Perfect Escape (15 page)

“Do Mom and Dad know where we are?” Grayson said at last, as I leaned back against the booth, little greedy
burps escaping me. I felt my face grow hot. I didn’t answer him. “Tell me,” he said.

“I had Brock lie,” I answered. “But she figured it out right away.”

Grayson stopped chewing. “You had Brock lie?”

I nodded. “I needed time to get us some distance. It was all I could think of. He wants you to call him, by the way. Something about Zombiesplosion.”

My brother looked down at the sandwich in his hand, his expression grave. Then, slowly, the gravity gave way and he chuckled. “Oh my God,” he said. “They are freaking out right now. You know that, don’t you? You have to know that.”

I belched again, this time feeling icky grease sliding up and down my throat. I swallowed uncomfortably and nodded. “I know. I’m trying not to think about it. Which, by the way, you’re not making easy.”

“Maybe we should call and tell them we’re okay.”

I shook my head, my throat straining against the food now. “I can’t.”

He leaned forward, his grease-stained napkin shivering above his plate. “We could go home.”

I shook my head again. “Listen, I don’t like lying to Mom, either,” I said. “But I can’t go home. Okay? I can’t. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“Why not? You think you’re going to save me or run away from my OCD or whatever, but… I don’t get it,
Kendra. I’ve been this way my whole life. Why is it so important to you all of a sudden to make me better?”

“It’s not all about you,” I said miserably, and the rest of the words piled up in my throat, threatening to spill out in one big yell if he didn’t stop pressing me. I wanted to beg him to stop asking. To leave it alone. To please just go along with this one thing. Instead, all I could do was hold it back as well as I could and let out a strained, “I can’t.”

“Yes you can. Just turn the car around and go back the way we came. Every day that we’re out here and Mom and Dad are freaking out, you’re going to get into more trouble, and—”

The more he talked, the more I felt pressure build up in me. He didn’t know why I couldn’t go back. He didn’t understand that there were parts of this trip that weren’t about him. He couldn’t have known, couldn’t have understood, because I hadn’t shared those things with him. I couldn’t share them. And knowing that, in a sense, I was in this all by myself was too much. Panic rose, beating behind my eyeballs, until I couldn’t hold it back any longer.

I tossed my napkin onto my plate. “I just can’t, okay? I can’t! Because I’m already in trouble,” I shouted. Grayson sat back against the booth, surprised, and several of the old men looked up at me, their coffee mugs suspended in midair. “Excuse me,” I said, feeling tears crowding my eyes. I scooted out of the booth and raced toward the restroom, leaving Grayson at the table alone.

I suppose a part of me knew that I wasn’t going to be
able to keep my secret forever, but I wished I’d gotten to keep it for longer than this.

But there was no doubt in my mind… after that outburst, my brother was definitely going to have questions for me.

And I was going to have to answer them.

I felt much better after splashing a few handfuls of cold water on my face. The food had settled in my stomach, and I no longer felt like I was going to burp up an entire grilled cheese sandwich every time I opened my mouth.

I could only imagine what Grayson must be thinking back at our table. Nobody ever yelled at Grayson—it was part of the benefit of being “perpetually sick.” People don’t yell at you because yelling might make you sicker—so I’m sure blowing up at him in the middle of a diner really rocked his world. God, I was so screwing this up. I wasn’t an expert or anything, but yelling at and then ditching someone with OCD in a strange, grubby restaurant booth was probably not what anyone ever meant by exposure therapy.

I scooted into an empty stall and sat down on the toilet, holding my head in my hands and taking some deep
breaths. I’d told him I was in trouble. Of course he was going to have questions. But was I ready to answer them?

“Okay, Zo,” I said, my voice echoing off the metal stall walls. “Remember that time in seventh grade we decided to sneak into the country club swimming pool after it closed? And someone saw us and called the police?”

I chuckled. When the cops had rolled into the parking lot, we knew we were in deep trouble. Our parents had thought we were upstairs in Zoe’s bedroom watching movies. We were sure the police officer would make us go back and tell our parents and we’d be so busted. Probably grounded for life.

