Chevy Pickup (again! But I finished this time!)

[KirbyVictorious]

'Tis very long. Well not really. About a fourth of a novel. ANd I'm rather fond of it myself. And chock full of pop culture!...from two years ago. <3

Anyway:


Part One: Initial Attraction

Sara Barkins toyed absently with her hair as she sat before the mirror, her heart pounding. She had set her laptop on the vanity next to the brush, which she picked up for the hundredth time and ran through her curly, red-brown hair. She stared unseeingly at the open AIM window, waiting for the message with the name in red. He was taking far too long to respond…he hadn’t forgotten, had he?

The IM’s scroll bar was very small; they’d been talking for a couple of hours, now, and Sara hadn’t minded toggling the conversation, her Calculus homework, and her Literature essay all at once. It was worth it, and anyway, Ryan obviously had a lot to do too.

The guitar solo from some Linkin Park song blared from the tinny speakers, exactly what she had been waiting to hear. She read the message with a zeal bordering ecstasy.

RyanHenderson009: Sorry about that, Sara. I’m a little busy.

She tried not to go for overeager, or even borderline desperate, but it was hard.

SweetasSugarSara: No problem. I have homework anyway.
RyanHenderson009: Uh-oh. Will you be done before I pick you up?
SweetasSugarSara: That depends on when you will be picking me up, the ratio of minutes:my work speed, the difficulty of the questions, and, of course, whether you care or not.
RyanHenderson009: I can lie and say I do, but I don’t. I can also lie and say I didn’t understand a word of that, since you were obviously trying to confuse me…
RyanHenderson009: But see, what I’m worried about is if you can leave before your work’s done.
SweetasSugarSara: Well, I can’t honestly say I care much either…and I didn’t think it would confuse you, to tell you the truth. If it did, I’d’ve signed off by now.
RyanHenderson009: That’s cold, Sara…
SweetasSugarSara: No, what’s cold is the entire world tonight. You pick absolutely the worst times to go out, Ryan. It must be Absolute Zero out there…
RyanHenderson009: Well, see, THAT isn’t my fault. I could’ve sworn the news didn’t predict absolute zero in West Texas…I think I’d remember the Apocalypse if they showed it on the weather channel.
SweetasSugarSara: You did it on purpose, I bet, so a certain someone would have to get a little closer and leave perfume on your jacket when she steals it from you…Boys are all the same.
RyanHenderson009: That’s preposterous…the jacket’s big enough for us to share. 
SweetasSugarSara: And the rest?
RyanHenderson009: Mm…I thought it’d just be rhetorical to ask how you knew so much…and how exactly do you know what boys will do when it’s very, very cold out? Any secrets, Miss Sara? Or IS it Miss…?
SweetasSugarSara: Well, you see, when a girl is always right, she can’t really do much save read a lot of romance novels and pretend to listen to her boy-crazy friends.
RyanHenderson009: Oh yeah, gotta love those romance novels…such beautiful endings…
SweetasSugarSara: Blaaaaackmail…
RyanHenderson009: Saaaarcasm…
RyanHenderson009: I’m coming to pick you up; be there in ten minutes. Finish your homework, young lady.
SweetasSugarSara: Yessir, right away, sir, don’t die in the blizzard, sir…
RyanHenderson009: Let’s hope not, we’ve got a movie to catch.
SweetasSugarSara: Oh, and by the way…
RyanHenderson009: Go on.
SweetasSugarSara: …I’m not giving that jacket back until you take me to the fires of hell, Ryan Henderson.
RyanHenderson009: Well, see, the problem with that is that I lose a perfectly good jacket in the bargain…they’d never let me in, even to the little demon bonfire on level one…

Sara laughed aloud.

SweetasSugarSara: Just don’t be late.
RyanHenderson009 signed off at 9:32 p.m.
SweetasSugarSara: Good boy.

Sara twirled on her little stool, reading over the entire AIM conversation and feeling like an air-starved swimmer, complete with heart-poundings and head-spinnings. She hopped from the vanity, grabbing a brush and counting strokes as she gave herself a last-minute check over. Any date after the first called for more formal attire, of course; she’d gone with a Chinese-print tunic and leggings, complete with boots and chopsticks for her hair, if she ever got around to pulling it up. Only seventy-three more strokes until, supposedly, her hair was ten times shinier…

Sixty-two strokes later, Sara grew bored and twisted her hair up, letting a few strands fall from the messy tangle of beaded chopsticks and auburn hair. She studied it in the mirror; as good as she could make it, though nowhere near Ryan standards. With someone like that, even Cinderella’s ball gown wouldn’t be quite good enough. She gave up on her appearance after awhile and settled with playing the piano a little to calm her nerves. The living room was close but not too close to the front door, perfect for waiting, but not really waiting. A perfect feminine game to play.

Halfway through her piano teacher’s suggested piece for the week, she grew bored of the monotony and started playing classical music by memory. It could’ve been anything from Ludwig von Beethoven to Nobou Uematsu…she just let her fingers do what they wanted. The time slid away, and when she paused for a moment to give her fingers a rest, she shot a habitual glance at the driveway to check and see if he was here…and saw his beat-up Chevy pickup idling in front of the house.

She jumped and ran to the door, but stopped herself a few feet away and walked composedly into view. Ryan was leaning on the doorframe, arms folded against the chill, but other than that he seemed perfectly at ease. She opened the door, and only then did he turn to face her. He had on a different-colored shirt this time, long-sleeved, but the same worn jeans, and his gelled hair fell gracefully into his eyes.

“Hey,” she said breathlessly. “Sorry…I was…”

He smiled reassuringly at her, offering her his hand. She took it, allowing him to lead her to the passenger’s side of the Chevy and open her door for her. “What song was that?” he inquired, sliding behind the wheel. “Something from a video game?”

“I’m not sure…I was just playing…were you listening…?”

He shrugged, backing slowly out of her driveway with the practiced ease of an expert. “I couldn’t very well do anything else,” he muttered distractedly, glancing behind the truck’s bed. “I did my best to get here on time, y’know…broke the speed limit and everything…”

She doubted it; she had only been in the car a few times with him, and she could already tell that he was the best driver she’d ever find, no matter where and how long she searched.

“…last thing I expected was to be locked out…”

“You could’ve come in, you know…it was open.”

“And interrupt you? Hell no.”

She smiled, hastily looking out the dark window as she felt her cheeks grow warm. “Well then,” she reasoned, “don’t complain. It was your fault, anyway…you should’ve known hell would freeze over, you watched the news yesterday.”

“Day before…and hell wasn’t mentioned.”

“Where’re we going, Ryan?”

“Movie,” he said evasively.

“Well, of course…which one?”

“Whichever one you want.”

“You pick.”

“Memoirs of a Geisha.”

She laughed. “Read the book already…good, but a little sad. Let’s see something happy.”

“Name it, I’ll buy the tickets…”

“Hey, actually…I got it tonight.”

“Thanks, but no.”

“No, really, it’s fine…”

He kept his eyes on the road. “You pick, Sara, and I’ll buy. You can pay if you want, but then I’m getting a documentary…or Jackass 2.”

He was teasing, but Jackass 2 didn’t sound too romantic.

“Alright, I’ll pick.”

He half-smiled in triumph; he knew her too well.

Sara and Ryan both were seniors at the St. Mary’s Catholic High School in San Antonio, two constants in the school’s Top Five, with Sara usually battling for number two while Ryan stayed unopposed as number one. She’d never seen him before this year, when she’d sat beside him in Chemistry and told him he was drawing the Legend of Zelda Triforce all wrong. Quite unused to being corrected, he had watched, mouth agape, as she drew a perfect replica, with a little ocarina to boot. They’d been friends until he’d asked her on a date a month ago and stolen her first kiss.

Since then, the only reactions she’d gotten, when people asked her who she was dating, was “Ryan who?”

Ryan had been the class’s anonymous kid since freshman year. He was the person about which everyone in their grade, when confronted about his identity, said, invariably, “Oh, yeah. Isn’t he the number one?”

That was it. He joined no clubs, no teams, no extracurricular activities whatsoever. How he got his service hours every year was a mystery no mortal had ever solved. He never got in trouble, he was never student of the month—that required a positive attitude, of which he showed little—and he had no friends. He had had one, once, but no more; now, she was his girlfriend, completely beyond friendship.

