a few feet between me and the stage. I turn, take the steps two at a time, push my way behind the curtain. I hear Thomas’s voice behind me, “Hank, wait,” but I ignore it.
The second I’m out of sight, I jog down a long, dark hallway leading away from the auditorium, away from the stage, away from people. As soon as I reach a side door, I open it a crack, and when I’m certain there’s nobody lurking outside in the schoolyard or behind the trees, I slip as silently as possible into the shadows.
Sucking cool, fresh air into my lungs, I sprint full speed from the high school grounds, arms and legs pumping, then straining. Blending into the dark night.
Running, again.
18
A dragonfly with green eyes lands on my arm and a long-legged spider climbs up the leg of my jeans, but I don’t move. Can’t scare the moose or let him know I’m hidden behind this spruce tree.
The moose has long spindly legs, a humpback brown body and a goatee. I don’t know how he holds those huge antlers up. Leaning over to take a deep drink from the pond, he almost looks harmless, like a horse or something. But I know better. A moose could kick a person to death if he’s really pissed.
Ow! A black fly bites the back of my neck, and I smack it, which startles the moose and makes the dragonfly shoot off into the woods. I hate these stupid black flies, and the mosquitoes are just as bad. Last night huddled in my sleeping bag with my flashlight, I counted seventy-two bites. No kidding. Seventy-two. And every one of them still burns and itches.
Hazards on the Appalachian Trail: Biting flies and mosquitoes. I get it now. Though I’d add moose to that list too.
I hold my breath as the moose lifts his huge head to stare at me, pond water dripping off his goatee. If he charges, I’ll climb this tree as fast as I can. All the muscles in my body are tense, waiting.
But the moose doesn’t charge. He just stands there, looking at me with his black eyes pretty much the same way I’m looking at him. Like I’m incredibly interesting, but he’s worried about what I’ll do next. When nothing happens on either side, he ducks his head back into the water, yanks up some green pond weeds, and chews calmly, ignoring me.
It’s Monday morning, the start of my first full day in the wilds of Maine. The moose sighting is a good omen, I’m sure of it.
Now that I’m in Maine, standing in the woods watching a moose, Saturday night seems like forever ago, a weird dream I had once. But it really happened. After escaping from the high school, I sprinted to Thomas’s place to get a backpack, clothes, and all the money I’d saved. From his basement, I grabbed some camping gear and wrote a quick note: “Borrowing some stuff. Promise to bring it back. Thanks for everything.”
After taking the last train to Boston, I made my way to South Station, and then caught the first bus in the morning to Bangor. Tried to sleep on the bus, resting my head on the backpack, but that didn’t work. My thoughts were crazy, like bees swarming around in my brain. Hailey, Jack, Nessa, and Thomas were all in there with me, along with my parents.
And Rosie. Especially Rosie.
Ever since the accident, I’ve been on the run, like a voice inside is telling me to keep moving. But there’s another voice now, getting louder and harder to push aside.
You really think you can run away from Rosie and what happened to her? Go face your life, the fact that the accident was your fault. Face Rosie. Face Mom and Dad.
I know, I tell the voice. But I can’t. Not yet. Let me do this last thing and I’ll go back. I promise.
This final leg of my journey feels right on some kind of bone-deep soul level. I followed Thoreau to Concord to find out who I was, and now I’m following Thoreau to Maine. Maybe here I can figure out who I’m supposed to be next. At least this trip will give me a chance to clear my head before surrendering to the mess I left behind.
In Bangor I bought more supplies: a jackknife, waterproof matches, fishing line, and trail food. All those years being a Boy Scout and camping out with my dad definitely came in handy