“But you talked your way out of it, Zo, remember? You convinced the police officer that we had been in the bathroom when the pool closed and that we got locked in. You even cried.” I wiped my face, grinning. “God, you were brilliant.”

And she was. We’d simply walked back home as if nothing ever happened, our swimsuits balled up and dripping in our purses, and none of our parents ever found out.

“So how do I talk my way out of this one?” I asked the empty stall. I strained to hear an answer, even though I knew none would come. “Yeah. I didn’t think so.”

After gathering my thoughts, I washed up and wandered back out into the dining room. Grayson was actually still eating, pushing fries into his mouth one at a time, taking each in exactly two bites.

There was a slip of paper facedown on the table. I
flipped it over, trying not to notice that the waitress was eyeing me intently. She chewed a thumbnail while she watched me, her eyes slitted as though she expected me to make a run for it.

I rummaged through my purse, feeling a pang of guilt when my hand brushed against my turned-off cell phone. I could only imagine how many messages and texts were on there now. I’d promised myself I would listen to them. That I’d text Shani and apologize and give her answers, tell her why I’d used her. But the more time that went by without my acknowledging that the world I’d left behind was buzzing angrily, the harder it would be to say anything at all. The idea of talking to Mom made my heart beat faster. The thought of texting Shani the truth about what was going on made my palms sweat. It was so much easier to continue pretending that I was the good girl when I wasn’t getting a front-row ticket to how I’d ruined everything, courtesy of phone and text.

When did this happen? When did I turn into this person who runs away? Had I always been? I’d always thought of myself as someone in control. But maybe that wasn’t who I was at all. Had I gotten so used to letting Zoe do the talking and letting Grayson get the attention, that the only thing I knew how to do was not be there? Or was it that I was always so busy being perfect, things never got tough for me?

I pulled out my wallet and slipped Mom’s credit card out, then took the slip of paper and the card to the check
out. The waitress took both without saying a word, and peered at the card.

“You got ID?” she asked. She turned her head to the side and spit a fingernail onto the floor.

“Uh, sure,” I said. “Hang on.” I took the few steps back to our table and grabbed my purse, pulling out my driver’s license as I made my way back to the counter. I held it out, trying my hardest not to touch the waitress’s hand while passing it to her. She had chewed a hangnail and it was bleeding. Grayson was right; this place was disgusting. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. If he survived eating at Edwina’s, he’d survive pretty much anything I could throw at him during this trip. At least that’s what I was hoping for.

She peered at my license, and then shoved it back into my hand. “The names don’t match,” she said.

“That’s my mom,” I answered, pointing at the card.

She held the card out as well, and I noticed another of her fingernails was bleeding. Gross. “We don’t take credit cards unless you got the right ID.” She dropped the card onto the counter. “Sorry. Policy. Cash only.”

I looked around. “I don’t see a sign saying that,” I argued. I could feel my ears get hot. All of a sudden it seemed as if nothing was going to go right on this trip, and I wanted to stomp my feet and pout and cry and demand what I wanted, even though I knew it would get me nowhere.

“I’m saying it right now,” she said, and I noticed that her ears looked red, as if they were hot, too. “Cash only.”

“Fine.” I sighed. “Why not? It’s not like it ever has to be
easy,” I grumbled, and, as if to punctuate my fury, I heard Grayson’s telltale
uh-uh-uh
in the background. I threw up my hands exasperatedly. “Of course!” I grabbed the card off the counter and turned on my heel.

“Grayson,” I whispered, slapping my purse down on the booth seat. “You sure you don’t have any money?”

“Positive,” he said, looking alarmed. “Why? We can’t pay for this?”

“You’re positive?” I grilled him. I rooted through my purse, even though I knew there was almost no cash left in there, as if some miracle might have happened overnight and my emergency fifty might have reappeared.

He turned his hands, palms up, on the table. “Where would I be hiding it?”
Uh-uh-uh.

I zipped my purse shut with such force, the zipper pull came off in my hand. I tossed it onto the table and held my face in my hands, thinking.

“We can’t pay for this?” Grayson repeated, and when I didn’t answer, his voice notched up and got a little squealy. “What’re we gonna do, then, Kendra?”