All of Sara’s friends had disapproved of him from the start, after learning who he was—“He’s too iffy,” they had declared. “See how he stays away from everyone? Tch.” They had shaken their heads wisely. “Trouble.” They had told Sara she was making a huge mistake, and gave her two weeks before he either dumped her, screwed her up with drugs or liquor, or stole her heart and ran.

Sara since her junior year had been known as “untouchable,” though she was the last to find out, and had a very good reputation for being sweet, kind, and innocent in every way…but no one besides Ryan would have guessed that he was the first boy to ever ask her out on a date. Their first date was like catching up on four or five years missing from her love life, and just as her friends had predicted, he stole her heart…but far from abandoning her, he had become the closest thing she had ever had to a true, honest-to-God friend…until he had asked her, very formally, to be his girlfriend. And everyone knew a dating couple could never be considered “friends.”

They had both agreed that it sucked. But then Ryan had said that he wouldn’t tell if she wouldn’t, and life had moved on.

“We can pick the movie after dinner,” Ryan decided, with a hint of satisfied finality.

“Ooh, dinner too? Well, you’re just full of surprises…first hell freezes over, then you break the speed limit, and now dinner! What next? Are we perhaps catching the PREMIERE of Jackass 2?”

“Nah, it’s already on video, Sara…but thanks for the idea,” he added thoughtfully. “I know one we can see…”

“Which one?”

“No, you pick. If you can’t think of one, I’ll surprise you.”

“Surprises, surprises…so how’s your week been?”

“Mm, same old…Spring break in another week, though…”

“Yeah, I can’t wait…”

Slowly, their small talk turned to a comfortable, back-and-forth discussion; nothing deep, nothing personal, but completely honest and finely detailed, and before they knew it, they were at the restaurant.

It was nothing very fancy, just a little Mexican restaurant off the main street… Carmelita’s…Ryan bribed her with his jacket if they could sit outside, by themselves, and she agreed readily enough. They took a table for two, Ryan’s heavy lettermen jacket burying her in its depths. He didn’t seem to mind the cold, though it had to be at least 45 degrees out here…without it, she could see the outline of his arms and chest, narrow but unusually lithe. She knew he seemed scrawny to anyone else, but she wasn’t fooled; his triceps were corded with thick muscle. He either lifted iron bars after school or was very used to defending himself—and winning—any fight that came his way.

After about ten minutes, a waitress scurried outside, a thick coat over her employee polo, and inquired, with chattering teeth, what exactly they would like.

“Um…whatcha want, Sara?”

She cast her eyes upward, as if thinking about it, giving him a flippant smile and batting her eyelashes. “Oh, whatever, baby, you know what I like.”

He rolled his eyes and ordered something for them to share; she didn’t really care what. Suddenly, quite contrary to about twenty minutes ago, she didn’t feel very hungry at all. Maybe she was just being naïve at this whole dating thing, but…he was making her a little nervous, and she was afraid she’d do something stupid and mess everything up. He seemed to have no such qualms.

“Pick a movie yet?”

“Don’t RUSH me, boy. I’m thinkin’.”

“Well, think faster.”

“My brain’s frozen…gimme a minute…”

“59…58…”

“Ryan…”

Their food came out a few minutes later; the waitress almost dropped it, her fingers numb. Fajitas, she noticed, and not chicken, either.

“Might as well get something hot,” he muttered, watching the steam disappear above their heads.

“Ooh, no chicken. How’d you know?”

“Oh, well after all, ‘the chicken is by far the most abused animal on the planet Ryan, how can you EAT that stuff?’”

“Well, they are!”

“No they’re not…”

“Ooh yes they are, you wouldn’t BELIEVE what they put in McDonalds food, they—”

“McDonalds? Get real…”

“Yes, McDonalds! I don’t know how anyone can eat there—”

“Well, I’d take a free Big Mac anytime…wouldn’t you?”

“No!”

They argued over this for several minutes while the food slowly disappeared, and Sara forgot all about being nervous. The plate was empty, her stomach full.

“Some cow had to die for that, y’know,” Ryan said solemnly, eyes twinkling.

“You just never give up, do you?”

“Well, it’s not fair to the cows…it’s like the Chik-Fil-A thing, only backwards…”

“I’ve gotta eat something. I mean, they’re all slaughtered and everything, but with chickens it’s just RIDICULOUS…”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted gently. “I get it…you cold?”

“No,” she replied sarcastically. “I mean, it’s only…y’know, -459°…”

“C’mon, Sara…we’ve still got about 500 degrees before we hit absolute zero.”

“But we’ve got ten ‘till water freezes, and none until I turn into an icicle.”

“A very pretty icicle, though…”

She felt her cheeks grow warm again, and was glad it was dark. He seemed to know exactly what to say and when to say it at all times, in all situations. It bothered her, just a little.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“You ever had a girlfriend before?”

He seemed to stiffen, giving her an odd look, as if wondering if she was mocking him in some way. “I’m sorry?”

“Or, well…” She hesitated, suddenly wishing she’d never said anything. “Like, kissed another girl, or something?”

“Jealous, are we?” His tone was careful, cautious.

“N-no…I just wanted to know…’s all.”

“Oh.” He turned his eyes away, and the atmosphere tensed. “No,” he said at last. “No girlfriend, no kissing, no nothing.”

“Oh…” She felt herself smiling, and stopped. “Well, all right then.”

“Don’t laugh,” he complained, seeing her trying not to smile. “Yeah, it’s weird…since I’m eighteen already, but—”

“I’m not laughing. I’m seventeen,” she said firmly, smile fading. “And I haven’t either.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“No way.” He seemed genuinely surprised, as if she was far too fantastic in every way to be single for so long. She flushed.

“Yes way. I think it’s because everybody in the entire school thought I was dating everybody else. Or maybe I’m just boring…”

“Don’t say that,” he told her reproachfully. “You’re not boring…DAMN, that’s weird…”

“No it isn’t,” she muttered under her breath, feeling undeserving of his praise. “Not any weirder than YOUR situation, I might add…”

“Enough about that,” he said hastily. “You pick a movie, Miss Sara?”

“No! And quit bugging me about it…”

“Well, pick one!”

“Why? You had a great one lined up…”

“Yea-ah, but see, I’m a guy, you’re not. My great and your great’d be different, so you pick.”

“No, I’ll go with yours…whatever it is.”

He grinned. “I think you’ll be surprised…”


She was.

When the Chevy slid into the streetlight-washed parking lot, and they walked up to the box office, his arm around her shoulders, he went right up to the man behind the counter and asked for two tickets for 300, please. She stared at him.

“300? What in the name of Brad Pitt is 300…?”

And then she walked into the lobby and saw a giant poster of a Greek guy, in armor and toting a spear, standing in the middle of some bloody battlefield.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“A war movie? Like, the kind of war movie that’s so bloody they’re forced to give it an R rating?”

“Don’t be silly, it’s for sex, too.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Surprised?”

“Very.”

“You wanna see it though? Seriously…I heard it’s good. As in, amazing, mind-boggling, great, kind of good.”

She thought about it, though she was not about to tell him no, take me home this minute. She’d actually heard it was the greatest thing since sliced bread, too.

“Sure.”

He beamed, taking her hand and leading her to Theater 7, where they got two seats right at the top.

“That way,” he explained, “we can make out and not bother anyone, really…”

She laughed, drawing his jacket closer to her shoulders in the drafty theater and watching some guy on the screen drink Coke. The conversation between them slowed a little, and her thoughts turned to something that shouldn’t bother her, but did…

For one thing, he’d avoided the subject of girlfriends pretty fast. It didn’t surprise her, really…he’d been pretty shy when he had asked her out, and perhaps more nervous than she on their first date…maybe he was just shy about girls, but all the same, it made her wonder.

And for another, as ridiculous as it sounded to make such a big deal over it…he hadn’t left a tip. He’d just counted out the exact change, set it on the table, and left. She was sure it was an accident, but it was completely unfair…that poor waitress had gone outside in the freezing cold to serve them, and he didn’t even leave a couple of dollars for her. When he wasn’t looking, she set the corner of a five beneath her glass, so it wouldn’t blow away in the bitter wind, and followed him out. She hated to think of her Ryan as stingy or even just rude, but it was a pretty cold thing to do.

However, she let it slip from her mind as the previews started and the theater grew dark. Ryan’s arm tightened around her shoulder, pulling her closer, his cheek resting on her hair. The movie began.


