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“Well, yeah. Today’s my birthday.”
He waits for me to explain further. I pretend it doesn’t sting that he refuses to acknowledge my birthday. Craig is never going to be the kind of uncle who pats me on the back and says, "I’m proud of you.” That’s fine. At least he doesn't talk down to me, which is more than I can say about the other adults in my life.
“I’m eighteen,” I explain. “That means I can age out of the system if I want to.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Because we’re leaving.”
“Well, yeah, sure. But not right this second.” He waves his hand around at the messy suite. “I’m not exactly set up for guests here. Where the hell would you even sleep?”
“I’ll take the couch.”
Craig folds his arms across his barrel-shaped chest, and it hits me just how delusional I’ve been. If life has taught me anything, it’s that anytime you get your hopes up, you’re asking for a fall. My own dad ran out on me. Why should I expect more from an uncle I haven’t seen since I was six?
“You can’t stay here, Teagan. I’m sorry but it’s not gonna work out.”
I force my shoulders to shrug. I’ve been so desperate to move away that I didn’t stop to think about all the smaller steps in between. I figured it would all work itself out. But then, when have things ever justworked themselves out?
Instead of telling Craig the truth, that I have nowhere else to go, I tell him, “It’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”
“Of course you will.” He gives my shoulder a soft punch. “You know why? ‘Cause you’re scrappy, just like your old man.”
I plaster on a fake smile. From the time I was little, people have looked at me like I’m a problem to be solved. For all his faults, Craig looks at me like I’m a solution. The solution to what, I have no clue, but whatever it is, I’ll go along with it if it means there’s a chance I can get the hell out of this shithole.
“When do you think you’ll be ready to leave?” I ask.
“Two weeks? Maybe three? A month tops.”
Dread starts to bubble up inside me, but I play it cool. I say goodbye to my uncle and park myself on a bench in the small, sunburnt courtyard outside the hotel.
I used to run away a lot—before I learned that it can be just as bad, if not worse, on the outside as it is in the homes.
Having lived in the group facility for so long, I don’t know where any of the safe sleeping spots are in this part of town. I just gave Craig most of my money, so I can’t afford to rent a hotel room. I was never particularly friendly with my co-workers or classmates, and I’ve never been kissed, so I can’t crawl into bed with an ex-boyfriend.
At sundown, I find a fast-food restaurant that’s open twenty-four-seven and order a small soda and fries—enough to rent a booth with a window for a few hours. I sit and draw until my eyes refuse to stay open. But as soon as my head drops into my arms, a manager comes over and tells me to find somewhere else to crash.
I head down the street to an apartment complex I scoped out earlier—my real reason for squatting in this part of town. Starting at the darkest corner of the parking lot, I begin testing car doors. I have to hang back twice after triggering alarms before I find an unlocked Toyota Camry with an empty backseat.
Curled up on the cushion with my bag at the ready, I grab a few hours of sleep before I’m woken by the angry shouts of a middle-aged man, none too pleased to find a stranger asleep in his backseat at six in the morning. Thankfully, I made sure both back doors were unlocked before I fell asleep, so I’m able to scramble out of the car with my bag, just as the man starts to dial 911.
I run. The man doesn’t chase me, but I don’t stop running until I’m far away. Panting and reeling in the empty parking lot of a shopping mall.
My throat burns and my side aches. If there was anything left in my stomach, it would be all over the sidewalk right now. Smoothing my sweat-dampened hair out of my face, I squat on the pavement and force myself to breathe.
It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since I left the group home, and already, I’m so fucking tired. Not to mentionhungry. There’s no way I can do this again tonight.
With only ten-percent battery life left on my phone, I know I need to make the next call count. I could call Craig, but he’s made it clear I’m not welcome on his couch. The only person I can turn to now is the last person I want to ask a favor of. But it’s either that or sleep on the play structure tonight with one eye open, which isn’t sleeping at all.
Reaching into my pocket, I grasp the crumpled sticky note I forgot to get rid of. Smoothing out the creases, I take a deep breath and thumb Mary’s cell number into my phone.
She answers on the second ring.
“It’s Teagan,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Do you think you could still find me a bed?”
