Things We Didn't Say - By Kristina Riggle Page 0,53
know? I can’t help being shocked. You get an idea in your head of somebody . . . Lucky for me I’ve learned to tell people just what they want to hear, so it’s mostly okay now.
Well, obviously it would be perfect if she looked super-hot in addition to being witty and funny and nice.
Trouble is, in person? In real time? She’s not as funny as she was over the computer.
Or maybe I’m just being an asshat because she doesn’t look like her picture.
I shake her awake by the shoulder before the security guard comes back to ask why we’re not in school. She sits back up, and I tell her we should walk like we have somewhere to go or we’re going to get hassled.
She nods, and we stand up and start walking, having to swing around the moms pushing kids in strollers and the old people walking with their white sneakers. I’m starting to feel like a neon sign is over our heads going, TEENAGERS NOT IN SCHOOL! RUNAWAYS!
“We should go somewhere else,” I say to her.
She slips her hand into mine. It feels clammy. I resist the urge to pull my hand away and wipe my palm off on my jeans.
“Where are we going to go? We’re out of money.” She pouts, like it’s my fault or something.
The bus station people wouldn’t sell us tickets, being underage, and I remember feeling annoyed with Tiffany because I thought she was going to plan ahead and buy them through the mail, like I did, where they can’t check ID.
We hung around until the bus station people started to look at us weird, and then we just started walking. We walked until we were so tired we couldn’t stand up and it got really cold and started snowing so we found a sheltered bus station bench and snuggled up as best we could, using my sax case as kind of a pillow, mostly so it wouldn’t get stolen. We had loads of time to study the bus lines and enough change for bus fare, so in the morning, we took a bus to the mall so we could eat at the food court and have somewhere warm to be.
But then we found out her wallet was missing, probably stolen on the bus, and I was going to ask her why she had it in her backpack where it was really easy to get into, instead of, say, in her front pocket.
But then I saw her lip was puckered out and her eyes were all teary.
I don’t think she’s actually sixteen, either. That’s what she said on Facebook, that she just turned sixteen. But she seems pretty young.
I spent my own cash already—I never had much, but Tiffany made it sound like she had tons. Now we have no money and no ride and it’s snowing really hard out there, too.
After the wallet got stolen I decided to call home with a calling card I bought for emergencies, since I wasn’t taking my phone. Tiffany was in the bathroom, and I called the first number that came to mind, Casey’s cell, the number I call if I need something during the day when Dad’s at work. But somehow my mom grabbed the phone and started screaming and then Tiffany came out of the bathroom and I didn’t want her to think I was chickening out so I hung up.
“I think we should hitch,” Tiffany says, now swinging my hand in hers, which annoys me. I stiffen my arm so she has to stop and she gives me this little hurt look through her hair.
“Yeah, and then we get hacked up into bits by some maniac. Good plan.”
“C’mon, there are two of us. We won’t get in someone’s car if they look crazy.”
“Not all psychopaths wander around drooling and rolling their eyes.”
“Okay, no droolers. That will narrow the choices.”
I allow a smile at this. “No, serious, Tiffany, we can’t. Have you seen the weather out there? W-w-w-we didn’t dress for standing by the side of the road sticking out a thumb. Someone would probably call the cops on us, an-n-n-yway.”
We walk a few more steps, and I test the waters with something. “You know, we could call your parents.”
She stops dead, forcing me to stop, too, by yanking on my hand.
“We can’t do that! It’s horrible, I can never go anywhere or do anything, I’m like a prisoner in that house. I had to escape.”