Some two hours later, they emerged into the harsh yellow radiance of the streetlights, wowing over the film.

“That was AMAZING,” she giggled, balancing childishly on the curb. “Spartans!” she imitated, thrusting a fist in the air. “What is your profession?”

“No, no, no,” he corrected, “you gotta be more forceful. Think Steelios.”

“Steelios…Steelios…All right. Now where’s someone I can jump over?”

He laughed, amused. “Liked it?”

“Loved it! You always have such nice surprises.”

He smiled, and without a word leaned down and kissed her. She returned the gesture, out of pure instinct.

“Like that one,” she said weakly, his eyes, an inch away, locked onto hers. He held her there for a few heart-pounding moments, then sighed, his breath ruffling her hair, and pulled back.

“Guess I’d better take you home,” he said resignedly, sounding as if straight after, he would be witness to his own execution.

“All right,” she agreed, though no less enthusiastic. She was tired, certainly, but she had no desire to make the night end so soon. Still, no need to press herself onto him. If he wanted to go home, then fine, she’d get a call from him tomorrow, and that would be that.

They rode in silence, neither of them wanting to separate, though they didn’t say it aloud. The Chevy rolled over a bump in the road, its old engine complaining in a rusty monotone.

“Low on gas,” Ryan murmured as an explanation, checking the meter, which hovered dangerously close to E. “Dammit.”

She said nothing, and before she had realized it, they were only a block from the turnoff into her street. A song played quietly from the radio, “5 Minutes to Midnight” by Boys Like Girls.

Turn it up…it’s 5 minutes to midnight, you’re coming home with me tonight…

“Do you have anything else to do?” he asked her suddenly. “I mean like, in the morning, that you need sleep for?”

“No,” she replied, mystified as to his point.

“Anyone expecting you home?”

She snorted. “As if.”

“Where’re your parents?”

“I stopped asking them, and truthfully, I don’t care. They won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon, I bet…Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“Well, I was wondering…” The turn was coming up, and his blinker was not on; he was not even slowing down.

“Hey, you’ll miss it…”

“You want to come home with me tonight?”

“I…wha…?”

She stared at him. He kept his eyes on the road, and her street flicked past them.

“Huh?”

“I said,” he repeated slowly, his knuckles white on the wheel, “d’you want to come home with me?”

It threw her off…she had no idea what to say. He kept his silence, giving her plenty of time to think. Which she did.

Come home with him…that could mean any number of things, among them kidnap, rape, murder, popcorn and old movies, and any method of torture he had hidden in his house. It was one thing to have a slumber party with girls, but it was quite another to spend the night in your boyfriend’s house…presumably, alone. It could mean anything…

…including talking with Ryan all night long, never having to leave, finding out more about him, sleeping beside him…

…this could really be horrible, or be absolutely great. Knowing Ryan, she was leaning heavily toward the latter.

“Okay,” she said simply. He glanced at her quickly before turning back to the road.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm…”

“You’re sure? I mean, your room’s probably bigger than mine and—”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“All right…” She saw a hint of a pure, sincere smile on his face.

“Your parents home?”

“What parents?”

She gaped at him, mouth falling open. “What’re you—?”

“I’m just kidding,” he said hastily. “They’re a little like yours; never around.”

“A little? Sounds like they’re exactly the same.”

“Well, that would suck. You can’t date your sister…”

She smiled, but inwardly, her heart was pounding at the mere idea of spending more than five minutes completely alone with him, with no one else around.

“Hey, Ryan…?”

She was about to demand to be taken back, she’d force the wheel form him if she had to, even if it meant losing him forever. No way, no way, no way…

“Yeah?”

Something in his voice made all her doubts vanish at once…it was Ryan. There was nothing to be scared of.

“Never mind.”  

[KirbyVictorious]

Part Two: History


Ryan drove carefully into the apartment complex parking lot, slid into a space, and turned off his car.

“I’ll need to get gas in the morning,” he said conversationally.

She was feeling a little sick, and didn’t reply. Instead, she said. “You live in an apartment?”

“Mm-hmm. Well, truthfully…this place is more for small businesses, but…the rent’s the same…”

“Oh…” she choked. “I see.”

“C’mon…I’ll take you up.”

It was the sort of apartment where there are stairs leading to doors on the side of the building, each with a number. He led her up the stairs, past 107, 109, 203, 205, 207, 209, 301. At 303, he stopped, pulling a key from his pocket. But before he turned it in the lock, he stopped.

“You should probably get ready for another surprise,” he said quietly. Not knowing what else to do, she nodded, and he opened the door.

Her mouth fell open again.

He had been right; the room was indeed smaller than her own bedroom at home; hell, she’d seen bigger motel rooms. But this room didn’t just have a bed….It had white carpet that was more of a pale grey, with stains here and there, and one corner was tiled in plain white linoleum that dully caught the light of a small lamp on a little table beside a lumpy armchair. On this little patch of solid floor stood a counter with a microwave, a sink, and a plastic cereal bowl with a withered apple and brown-patched banana in it atop it; the counter was Formica, she guessed. A broom leaned against the wall, and a mini fridge sat on the floor. There was no table of any sort. The counter was chipped, as was the floor, and the fridge hummed loudly like his truck.

About ten paces away in the opposite corner there sat the sort of TV that was propped up on four spindly legs, with a screen about thirteen inches wide. A game system that she couldn’t identify sat between the supports, a controller cord winding its way from it to the controller itself, hanging off the bed. The bed was a single, though still wide enough so that two average-sized people could sit side-by-side and just have a few centimeters hanging off. The plain off-white bedspread was rumpled, the pillow askew, and a shirt lay abandoned on the floor. A door hung half-open in the wall, revealing the edge of a chipped sink and more linoleum. A plain wooden cupboard, painted faded white to match the “décor”, to use the broad sense of the word, hung on the wall. There was a plaster splotch on the ceiling where a hole had been repaired.

Sara stood, riveted to the doorstep in complete shock, her eyes flickering to each item in the plain, sparse little room.

“Is this where you…?”

He didn’t even blink, merely taking her hand and leading her inside. “C’mon. It’s cold.”

She wordlessly obeyed, still completely overwhelmed. He grasped her hand tightly, avoiding her eyes, as if this was exactly the reaction he had expected. Finally, she choked out the question.

“Is this your HOUSE? You LIVE here?”

“Not really a house, is it?” he commented, leading her over to the armchair and pushing her gently into it. A spring creaked in protest. “And actually, the only thing I really own is THAT.”

He pointed, and she followed his direction to the little black game console, which she could see now was a Nintendo 64. Ancient.

“Got that for my ninth birthday,” he told her softly, as if the memory was painful. “My dad loved the Legend of Zelda, said since I was Link’s age I should be old enough.”

The cartridge in the console read The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. There was one on the floor beside it that read The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask.

“’Course, I always thought Link was eleven…doesn’t matter, does it?”

She was incapable of answering.

“Y’know, I wanted to get the Collector’s Edition…exchange the N64 for a Gamecube and my two games for that one…it’s got both of those, you see, and the first two, and parts of Wind Waker. I wanted to see what made my dad like it so much. But I couldn’t do it.”

Sara was still looking around, at the tiny fridge, at the bare walls, at the dirty linoleum.

“You are kidding me,” she managed at last, looking up at him for a reaction. “There’s… no way…”

“I’m not,” he told her, so quietly she could barely hear. His forehead burned bright red beneath his hair. “I’m sorry…if you want me to take you home, I will…”

She rose to her feet, still casting her eyes all around the room. “How did you…? What do you…? Why…?”

He sighed. “Hold on a minute…I’ll explain. I, uh…lied. I’m the only one that lives here.”

She gaped at him. “Well, obviously!”

He nodded. “A friend of mine hooked me up with this place, and a fake permit. I was fourteen. When I was sixteen, he got me a fake license, too.”

“Why not just get the real one?” she interrupted. “You’re a great driver—”

“I don’t do anything that requires ID,” he said shortly. “Or my legal guardians, or my address, or money. Anyway, he pays the rent and I pay him, simple as that. He’s my boss, you see…and as long as I don’t put holes in the floor or anything, I can stay up here. I told you it’s more of a business thing…this room is supposed to be an office, or like, a jewelry shop or something…someone else made it into an apartment before I came, though. Could be worse.”

