The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,5
Twice.
“Oooh, I like salty processed food for stress-eating. Anything with fake cheese.” Her eyes brightened as she laughed.
I grinned. “Yes! Anything that can turn my fingertips an abnormal neon-orange color, I’m in.”
She handed me a long fry from the paper bag, and I ate it. It wasn’t so bad after all. I held out my hand, and she gave me a few more.
“What’s your favorite zombie movie?” I asked while chewing. “Mine is Zombieland.”
She bit her lip. “Tough one. I liked Zombieland. Hmmm…maybe World War Z? Oh, the Korean one! Train to Busan?”
My eyes widened. She really knew her zombie flicks. “Whoa, I just saw that. Yeah, you’re right. It’s the best one I’ve seen.” I had to watch it with the lights on, but I didn’t tell her that.
“Yeah! It was scary as hell, but it made me cry too.” Kate pulled her wig off, revealing a matted, sweaty head of brown hair in some kind of netting. “That hairpiece itched too much. Sorry I didn’t warn ya.” After fiddling in her coat pocket, she pulled out a bottle and squeezed goop into her palm. “Special lotion. For eczema.” She rubbed it into her forearms, wrists, and hands. The faint aroma of lemons filled the car cabin as we exited the parking lot. It was a good kind of lemony smell, not the furniture wax kind.
Google Maps showed I had only four more minutes left of Kate time. I hadn’t spoken much after we hit the road, and she would be leaving my car soon. I needed to say something fast. “I never asked where you went to school,” I blurted, a slight crack to my voice.
“Seattle Academy,” she sighed, and then chewed another fry thoughtfully. “I finally graduate this year. Thank God.” SA was the artsiest high school in the city.
“Cool.” I don’t know why I asked her about school because normal conversationalists reciprocated questions, and I didn’t want her to know I went to Clyde Hill Academy. CHA was the douchiest, most elite prep school for grades six through twelve in the Pacific Northwest, and I’d gone there the entire time. I also didn’t want her to know I was there on a full ride. Kids like me on full scholarship had a nickname at Clyde Hill. “Skids,” short for “scholarship kids.” There’s no positive association for that word. Skid row. Skid mark. Skids were also trolls on hacker forums, according to Urban Dictionary.
I hated being a skid.
I also didn’t want her to figure out I was only sixteen and eleven-twelfths years old. I was a senior like Kate, but I’d skipped sixth grade as soon as I arrived at CHA. Back then, I’d thought it was so great to jump to seventh grade and into pre-algebra. I didn’t know that decision came with consequences. I was last to get a driver’s permit. Last to get a license. Getting dropped off and picked up by my mom through junior year did wonders for my social life, let me tell you.
Clyde Hill kids were cultured in a “we go to exotic destinations with all-inclusive, five-star vacation packages” sort of way. They waved them off as “quick vacays” to get some “R&R.” My buddies Zach, Jaxon, and me, though, we didn’t travel anywhere fancy, ever. Skids never did. The closest we got to culture was on our eighth-grade trip to Orlando, and Epcot Center blew our minds.
Skids had something the school desperately desired in exchange for free tuition: high test scores, or athletic prowess, or in the case of Zach, they wanted bona fide geniuses to attend, so they would hopefully have the next Bill Gates or Mark Zuckerberg as alumni. My parents gladly accepted the $40,000 scholarship each year for my 4.0 GPA and high PSAT and SAT scores. No way could their IT consultant and Korean tutor salaries cover the expenses of private school.
I turned down Kate’s fog-covered street, decelerating as we approached her home. She lived in the remote part of Bothell, in an area where there was still abundant farmland. Her driveway was a few houses down on the right and disappeared down a steep hill into a black, foggy abyss. Total horror movie setting. Cue creepy-as-shit music.