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"Yeah, but... going off on your own will put a target on your back."
"Not if no one knows who I am," I said, shrugging. "Which brings me to the next - and last - thing I have to ask of you tonight."
"What?" she asked, sounding like she was dreading what I might ask.
"Does your mom still groom Peaches?" I asked, referring to the malti-poo that had a better life than most humans.
"Ah, yeah."
"Can you get me the buzzer?"
"Why?"
"I want to get rid of my hair."
"What? No! Your hair is gorgeous."
"I don't want to be gorgeous. I want to be lethal," I said, so much conviction in my tone that my voice shook slightly.
"But like... a pixie cut, right?"
"Like Demi Moore in G.I. Jane I corrected." She was shaking her head even before I finished speaking. "You do it, or I do, Iggs."
"You'd be all uneven if you did it," she objected.
To which I shrugged, making her huff her air out.
"Fine. But when you hate it, I'm not to blame."
Ten minutes later, I stood in the mirror, looking at a reflection that I barely recognized. It wasn't just the hair. My eyes looked harder, closed off. My face was a smattering of bruises. There was a stubborn set to my jaw and lips.
"Okay. I lied."
"I knew you would hate it!"
"No," I said, smiling a little, feeling a small bit of warmth swarm my chest. "I meant I lied about that being my last favor. I need a hoodie and shoes."
"You can't really be going."
"I know it doesn't make sense. And maybe I am just in shock. Have post-traumatic stress or something. But I need to do this. I can't explain it. But I have to go. Maybe it will be a mistake. Maybe I will realize halfway into the bus ride that I screwed up, that I was just crazy. But I can turn around. Or call my parents."
"Your parents..." she said, eyes and voice sad. She'd always had a soft spot for them. Likely in response to the soft spot they had for her.
"I am going to let them know. And I'm not asking you to lie for me. They'll show up here and ask where I went."
"But I don't know--"
"Exactly," I cut her off. "I'm not putting you in the middle. I will call them or write them. Tell them that. Tell them that I love them," I added, feeling my eyes water, my throat tighten.
"Ferryn, it's safe now. Just go home," she begged.
"No," I said, swiping the tears off my cheeks. "I can't," I added, slipping socks over the bandages on my feet so I could walk back into the bedroom, snagging a gray hoodie and a pair of slip-on shoes, taking a deep breath, knowing I had to go. I had spent too much time here already.
"Wait... take this," she said, grabbing her old laptop off a shelf, one that her parents had replaced simply because the new one they got her had better parental controls. "You'll need it. You know you will," she said when I started to object. Finding a backpack in her closet, she shoved it inside along with a change of clothes. "And this," she added, holding up a necklace she had gotten for her communion. "I hate it. You know I hate it," she insisted when I began to object. "And it will be worth a couple hundred if you hock it."
"I'll pay you back, Iggs," I told her. "I will get a job and pay you back."
"I know it is pointless to argue with you," she said with a smile I knew she didn't feel as she held the bag out to me.
"Do me a favor," I said when we stood there awkwardly, knowing this was going to be the last time we saw each other for a long time.
"Anything."
"Find some way to take classes at Aunt Lo's gym. Tell her I said to do it. For free. She will believe you. You should... every girl should have some training," I insisted, thinking of Chris. Of Mary. Of the countless others.
"I promise," she told me. And since we had a long track record of never breaking promises to each other, I knew she would keep it.
"I love you," I told her, reaching out with my one free arm, giving her a short, but hard, hug. "Oh, God," I hissed when I heard a car pull into the drive.
"It's Vance," Iggy assured me. "He's worried about me. I'm worried about him. We were going for coffee at the all-night. He will be so happy to know you're okay."
Vance.
There was a faint fluttering sensation much like I always used to get when I thought of him as I ducked out the window, hearing Iggy following, coming with me toward the front of the house where Vance was just languidly lifting himself from the front seat of his T-bird.