“Could be WORSE? You can barely walk in this place—”

“Who needs to walk? All anyone really needs is four walls and a roof, a bed, food and water…and I’ve got my N64.”

Sara took a few steps further into the room, turning around in a little circle. She could see a toilet and a shower minus the curtain now in the bathroom. “You live here?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“All by yourself?”

He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

She met his eyes, keeping his gaze for a long time.

“Are you thirsty or something?” he asked her at length. “I’ve got…well, I’ve got something. Help yourself,” he added, stepping around her and reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. “If it’s all right with you, I need to call someone…”

She nodded, and he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. She heard the chimes as he dialed the number, then a few seconds later, heard him speak.

“Hey, Jace…you busy? Listen, I need a favor…could you get me off the hook at work tomorrow? I can’t come in until later…maybe not at all…Jace? Jace! Focus, man. Yeah…Just tell him I’m sick. With whatever brain disease you’ve got, duh…”

Keeping one ear trained on the conversation—she couldn’t help listening in any case, anyway—and the other filled with the refrigerator’s hum, she opened the little device’s door and looked inside. The contents surprised her. A clean, empty glass, caked in frost, a Chinese take-out box, a jar of peanut butter, two bottles of water, one bottle of crushed ice, a half-empty can of tomato soup, a can of beer—Budweiser, she saw, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She shut the door, her eyes roving over the rotting fruit, the water stains on the metal sink, the broom devoid of a dustpan. Her eyes fell on the cupboard.

“Jason! For the love of God, take your nose out of the bottle, I need your help! God…I can barely understand you as it is…I said, just tell him I’m sick….”

The cupboard’s top shelf showed her neatly folded clothes, one side their school uniforms, the other a pair of khakis and a shirt. The lower shelf bore a single plate; a tattered rag; a knife, spoon, and fork; two more cans of soup; a bag of Cheetos; a white taper candle and a box of matches; a pack of Marbolo cigarettes. She took these out, staring at them; she had never seen a cigarette box up close before. The box was open, and two were missing.

“…no, I’m not sick…I’ve got to take my girlfriend home…wha…? No, I’m not! Ugh! Just forget it!”

The phone clicked as Ryan slammed it shut, slamming the bathroom door behind him and muttering under his breath. Then he remembered he had company, and his tone brightened.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Drunk, high, or both?” she asked, without turning around.

“Huh?”

“Your friend. Sorry. Loud voice, small place.”

He rolled his eyes. “Pretty damn drunk, about to get high. Idiot.”

“Why do you talk to him then?”

“He works with me. He’s not too bad, when he doesn’t smell like vodka…”

“What are these?” she inquired, showing him the cigarettes. His eyebrows furrowed.

“Smokes,” he answered cautiously.

“I didn’t know you smoke.”

“I don’t. I don’t touch those, they’re just there.”

“Two are missing.”

“Believe me, I didn’t smoke ‘em. I found them, thought I could sell them, maybe.”

She didn’t really buy it. He saw this, and smiled reassuringly, his teeth even and a moderate white. She could tell he’d had braces, but not anything to make them brighter. It was natural. They weren’t smoker’s teeth.

“There’s a can of beer in there,” she told him, as if he might not know. “Budweiser. That someone else’s too?”

“No. It’s mine.” His tone was completely sincere, if a little abashed. “I was saving it…I know you don’t drink, but if you want it, it’s yours.”

“Can I run it over with your car?”

He frowned. “I’d prefer if you didn’t…I paid good money for it…”

“Why?”

He shrugged, turning and flopping onto the bed. “Why does anyone start drinking? It makes you feel better, makes you forget stuff. It’s not too bad, if you take away the headache.” He turned on the N64, and the piano/ocarina prelude filled the room from the tinny speakers. “Don’t worry, though,” he assured her. “I don’t drink and drive, ever. And I’m not an alcoholic.”

“But you’ve drunken these before.”

“Who hasn’t?” he replied carelessly.

“I haven’t.”

That made him stop for a second. But then he went right on clicking buttons, until the screen flickered to a younger Link, exploring Dodongo Cavern. Ryan bent his entire torso backwards over the bed, as if the game wasn’t challenging enough right-side up, and played it like that.

“I’ve tried everything, I think,” he told her simply. “Beer, whiskey, vodka, wine, tequila…ouch…gin sucks, rum’s not bad. Just sips, most of the time. And that was when I was fourteen or fifteen, I think. I haven’t touched anything since, except a bottle of beer once in a while. When I do, I don’t even go outside. I just stay here. I don’t talk to anyone, I don’t do anything. It’s kind of a waste, really, since it’s so hard for me to get them…but I don’t care.”

“You ever got drunk before?”

“Once. I didn’t like it.”

“Off of?”

“Vodka. Painful.”

“High?”

“Never.”

“Got any diseases I should know about? STDs?”

“No. Why don’t you just go search the place again? I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Nothing to hide?” she repeated incredulously. “Alcohol, for one thing…that’s illegal, you know…and sure, the cigarettes are legal, but you could at least have hidden them from ME…I don’t want to come here and find out that you smoke and you didn’t tell me—”

“I don’t,” he interrupted. “People that smoke annoy the hell out of me. And if you didn’t see, I obviously didn’t have time to clean up. And even if I did, I don’t want to hide anything from you, Sara. I could’ve just dropped you off. I wanted you to see.”

She kept her eyes on him, watching him sadly, dropping the cigarettes into the cupboard and shutting the door. “I don’t get it,” she said to him, coming to sit beside him on the bed. “I don’t get it…you’re the smartest person in our school…probably in every school in San Antonio…why do you live like this?”

“Never mind the details,” he said firmly. “I just do. I told you, it’s not too bad.”

“But…but what do you do here?”

“Play my game. I found every secret and piece of heart known to humankind on both of ‘em. And I bring books home from school, and read those. But I don’t spend a lot of time here. Not even on weekends. Just on Sundays, usually.”

“But what do you EAT?”

“Um, hello…didn’t you see the take-out? And the peanut butter?”

“You can’t live off peanut butter!”

He raised a hand and pointed a stern finger at her. “You take that back, Miss Sara. Peanut butter is the greatest food on earth, and I absolutely refuse to live without it. You shoulda been here when I had bread, that was great…nicked some jelly from IHOP…” He sighed in ecstasy at the memory. She couldn’t believe her ears.

“You need help.”

“Mental or physical?”

“Physical. Maybe both.”

“Oh, no thanks. I’m fine.”

“I’m serious, Ryan, you’ve gotta find a place to live besides here…”

“Why?”

“You’re not even out of high school yet! And you’re living off peanut butter!”

He snorted softly, as if that was hardly a problem.

“There’s four other food groups, Ryan. I think.”

“I told you, I had bread…”

“What, like last year?”

“A week ago…I’ve got a banana, what more do you want?”

“I mean it, Ryan…I’ll help, I really will…my mom’s good at stuff like this, she—”

But with that, his calm attitude disappeared. He sat up at once, not even pausing the game, leaving Link to be eaten by a Dodongo. He grabbed her hands tightly, folding them between his and looking her straight in the eyes.

“No, Sara. You can’t tell anyone. Not your parents, not your friends, don’t even write it in your diary. It’s a secret. If anyone finds out about this, I'm in really big trouble. I'm old enough to go to jail, and believe me, I will...Don't tell, Sara. Please."

“Ryan, you can’t—”

“Please, Sara.”

He seemed so sincere, so desperate, that she couldn’t possibly refuse.

“Fine…I won’t tell. I promise.”

Smiling in satisfaction, he kissed her and promptly bent over backwards again, resuming his game. Link was minus two hearts, but still alive, probably thanks to a fairy. In revenge, Ryan stabbed it viciously with the little Kokiri sword until it fell down and died.

“Damn thing, what’d I ever do to you?” he muttered, clicking buttons with practiced ease.

Sara lay next to him, folding her elbows across his stomach. “Whatcha doin’?”

He only answered after he’d beaten a few monsters to a pulp. “You done freaking out?”

“Nah, I’ll save it for later. Now, c’mon, tell me, what’s the point of this little hellhole?”

“I thought you’ve played it before.”

“Nope, never touched one of these old things. I play Twilight Princess and Wind Waker, now tell me, what IS this fiery pit of doom?

“It’s Death Mountain, see, the bad guy is Ganondorf and he killed the tree—”

“Gasp! That b*****d.”

