Mr. Atwood says. His voice is quiet, and I can hear the apology he ain’t saying.

I nod. “All right. When will they be here?”

“Any time now,” Mrs. Atwood says. “You want some breakfast while you wait?”

I shake my head. I don’t got much of an appetite.

But I do have to say something.

“I’m sorry.”

They both look at me, surprised.

“I shouldn’t have taken Agnes with me,” I say.

“The way she tells it, it was her choice,” Mr. Atwood says.

“Yeah, but … I wanted her to.” I take a breath. “I just want y’all to know I’m sorry. And I understand if you hate me.”

“We don’t hate you, Bo,” Mrs. Atwood says.