Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [52]
“Nothing!” I look right at him. “Nothing! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! It’s why I’m here! It’s why you have to protect me!”
“Of course I’ll protect you.”
“You won’t. You’ll send me back to Mom!”
“Okay, okay.” He clicks his tongue. “For tonight, how ‘bout you sleep here in your room?” My room—that’s what he calls the spare room when I’m around. “You get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow we’ll see what we can do.”
Brenda shows up in the doorway. “I talked to Linda. She’ll be here in half an hour,” she says to Dad in this stage whisper, like maybe I’m deaf or something.
My eyes go wide.
“I’ll call her right back,” Dad reassures me, squeezing my hand. “Don’t you worry. You’re staying here.”
“Dave?”
He shoots Brenda a glance. “Just deal with the hot chocolate, will you?” He picks up the phone on the wall by the fridge and punches in the number. “Linda, it’s Dave.” He must have got her just before she left.
Listening to one side of their conversation is hard. I keep wanting to add things, important things, but he keeps waving me down like he can handle it. Which he can’t.
“Apparently, there’s this young man ... Jason, right ... He’s made a threat. She’s scared sick ... I told her that ... Yes, I told her that ... Yes, I told her that too ... All right then. We’ll see you in half an hour.” He hangs up.
“You said I could stay here.”
“You can. Your mother’s just coming out. We all need to talk.”
“She’ll make me go back. She will. You’ll let her.”
“I won’t.”
“You will! And he’ll kill me!”
“Leslie—”
“You liar! Coward!” And I bolt from the room and out the door.
Dad chases me down the hall. “Come back!”
Forget the elevator, stairs are faster. I fly like a bat out of hell. I hit the lobby and I’m gone.
Thirty-Six
It’s cold this time of year, and I don’t know where to go. I think of a bus shelter, to get out of the wind, but that’s too obvious. Mom and Dad’ll be driving around looking for me, with Brenda stuck “holding the fort.” They’ll have cops after me, too. In the city, big deal. There’s lots of street kids, and hostels where I could give a fake name. But in places like this, the nomads stand out.
I end up hiding behind these evergreen bushes along the side of a school a couple of blocks away. They won’t think to look for me here—it’s too close. As a bonus, there’s some heat coming from the building, and I can see the lights up in Dad’s apartment.
I don’t really sleep. My ears are so cold I think they’re going to fall off, but when I pull my jacket up over my head my bum freezes. Around two in the morning, I think I see Mom’s car drive by. Then around four I see the lights in Dad’s apartment go out. I wonder if she’s in the spare room.
By seven, it’s getting light. I could hang around here and pretend to be a student, but not even browners get to school this early. If I don’t head out soon I’ll be spotted by a janitor come to turn on the boiler.
I crawl out from under the bushes. I’m stiff, I’m hungry, and my nose is running. I try hopping up and down to warm up. Some people think kids run away because it’s cool, like we’re all monkey-see-monkey-do. Right, we really want to get sick and dirty and starve to death because we saw somebody do it on TV.
A car pulls into the parking lot. A janitor. I take off.
I walk around for maybe an hour. Traffic starts up, people driving to work in the city. I wonder what Jason’s doing, if he’s back home waiting outside my apartment. And then I see this donut shop.
I go inside. At first I’m self-conscious, what with all the suits there to pick up a coffee and muffin. But soon I relax, on account of the grungies. There’s this table of guys with hat hair who look like they’re sobering up from an all-nighter. And a woman with so much makeup she’s either a hooker or a beautician. And next to the door, this guy with shakes and tattoos who’s tapping his feet like he’s waiting for his dealer—and his dealer’s really really late. Around these guys, I don’t smell at all.