“No, the talking tree that protects the forest, the father of Link’s brothers and sisters…”

“They’re tree-babies?”

“No, they’re more like elves, only they never grow up, they’re all his age and dressed like him, with fairies and everything. The Deku Tree made them, and he protected them, but then he died. He had a Spiritual Stone, you see, and Ganondorf wanted it, but he wouldn’t give it up. So then Ganondorf tried to steal another one from the Gorons, but when they refused he filled their rock mines—”

“Rock mines?”

“Yes, they eat rocks. He filled them with monsters. So now I’m killing ‘em.”

“Why don’t they just give Ganador the rock?”

“That’s Ganondorf. And it’s a Spiritual Stone, and if he gets all three he can open the Door of Time—”

“Oooh…”

“—and hack into the Sacred Realm, and steal the TriForce.”

“Tragic.”

“Yep. He’s evil. Evil plus TriForce equals world domination.”

“So you’re gonna kill him?”

“Not right now.”

“When?”

“In seven years.”

“Wow…so you’ve got plenty of time to waste with these, uh…creepy dragon things, huh?”

“Yeah, and next up are the creepy jellyfish things…and then we find Zelda.”

“Zelda? She’s everywhere!”

“No, it isn’t the same person, long story. She’s got the Ocarina of Time.”

“Lucky her.”

“No, you see…”

He explained the finer details of the game to her, playing as he did so, and by the time he was done, he informed her that it was time for the dungeon boss. She had no idea what that meant, until…

He shoved the controller into her hands as a big blue THING attempted to breathe fire at her. She shrieked, pushing it back.

“Oh my god, oh my god, what IS that thing?”

“A big creepy dragon thing. Beat it, hurry!”

“I thought I had seven years!”

“No! Go on!”

“Uh…uh…”

“Quick, get out of the way! X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x….”

“What’s X?”

“The button! Press it…move the stick upwards…no, the other stick!”

“Aaaaauugh!”

She tried it. A bomb appeared out of nowhere and sat atop Link’s hands.

“Throw it!”

“What? How?”

“Control stick and A!”

Control stick and A…the result was less than perfect. She set the bomb down at his feet and moved the camera stick instead, and got a first-person view to watch Link be blown up and cremated at the same time. Ryan laughed.

“Go on, try again…you have to throw it in his mouth. Ooh, don’t let him roll on you, now…”

“Ooooooh…”

She threw a bomb at it, but it hit his tail instead. She tried again, and this time, it landed in its mouth. It swallowed it, and the bomb exploded with a loud BOOM! Ryan grinned.

“Stab it, hurry!”

“What?”

“Press B!”

“Um…”

She pressed what she thought was B, and Link yelled out a battle cry as he stabbed fruitlessly at the air. The Dodongo got right back up again. She screamed, nearly dropping the controller, and ran away as fast as Link could go.

“Go back, now…try again…”

Under Ryan’s coaching, and with the help of two fairies, she finally got it right. After four times, the thing screeched, rolled into the lava, and died. What looked like something on a child’s charm bracelet fell by its head. Sara giggled weakly.

“Hee hee…cool…”

She fell back onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. He laughed.

“Hey, not bad…you lived.”

She groaned. “Never again.”

“Okay…I’ll play this time.”

She agreed, sitting up to watch as he picked up the bracelet charm (who knew? It was a heart container,) and got the Spiritual Stone from some big thing that she guessed was a Goron. Then Link was off, down the mountain again. As he played, they talked, first about the game, then about everything else. But slowly, the colors on the little TV lost focus, and she found herself blinking hard, swallowing yawns, resting on his shoulder. He was the one that asked her softly if perhaps she wanted to take a shower and go to bed? She nodded, feeling like a zombie as she stumbled into the little bathroom, locating towel, shampoo, washcloth, soap. There was only one of each, she saw, the towel ragged, the washcloth filled with holes, the soap as big as her little finger. She made a note to be careful not to waste any as she waited for the water to warm up, tugged off her clothes, and stepped underneath the hot water.

Twenty minutes later, she walked out into the cool main room, the tunic over her arm, her black camisole dotted with little wet spots from her hair. She closed the door with her foot, wringing the water out of her hair with a towel. Ryan looked up from a book, devoid of shirt and shoes, quite obviously being modest for her benefit. She gave him a smile, feeling ten times more awake now, tossing her hair in his face as she sat beside him.

“Tha-ank you,” she sang gratefully. He brushed droplets of water from his face.

“All clean?”

“Yup. Did you beat the giant jellyfish thing?”

She pointed at the TV screen, light, airy music playing from the Save screen.

“Yeah…piece of cake.” He touched a button on the console with his toe, and it turned off. Silence filled the room. Feeling a little awkward, apprehension mounting, she finally broke it.

“Well, I’m going to bed, if it’s all right with you.”

He nodded, yawning and stretching. “Yeah, same here.”

Without a word, she curled up with her back to the wall, covering herself with the thin blanket. He turned off the lamp, crossing the room and coming to lie beside her. She felt the need to kill the silence once more.

“I want to sleep,” she said firmly, “so no talking, no snoring, and no touching, all right?”

“Okay,” he said simply, rolling over to rest on his folded arms. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but it was more difficult than she thought it would be. Ryan’s breaths grew deeper at once; he seemed completely oblivious to the cold. Maybe it was because she was wet, or perhaps, the weather outside. She doubted the tiny place had a heater of any sort aside from the microwave. She pulled the blanket more tightly around her, snuggling closer to Ryan, trying not to shiver.

His breaths were slow, his heartbeat calm and steady, and she thought he was asleep until he stirred, reached down onto the floor, brought up tonight’s abandoned shirt, and pulled it carefully over her head. She tugged her arms through it, burying her nose in the lapels, allowing him to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“Are you warm now?” he asked her, his voice very quiet. She nodded; the shirt was still warm, and so was he.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“If you’re still cold…I could get another blanket from downstairs…”

“Don’t move,” she told him, grasping his hand tightly. He nodded, and obeyed.

“Victory or death,” he muttered sleepily, “tonight, we dine in hell…”

She giggled. “I hear it’s warm there.”

“Mm. If you know where to go.”

“And where is that?”

“I thought you said no talking.”

“You’ve already broken the rules. Answer the question.”

“All right, you’ll never find out anyway…”

“Why?”

“Because you’re an angel.”

He half-yawned as he said it, so she couldn’t be sure if he was serious or not.

“Well, if you don’t go too far, you’ll see a big bonfire, and that’s where they make the s’mores, you see, only they run out right when you get there, and all the demons burn you with their flaming marshmallows, and when they touch you, you get all sticky and there’s only boiling water to wash it off with. But the catch is, if you succeed in stealing a s’more you move onto the next level…”

“Go on. Second level.”

“In the second level, on one side you hear horrible screeching off-key singing, so high it breaks glasses, and you can hear better music up ahead so you keep going until the singing is far behind…it’s always a song you know by heart…but when you start to sing, it cuts off and you’re left singing in complete silence and you could swear up and down that you were alone before, but now there’s a million people staring at you, and they start laughing. And if you just sing anyway, you get sent to level three…”

“Wow. Sounds like summer camp.”

He chuckled, and at her persuasion he started talking again, just talking, not really words, but a low, comforting hum, and she remembered replying, maybe, before both of them drifted off to sleep.  

[KirbyVictorious]

Sara awoke to complete silence, save the steady, monotonous shimmering of water falling in a heavy rain on tile from the bathroom, and a slight rustling as the wind blew through a poplar in the parking lot. Judging by the post-morning-rush silence, the heavy feeling in her head, and the funny taste in her mouth, it was early, nine, maybe nine-thirty. She was alone, curled up in a warm ball beneath Ryan’s shirt and the white blanket; it had gotten much warmer since last night.

She sat up, smoothing her hair down absently as she looked around. The apartment was completely empty save herself, everything turned off except the little refrigerator. She noticed that there was a bottle of water on the counter, half-full, with a tall glass of ice water beside it, and the banana and apple seemed to be missing. She swung her legs over the bedside and smoothed down the covers, the pillow had fallen off the bed so she put it back where it was supposed to be.

The sound of a squeaky tap being turned, the water ceasing its fall, the shower head dripping a little as splashing footsteps echoed off the walls. Ryan’s hair would be in his eyes now, wet, clinging to his forehead, like when she had taken a walk in the park with him and it had started to rain, hard, and he’d offered her his jacket as protection.