“Let me think, okay?” I said into my palms. I could feel eyes on me, coming from all corners of the restaurant. Especially from behind me, where the waitress stood at the register, no doubt ready to call the police if Grayson and I bolted.

“This was such a stupid idea,” Grayson muttered, then followed it with
uh-uh-uh-uh.
“I can’t believe you would just run away across the country without any money.”

“Say it a little louder next time,” I hissed, pulling my hands away from my face. “I don’t think they heard you next door.”

“This was a stupid plan,” Grayson hissed back.

“Well, do you want the police to know we’re runaways?”

“Actually, yes. They’ll make us go home like I’ve been trying to get you to do since I woke up halfway across Kansas.”

“This isn’t just about you, Mister Center of the Universe,” I said. “Just. Shut up. Count. Or something. I have money.” I couldn’t believe I was encouraging him to count, but I needed him to stop talking for ten seconds until we got out of this place.

And I did have money. Lots of it. In my backpack. But I didn’t want to use it. I couldn’t use it. That cash was the last thing that might save me when we went home again. As long as I still had all the cash in my backpack when we got home, maybe I wouldn’t be in quite as much trouble. Without it, I would probably manage to be in even bigger trouble.

But I had no choice. I had to pay for our lunch, or Mrs. Cash Only would definitely call the cops. And I’d have to go home and face the music anyway, and Grayson would still be sick. Maybe sicker. And then this whole thing would’ve been for nothing. Actually, for worse than nothing, because I’d have only served to make everything worse. I took a deep breath and pulled Hunka’s keys out of my pocket. “I’ll be right back,” I said to Grayson, then said it
louder and jiggled my keys at the waitress as I walked past the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she glared at me, her mouth working a fingernail between her front teeth.

I unlocked Hunka and leaned into the backseat, pulling my backpack to me and unzipping the small front pocket. Inside, curled up in a tight roll, were bills. Tens and fives, but mostly ones. More than three hundred dollars’ worth. Just looking at the money sent a wave of guilt over me, but I squashed it down. I ignored images of Bryn and Darian and Tommy pressing the bills into my palm at my locker. Ignored the memory of me standing in a closet and stuffing money hastily into my pocket, my palms sweaty with nerves. I couldn’t think of those things right now. I needed to pay for lunch and get back on the road. That was all that mattered right then. Nothing else. I pulled a couple bills off the wad and clenched them in my fist, then turned and walked back into the diner.

“Here,” I said to the waitress, shoving the money at her. She held up the bills to peer at the light through them, as if they might be counterfeit, then started pushing buttons on the register. “Come on,” I said to my brother. “Grab my purse.” He slid out of the booth and walked toward the door, my purse held out in front of him like a sack of garbage.

The waitress crammed my money into the drawer and counted out the change. She dropped the coins into my
palm as if it aggrieved her to do so. I closed my fist around the money and shook it a little in the air.

“You would’ve gotten a tip if you’d let me use the card,” I said, then turned and walked out, feeling half vindicated for having told her off for treating me so condescendingly, and half rotten because it wasn’t her fault I was in this mess. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own.

Grayson was waiting for me by Hunka, still holding the purse as if it might bite him. I grabbed it out of his hand and tossed it into the seat next to my backpack, then climbed into the car and leaned over to unlock Grayson’s door.

He got in just as Hunka roared to life, but put his hand over mine as I clutched the gear shift to get us out of there.

Uh-uh-uh-uh.
“We need to talk. What did you mean you’re in trouble? Did that Tommy guy get you…?” He trailed off, and even though he was making his throat sound, he looked surprisingly calm. Almost like the old Grayson who made milk shakes in his persnickety way but drank them with a smile.

I licked my lips, trying to figure out how to form the words. He needed to know. I needed to tell him.

“No,” I said. “I’m not in that kind of trouble. I’m not pregnant.”

“Then I don’t get it,” he said. “You were at the quarry for no reason. First you say you want to save me. Then you say we’re going to the Hayward Fault. And now you say
you’re in some sort of trouble and that you can’t go home. What’s the big deal? What could be that bad?”

I swallowed, but didn’t know where to begin.