much. Now that I’m here with her, it’s shocking how little she says out loud. Still, I can tell how hard she’s thinking in every single moment. It’s spread out across her face.
Like when we lied to her mother today. Sharon stayed pretty quiet—Peter and I did the talking—but every time I flicked my gaze her way, she was watching us so carefully, I could almost see a thousand different thoughts running through her head. I guess I’ll need to learn how to read her face, since I can’t read her words anymore.
That’s not so bad, though. Looking at her face.
Her mom was thinking a lot while we talked, too. She was just as obvious.
“You ran away from home?” Mrs. Hawkins asked, after I’d finished telling her our story. The four of us were sitting around the kitchen table. Sharon’s mother’s hands were clasped around a glass of iced tea, and her shrewd eyes were locked on me. “Does anyone know where you are?”
I shook my head. There were tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, real tears. I was exhausted, and overwhelmed, and frustrated at having to lie. My tears added to the drama of the story I was telling, though, so I didn’t try to hide them.
“What about your grandparents?” she asked. “Or family friends?”
“I don’t have any other family, and my friends’ parents are all friends with my parents. I couldn’t talk to any of them.”
Mrs. Hawkins nodded. She seemed to believe me. Only the first part had been a lie, anyway. “What did you plan to do once you reached San Francisco?”
“I’m not sure.” I tried to smile, but the tears were threatening to fall. “Get a job. Find a place to live.”
“For how long? Are you planning to move back home before the school year starts?”
“I…” I trailed off. “I don’t know.”
“You have to graduate. You can’t let this ruin your future.” Mrs. Hawkins sighed. “Well, summer just began, so I suppose we can discuss that later. For now, you’re welcome to stay here.”
“Thank you so much, ma’am. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“It’s not as though I’d have turned you out on the streets.” She sighed. “All the same, I don’t feel right about your family not having any idea where you are. I understand if you don’t want to speak to them, but please give me your phone number. I’ll call your mother so she knows you’re safe.”
I froze. Across the table, Sharon fidgeted, but it was Peter who jumped in.
“Her mom isn’t stable.” We all turned to stare, and he tapped his nose. “Drugs. That’s why they’re getting divorced.”
I dropped my eyes to the table. We hadn’t brainstormed that.
My mother’s never done drugs in her life. She hates drugs, and everything else that has to do with hippies. She’d be furious if she heard this particular lie.
But then, she’s already furious with me. That’s why I’m here.
I kept my eyes down and lowered my voice to a whisper. “I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Ohhh. Oh, ah…” Mrs. Hawkins glanced from me to Peter and then to Sharon. Sharon nodded, confirming her brother’s story. “Well, I can understand your concern. Tammy, you’re sure you don’t have any other family? Aunts and uncles, or…”
I shook my head again without looking up.
“All right.” Mrs. Hawkins sighed again. “Please give me your mother’s number, anyway. I have to at least try to reach her.”
I couldn’t see any way out of it. “Yes, ma’am. May I borrow a pen?”
“I’ll call Javi about the job,” Peter said, climbing up from the table as Mrs. Hawkins passed me a pen and the back of a bill envelope to write on. I wrote down the number for our church office. It only gets answered on Sunday afternoons when Uncle Russell’s secretary is there, so I can only pray Mrs. Hawkins won’t try to call it then.
While Peter was on the phone, Sharon and her mom set up a foam sleeping pallet on the floor of Sharon’s