She walked over to the counter. Turned out, the apple and banana weren’t missing after all; they were cut up into tiny pieces in the bowl, glistening still from when they had been washed. By the looks of it, Ryan had made her breakfast, taking extra special care to cut out every single piece that might be rotten or bruised—about half of it, she guessed. He had also taken the cold glass from the refrigerator for her, and had even added a couple of Cheetos…it was the best he could do, and even though she could get something ten times better at home, hot for one, and fresh and clean with at least milk, she thought it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her in her entire life. She took the spoon from the cupboard, looking at the cigarettes for a few seconds, glancing towards the fridge in the direction of the beer, hating them both, wishing with all her heart that Ryan had never touched them in his life, though she knew otherwise.

She heard quiet humming, the rustle of a towel and various articles of clothing, a zipper, water running as Ryan brushed his teeth. Water again, and he spat out a mouthful of toothpaste. She took a bite of the apple-banana mix, took a sip of water, on a sudden idea got the peanut butter from the fridge and took a spoonful of that too. More water to wash that down, and then she wiped her mouth and pushed open the bathroom door.

Ryan was still humming, watching carefully in a face-shaped patch devoid of fog on the mirror as he shaved, the bathroom filled with steam. He heard her coming and saw her in the mirror, but did nothing, save smile and give her a cheerful “Good morning.” She came over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, her forehead pressed against the smooth side of his face.

“’Morning,” she said in reply, kissing him on the cheek. The last of the shaving cream was washed down the drain, he felt his cheeks with the back of his hand to see if he had missed a spot, and, satisfied, gave her a clean, fresh, I-just-woke-up-without-coffee-isn’t-it-a-lovely-day kiss. She flushed, a little embarrassed; she had yet to brush her hair or even her teeth, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“How did you sleep?” he inquired. They turned to look at the other in the mirror, Ryan clearing a spot, looking at the reversed picture they made and smiling.

“Great,” she beamed. “Thanks so much…”

“For what?”

“The arm and the shirt and the blanket, and letting me stay at all, I suppose…”

“My pleasure. I don’t get company often, if ever…”

“Are you wanted?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you wanted? Like FBI’s Most Wanted, sort of thing?” She leaned against his shoulder, watching his reaction in the mirror. A slight frown, a crease of the eyebrows, nothing more. His voice was pleasant and no softer or louder than before.

“Put it this way; if I get caught I’m only a minor criminal, or a seriously troubled juvenile, whichever. Nothing death row, nothing six months. Years. Like, seven, ten maybe, I dunno.”

“What’d you do?”

“That I won’t tell you, aside from me feeding off the government for five years. Did you ever notice they hate that? They do. Useless people or the people that don’t pay are the ones that everyone despises.”

“Ryan?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t really understand how you can live here…why aren’t you in a foster home? And how do you pay tuition?”

“See, that’s the illegal part…I don’t really pay tuition. Part of it’s paid for…the main part…not the stupid part that covers like, flowers and cheese fries and crap like that. The rest I don’t really understand, he found a way to make them THINK I pay, or that I don’t exist or something, and in appreciation for that I try to remain inconspicuous and in no way draw attention. Except, being at the top of the list…that’s different. The principal and teachers love me because of it…and I don’t think they even know I’m the one that only pays about five thousand or so dollars every month.”

“Who did this again?”

“My boss. I work for him for free, he takes care of me and feeds me, like my legal guardian or something. He got this place for me, it’s under his name, they think it’s a very unsuccessful psychiatry office…more like a nuthouse when Jason throws parties in here…that’s where I got those cigarettes.”

He seemed perfectly unafraid to be honest, elaborate on her questions as well as answer them, like he would tell her as much as she wanted to know, said and unsaid.

“What happened to your real guardian?”

“I don’t exist,” he replied, his voice now a little guarded. “As far as the world is concerned, anyway. I’m the sort of person you put on a milk bottle and never see again.”

“You’re missing?”

“Presumed dead.”

This didn’t seem to bother him too much.

“What happened to your parents?”

A look of annoyance crossed his face, though he tried to hide it, and his fingers started twitching lightly on the sink. “Dead.”

“Any brothers and sisters?”

“I dunno.”

“How can you not know?”

“I never knew my mom, might have a stepbrother or sister somewhere…mm, don’t care, really.”

“What about your dad?”

“Car crash,” he snapped, suddenly angry. “And don’t ask me any more about it.”

She took him at his word, drawing back a little—everyone knew that crowding people only made them angrier. However, his arm did not leave her shoulder.

“How’d your boss find you?” she inquired. Ryan took his time with this one.

“That’s weird…I think I’ve blocked it from my memory, that part…after Dad died…I ran away, and got lost…I fell asleep, and when I woke up it was drizzling, and I sat in the corner of a gas station to keep warm, and stole some food…probably Cheetos, I love Cheetos. But I got caught, and I couldn’t pay, but then a man stepped out of nowhere and bought them for me, and then he promised he’d take care of me, showed me how to fill up a gas tank and let me climb on his car and wash the windshield, and then he took me to his house.”

“He could have killed you!” Sara interrupted, completely shocked. Ryan shrugged.

“I was thirteen, I thought no one would hurt me and I could take them if they did, and I was still a little shaken up…and besides, it was worth the risk, he took better care of me than my Dad, even…but even though he took me back to my neighborhood—he wouldn’t stop in front of my house, too suspicious—and let me get my N64, he wouldn’t play with me like Dad would. Still, he’d had kids, and he seemed to be the nicest man on Earth.”

“Is he?”

“Mm…he’s human, he has ups and downs. Pretty decent guy.”

“So he got you your own place?”

“Yep.”

“And he feeds you, too?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Your idea of ‘feeding’ is giving you PEANUT BUTTER?”

“Hey! Don’t diss the peanut butter. It’s my favorite.”

“But, Ryan—”

“He doesn’t feed me, exactly…he knows I can take care of myself, and I can, but when I need it he allows me twenty dollars to pick something out from the store…once I bought like, six jars of peanut butter and nothing else…he lets me do credit, too, so if I have a few dollars leftover I can spend them another time. That’s how I bought the clothes and the microwave. I’m really careful about it, I know a twenty won’t last me through the week on its own, so I get a toothbrush and toothpaste from the dentist’s office whenever I need it, get jelly from IHOP, I’ve got a little collection of shampoo and soap from hotels that I save, somewhere in my car, and I’m really careful not to get sick or get cancer or cut myself, because I don’t have any extra rags or Band-aids. Really makes you feel for those starving Haitian kids…”

Ignoring the complete wrongness of all this, she chose a detail and questioned it. This was how she learned things; take tiny details and enhance, you get more of the general feel of the story that way.

“And the car?”

“His old one. It’s my job to drive Jason around—that’s his nephew or something—but it’s no big deal since he’s usually skipping school to get drunk at the liquor store at the corner, he can’t get run over that close to home. He’s a pain in the a**, but he’s one of the only people I talk to…just my luck.”

“What about the bills?”

“Taken care of, but like I said, I try to conserve water and power.”

“Ryan…” She hesitated. “If you don’t mind me asking…”

“Ask away.”

“Why does he do all this for you? It must cost an awful lot…”

“Well, I think…at first he just felt sorry for me, and wanted to bring me back home, but when he saw I couldn’t go back, he decided to take care of me for awhile. For the rest of eighth grade I was in public school, but I did my best…I wasn’t really smart before, but this time, I had nothing better to work for, and it came easy to me, so easy I was recommended to skip a grade in a few weeks….He could see that I’m smart, and he says I can pay him back by remembering him when I’m in college, off on some great job, I can pay him back then. It’s all I have to do, be at the top…I’ll get a scholarship and be good to go, I won’t need to depend on him anymore.”

Sara suddenly felt awful for competing so hard with him for the number one spot, and recalled a time where she had had him beat for an entire week, while they were dating, how little he had talked and how depressed he had seemed. She knew why now.

“Did you eat breakfast yet?” he inquired.

“A bite…thanks, that’s really sweet…”

“No problem.” He shrugged off her gratitude, taking her hand and leading her to the kitchen area, leaving the bathroom door open so the steam could dissolve.

“No, really…it’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me…”

“It’s just fruit and—ah.” He grinned. “I see you found the peanut butter, now isn’t it great?”

“Sure—not by itself, maybe, but—really, Ryan…it’s nice.”

