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ME: No, I need one. Lay it on me. What class are you in right now, btw?
HUNTER: Chemistry. Mrs. Lundt gives no shits. I didn’t even hide my phone under my desk.
HUNTER: Kevin and I broke up.
I grimace, shaking my head slightly. The news isn’t all that surprising—I had a feeling they were headed that way. And I think it’s probably a good thing. Hunter is tiny, but she makes up for it with a manic energy that would make a hummingbird look like a sloth. Kevin’s a nice guy, but I always felt like he was a little… flat for her. She needs someone who can meet her energy level, or if not meet it, at least appreciate it. Kevin tolerated it, and that’s just not good enough for my bestie.
Still, I can tell—even in a five-word text—that she’s sad about it.
ME: Ah that sucks. I’m sorry.
HUNTER: It’s for the best. It was time, it’s just… being alone again sucks, you know?
God, do I ever know.
This time last week, I had four boys on my side. Four boys I was starting to care for, really care for. Four boys who were starting to feel like they were mine.
And now, I’m more alone than I’ve ever been in my life.
ME: I wish I could hug the shit out of you right now.
HUNTER: Awww me too.
We keep texting back and forth as the bus trundles down the wide city streets, and even though we’re both nursing heartache, I think we manage to make each other feel better. As much as her break-up sucks, talking about something normal feels good right now.
She tells me she has to go when her Chemistry class lets out, promising to call me later. I check for any other messages on my phone—there are none, which isn’t that surprising—and drop it back in my bag.
Our text conversation got me almost all the way back to my destination, and as the bus rounds a corner onto the street where I’ll make my final stop, I can feel tension gathering in my muscles again.
I know I’m lucky Mr. Black offered to let me stay with them while my mom “sorts this all out”, but I hate living in that fucking house. If we had the money, I would’ve checked into a hotel so fast there would’ve been nothing but a little smoke trail left behind me.
But we don’t.
We barely have enough money for mom’s lawyer, and I know that won’t last long once the fees start piling up.
So I’m living under the charity of Samuel and Audrey Black and doing my level best to avoid their son.
I yank the cord to request a stop as the bus rolls through a wide intersection, and when the driver pulls over, I push open the back doors and step out onto the sidewalk. November in Connecticut is a lot chillier than it is in Arizona, and I cross my arms over my chest as the bus rolls away with a hydraulic hiss.
The Black’s house is still over a mile away—their fancy-pants neighborhood isn’t really the type to have many bus stops—so I turn and head in that direction, walking at a fast clip to try to stay warm.
As I head down the sidewalk, a prickle of awareness brushes over the back of my neck. My steps slow slightly as all my focus shifts to the space behind me.
Someone’s following me. I’m sure of it.
I heard a car’s engine a second ago, but no vehicle ever pulled past me. It must’ve slowed down instead of speeding up.
Images of a man in black, of a ski mask that covers everything but his eyes and mouth, invade my brain, and my heart starts to pound heavily and erratically
in my chest.
The man’s car was dark too. Everything about him was dark—like a shadow, like a bad fucking dream.
My hands bunch into fists. I can feel my fingertips shaking, and it’s not from cold.
There’s a high stone wall running alongside the paved sidewalk, and I move closer to it, like that will save me if whoever’s behind me tries to run me over.
My neck feels stiff as I turn my head slightly, holding my fear in check by a thread as I peek behind me out of the corner of my eye.
