like that. She always did whatever she could to keep the peace when it came to our friendship.
As I made my way across the warehouse, the four guys turned to each other before casting one last furtive glance my way. The one with the golden cloak opened the door, and they filed out of the bar quicker than I could reach them. With a frustrated sigh, I upped my pace, desperate to speak to them before I lost them to the nighttime city streets.
When I pushed open the door, a blast of hot summer air rushed into my face, bringing with it the cloying stench of rotting trash, exhaust fumes, and baking asphalt. The city could turn into a heat trap at the height of summer, even at night, when temperatures tiptoed into the mid-90’s at times.
There were a few clusters of smokers camped outside the gray club, lazily discussing the most recent superhero film they’d seen in the theatre. They didn’t even glance my way as I whirled in circles trying spot the four strange guys with the weird skin that apparently no one but me could see.
There they were, halfway down the one-way street, walking in the direction of Delancey Street. I rushed after them, picking up my pace to catch up with them. They walked side-by-side, their arms relaxed by their sides. One of their backs stiffened—the one who had followed me into the bathroom. He glanced over his shoulder and caught my eye. In an instant, he’d turned toward the others, and soon they were walking at a speed that was impossible to fathom. They didn’t look as though they were running, but they were certainly moving faster than any normal person could.
They reached the corner within seconds and disappeared to the left. I kept following, though I knew it was no use. When I reached the corner myself, they were nowhere to be seen. They’d disappeared somewhere in the depths of the Manhattan streets, and I knew without a doubt that there was no way in hell I would find them. Not unless they wanted me to.
I shoved open my bedroom window with the tips of my fingers as I perched on the fire escape outside of our third-floor apartment. The chipped wooden frame shuddered at hurricane-level decibels.
I paused and sucked hot air into my nostrils. Closed my eyes and counted to ten. If the noise filtered out of my room, down the hall and into the ears of my sleeping parents, Mom would barrel right through the locked door, her intricately-painted nails clutching the fabric of her nightgown into a silky flower of panic. And then that panic would bubble into anger. And then pool into disappointment and distrust. Just like always.
Next time you sneak out, she’d told me last weekend, you’re grounded for a month.
Even though I was eighteen-years-old, and even though I’d graduated from high school last month, Mom kept a tight grip on what I could and couldn’t do. And if I got grounded for a month, I wouldn’t be able to attend any auditions, my only chance of getting out of my rut of a life. And moving out of this hellhole of an apartment.
But despite the window’s avalanche of noise, not a single whisper of movement stirred inside the apartment. I threw my legs over the window frame and hauled myself over the ledge behind it. After I closed the window, I padded over to my bedside table in boots that squished into the carpet, reaching for the neon blue lamp. And when I flipped the switch, several sights smacked me in the face all at once. Open drawers. Open laptop on my desk. Scribbled sheet of notebook paper on my pillow.
The paper held only three simple, non-threatening words. Well, non-threatening in most situations, anyway. But those three words on this particular night. On that particular sheet of paper. In that familiar loopy scrawl. Well, it was enough to make my stomach sink through the floorboards to join the rats that lived there despite the number of times the landlord had bombed them with poisonous fumes.
Living room. - Mom
Brilliant. For a split second, I considered ignoring the note and crawling under my whisper-thin sheets before Mom could realize I’d slithered back home, but deep down I knew it would be way worse if I did. She’d get my step-dad involved. And if she told him about it, my punishment would be far, far worse than a simple grounding.