“Thanks.” His grin faded into a sincere, shy smile. She took her breakfast and sat cross-legged on the floor, munching on a Cheeto. She scooped up a glob of peanut butter, dipped the spoon in the fruit, and stuck the whole conglomeration in her mouth. Ryan laughed as he took a sip from the bottle of water.

“Just like cereal,” she told him, smirking. His eyes soared upward, and he sighed in ecstasy for the second time in twelve hours, falling back on the floor and folding his arms behind his head.

“Cereal…Lucky Charms…damn, I miss ‘em…”

“How long since you had ‘em?”

“Oh, at least six years…well, I’d just be fine with milk…I get those little bottles…I mean, when I had peanut butter AND bread it just seemed incomplete without milk…that would be just perfect…” He smiled at the ceiling. “Peanut butter, bread, milk…with that banana…man…”

Simple pleasures, she thought…and most people dreamed of a pool table or a girlfriend from Playboy. Then again, he HAD a pretty good girlfriend. She busied herself with mixing fruit and peanut butter again, but this time she didn’t eat it.

“Try this,” she ordered, shoving the spoon in his direction.

“No, it’s y—”

She stuck the spoon in his mouth, refusing to let go until he grabbed the spoon from her himself. He wasn’t angry at all.

“That’s good,” he grinned.

“Why thank you.” She snatched the spoon back and smirked, eating a whole mouthful of peanut butter at once.

“Yeah, peanuts are the greatest living things around…”

She choked. “Besides your girlfriend, that is.”

“Oh…” He waved a hand impatiently. “Her…”

She stuffed an ice cube down the neck of his shirt when he wasn’t looking, and he jumped a mile, grabbing it hastily and tossing it into the sink.

“Don’t DO that…it’s cold…”

She giggled, eating another mouthful of fruit. “Want some?”

“No, I already had some.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, there’s like, half of the apple missing…didn’t you notice?”

“I thought that was the rotten part…”

“Well, it didn’t TASTE rotten, it tasted like an apple to me.”

She tried to ignore the fact that he’d just admitted to swallowing rotted fruit—lately, it seemed, she’d ignored a lot of things he said he did. There wasn’t much she could think to do about it, though she wished he’d lie to her more. Hide the cigarettes and beer, hide this entire apartment, oh no, Sara, my parents are very nice, lawyers, too, they love me, I’m happy, I have a steady job, no, of course I have a hot dinner every night, of course I don’t live alone, the apple wasn’t rotten, Sara, it just had a bruise, I’ve been to the doctor this month and I’m perfectly healthy. Better a fairytale than this; it was akin to him telling her that he had brain cancer and had three months to live.

“Ryan…” she said slowly. “There’s one more thing…”

“Just one?” He sounded more than a little surprised.

“Mm-hmm…” She took her time, thinking of everything he’d told her, everything he hadn’t…the things that now made sense…the top of the list, the waitress at Carmelita’s, the fact that he’d probably spent all his food money for a fortnight just for her…his empty gas tank…how hungry he must be nearly all the time…for God’s sake, he was an eighteen-year-old boy, she’d seen senior boys skinnier than him scarf down two steaks at once. How he had told her the entire story, truthfully, sincerely, almost eagerly…

“When…when you talk about everything that’s happened…I mean…it’s just that…”

It was a tricky question to phrase. But it seemed that he understood.

“You want to know why I don’t really care, right?” he asked her quietly. She blushed.

“No…I mean…that’s not what I…”

He rested his elbows on his folded legs, looking at the complicated pattern of gray and white on the carpet. “It was five years ago,” he told her. “I’ve had time to get over it. And I’m a lot better off than some…and I guess…the last thing I should feel…is sad…”

She frowned, unable to understand. “What d’you mean?”

He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Well…maybe not, but…” She watched him carefully, noticing the way his collarbones protruded, the way the veins on his wrist showed faintly beneath his shirt. She suddenly leapt forward and hugged him with all her strength, overwhelmed.

“Okay, Sara,” he gasped breathlessly. “Okay, all right, you win. Can I breathe now?”

She eased up, though she didn’t let go. “I’ll take care of you,” she promised. “Honestly, I will, I’ll let you live with me if I have to…”

“No,” he said shortly, shoving her away. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s sympathy. It’s not like I’m sleeping on the street, or living in one of those third-world villages with black water, I’m just fine…”

“You are not!” she objected. “You’re only eighteen, Ryan, you’re still in high school… you should have a proper home, proper food, SOME kind of family—”

“I don’t,” he scowled, annoyed. “I don’t need anything, as far as I’m concerned, I’m already in college, you’re not SUPPOSED to have any of that…”

“You aren’t in college yet! And even college kids don’t live off…off fruit, and peanut butter, and beer—”

“I don’t drink! ...much… and I’m fine.”

“Ryan, just let me help! I want to, I will!”

“No!” His fists clenched, and his eyes hardened. “Sara, if you tell anyone, I swear I’ll—”

He stopped mid-threat, losing nerve. “What?” she challenged. “What’ll you do?”

Saying nothing, he stood up and leaned against the wall, facing away from her. “Don’t tell, Sara,” he begged quietly. “Please. I don’t want to be found.”

“Why not?” she said slowly. “What’d you do…?”

He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “No, I…I can’t say.”

It was a mystery worth solving, but she didn’t want to find the answer anymore. If he didn’t want to tell her, then that was that. She stood up, grabbing her tunic from the floor and pulling it on.

“Where’re you going?” Ryan asked, without raising his voice, without moving.

“I’m going home.” She slipped into her shoes, grabbing her purse and making for the door. “I’ll catch a bus, don’t worry, you’ll need to pick up some gas before you go to work…whatever you do…wherever it is…”

She opened the door, and to her surprise, he held it for her as she stepped into the sunlight. “If that’s what you want,” he said simply. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

She let out a long breath, pushing her hair back from her eyes. “Ryan…” she said slowly, “I want to break up.”

She expected him to ask why, at least, but he did not. He merely nodded sadly and turned his eyes away.

“I understand,” he said. “Thanks for everything, Sara, and I hope you get home all right.”

He raised a hand in farewell before pushing the door closed until the latch clicked. She stared at the blank wood for a moment, completely nonplussed, and then she felt her feet moving away, and her with them. But before she reached the first step, she stopped, and turned back. This time, her footsteps were softer. She leaned against the railing, raising herself up so she could sit on it, still watching the door incredulously. She couldn’t leave. Not like this.

How long she stayed there, she did not know, and frankly, couldn’t have cared less, but then the last thing she was expecting happened.

“Sara?” Ryan’s voice said softly from the other side. “You still there?”

She put a hand to her forehead, muttering a swear word under her breath. “For some reason,” she called back, “yep.”

“Why?”

“Hell if I know.”

Silence for an agonizing three or four minutes. Which is a long time, when there is no one around, nothing around you, when you are three stories up and sitting on a wobbly rail and awkward silences stretch out and make you want to run away.

“I should’ve lied,” Ryan said at last—by the sound of it, he was sitting with his back against the door. “I shouldn’t’ve brought you here, I should’ve just taken you home. I’m sorry.”

“Shouldn’t be sorry for honesty,” she replied in a meditative murmur. She wasn’t sure if he heard, but he continued as if he did not.

“I guess I don’t blame you…you’ll just get into trouble around me…It was probably a bad idea to even talk to you in the first place. And no one likes to see a place where people live worse off than them…you’re right. It does suck sometimes.”

He was going off on a very odd and incorrect tangent, and she probably should have stopped him there. She didn’t.

“Truthfully, I liked it here when I first lived here…but then it just got lonely, and I got bigger but I didn’t have any more to eat…that’s when I started drinking…I didn’t feel so hungry…or depressed…or lonely. Now I know it’s stupid, smoking too, but I still keep it around…you were right…”

He sighed, and broke off, waiting a long time before he said anything again.

“You should probably just leave,” he told her. “If you’re still there.”

She finally lost patience, hopping down and marching over to the doorstep. “Open the door.”

“Why?” he asked, without even moving.

“Just open the goddamn door.”

He complied, leaning against the doorframe and holding the knob a few inches away from his waist, so she wouldn’t have to see what was inside. She reached out and put her hand under his chin, so he would be sure to pay attention.

“I don’t care where you live,” she told him firmly, “or if you have a family or not, or if you live off peanut butter or Cheetos or…or freakin’ oatmeal…I don’t give a damn. What I care about is if you have another girlfriend stuffed in your closet, or if you’re about to die. THAT is worthy of a break-up, Ryan Henderson.”

“Then what d’you wanna break up for? I don’t have a closet.”

She tilted his face upwards until their eyes met. “I care about you, that’s why. Now you can spend your food money on food instead of me. I’ve got plenty of cash, I don’t want you to starve because you’re being stubborn.”

He snorted. “Is that all?”

She stared at him, and something else clicked. “You’ve starved before, haven’t you? It doesn’t bother you at all?”

“Definition of ‘starve’ being?”

“Not eating for at least three days straight.”

“Oh.”

“You have, haven’t you?”

“Yep. Two or three times.”

“You know you can DIE from that, right?”

“Yeah. I have water though, so not anytime soon.”

“Ryan, what the hell did you EAT?”

“Nothing, duh. First time I drank water until I threw up. Definitely wasn’t hungry after that. Second time…and any others after…I think—I’m not sure—but I think I was some varying yet consistently weakening degree of drunk…”

“You’re ridiculous. You need FOOD to live, dumbass, not alcohol. Go get me that beer right now so I can drop it, I wanna see if it’ll explode.”

“No way. It’s expensive.”

“Idiot!” She shoved him hard in the chest. “D’you realize how many meals you could’ve gotten with the money from just that can? Or for that matter, you could’ve gone to the places around here where they feed people FOR FREE, is your head full of rocks or something?”

“I’m not BEGGING, Sara.”

“Too proud, that’s why. Now here’s the deal. You’ve got no one to take to dinner or the movies anymore, so I want you to get the food money, go to the store and buy bread, milk, eggs, Ramen noodles, I don’t care—FOOD. And you EAT IT.”

He sighed, leaning against the doorframe again. “What’s the point, then?”

“What do you mean, what’s the point? See, it’s a very complicated thing, the digestive system, but you’ve got to have food to make it work, real food, not Cheetos…”

“I don’t see the point,” he interrupted calmly, “if I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Her hand fell, and their eyes met for a very pregnant pause before she shook her head, swearing fluently.

“Oh no…oh no…you are NOT giving me that one, I know you are NOT that desperate, Ryan—”

“I really care about you, Sara.” He didn’t quail under her tirade. “I’m sorry if it bothers you.”

She stared at him, feeling her anger fade as quickly as it had come. “You’re an idiot,” she informed him.

“I know.”

“And you’re also a human, and humans weren’t built to eat Cheetos for the rest of their lives…more like…fruit that isn’t rotten, vegetables, grains—besides Lucky Charms I mean—and milk and meat and such. Sure, there’s maybe some you can skip out on, but definitely not all of them.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Bottom line: you need to eat.”

He shrugged expressively. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sara…Sometimes I just can’t. Maybe you don’t understand, but…when you don’t know where your next meal is coming from…the thought of starving is enough to put off your appetite. But a person can get used to anything, you know…people are pretty durable. I’ll be fine.”

It was a staring match now, of sorts, and the first one to give in was the one who, if they were smart, would eventually get their own way.

“So you’re telling me that you choose starvation over letting someone help?”

“I hate people feeling sorry for me. If a person can’t survive on their own, they aren’t meant to survive at all.”

She sighed…hating this, but knowing she would have to lose this fight. In a way.

“Tell you what,” she said matter-of-factly. “You drive me to Kroger’s and I’ll let you use my little card for gas. Then you take me home, and tomorrow, I’ll make us both lunch for school. Deal?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m sorry, baby, but we’re over.” He sounded like he was quoting a movie or something. “And no, you are not paying for my gas, and no, you are not making me food.”

“It’s not paying, stupid, it’s a Kroger card. You save like, fifteen cents. I’ll buy you a gumball.”

“They cost twenty-five.”

“Fifteen cents per gallon. Hell, I’ll buy you a gumball machine if you want. And I’m just being nice, with the food. You made me breakfast, I’ll make you lunch. Now, do we have a deal or not?”

He turned his eyes upward, as if weighing the possibilities and outcomes, and finally, nodded. “Okay. Deal.”

She beamed. “Good boy, now get in the car.”

“Yes ma’am.” He took his key form his pocket and locked his apartment door, following her down the stairs. “So does this mean we’re back together?”

In response, she turned on her heel and kissed him. “It’s more like…a friend. With benefits.”

“All right,” he agreed, grinning as he led the way to his beat-up old Chevy pickup.

Following her directions, he pulled into the Kroger gas pump and inched in front of one, stopping on a perfect perpendicular with the pump. Since he had never seen a Kroger Plus Card before, obviously, she offered to do it. He handed her a twenty and a ten, and after a few button-pressing sessions the pump turned on. As she stuck it in the little hole, she grabbed a twenty, a ten and a five from her purse and balled it in her fist, opening the car door and immediately beginning a fake panic attack/rummaging frenzy.

“What are you doing?” he asked her, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh my God!” she squealed. “I lost it!”

“Lost what?”

“My lipstick, my favorite lipstick, it fell out of my purse!”

He groaned, rolled his eyes, and leaned over to check the backseat. While his back was turned, she took the cash and stuck it into the glove compartment, ferreting around in there, too. There wasn’t much in there save old report cards, a Walgreen’s coupon magazine, a paperback from the school library, and, unsurprisingly, Cheetos. She closed it.

“Found it.”

“In the glove compartment?”

“No. In my purse.”

He gaped at her, and before he could say anything she quickly went to check the gas before it went over thirty dollars, grinning at her little trick.  

[KirbyVictorious]

Part Three: Suicidal Love

Sara was worried about Ryan.

Since she had found out about all his many secrets, he had acted different to her; everything nice that she did for him was now considered charity or a pity service, and refused; he always seemed close to a nervous breakdown, angry outburst, or seizure of some sort; he didn’t call her, he didn’t pick up his phone, he deflected every hug and kiss with a taciturn shrug.

“We’re just friends, remember?” he snapped at her, pushing her hands away.

“No,” she objected. “Best friends. With benefits—meaning the consent, ability, and absolute necessity to make out.”

He didn’t even smile. He just walked off. He went through great lengths to avoid her now, but that didn’t stop her from doing all she could for him—she would come up behind him and hug him or kiss him whenever she got the chance, so persistently that three different teachers had threatened to give her demerits for Personal Displays of Affection; she stuffed a couple of dollars in his backpack or wallet whenever he wasn’t looking; she offered to take him to the park, the mall, a party, his house, HER house, even; and she tried her absolute best to cheer him up.

It was futile. She didn’t even know what was bothering him, though she had a feeling it was her fault…hadn’t she done the right thing, though? He didn’t have enough money or food or gas to drive her around, take her on dates, let her sleep over. He could barely support himself, let alone two people. She couldn’t help but think about the Cheetos, peanut butter, half-carton of Chinese food—if she recalled correctly, it was probably from a date they had been on over a week ago—the single water bottle, the can of beer, the pack of cigarettes. She’d taken half of what he had for an entire week in just twelve hours.

On Thursday, she got completely fed up with it, finally grabbing her laptop, locking herself in the bathroom, and sending him an IM. He was online, doing God-knew-what, God-knew-where.

SweetasSugarSara: Ryan.
SweetasSugarSara: RYAN.
SweetasSugarSara: I know you’re there, dammit. Answer me!
SweetasSugarSara: I’m not leaving until you do.

Thirty seconds later, the IM window blinked orange.

RyanHenderson009: hey baby
SweetasSugarSara: Um…Ryan?
RyanHenderson009: no
SweetasSugarSara: Didn’t think so. Who are you?
RyanHenderson009: jason
SweetasSugarSara: Hmm…Jason. A common name in the U.S. 0.66% of men named Jason. 808500 males in U.S. alone. Now, which one would you be?
RyanHenderson009: smart grl huh
RyanHenderson009: ryan sad u were
SweetasSugarSara: Your relationship with him being?
RyanHenderson009: ?
SweetasSugarSara: Um, sorry. How d’you know him?
RyanHenderson009: hahahahaha I work with him duh
SweetasSugarSara: May I ask where?
RyanHenderson009: sre baby its walgrens
SweetasSugarSara: Walgreens?
SweetasSugarSara: Oh, I get it…you’re the drunk guy.
RyanHenderson009: hahaha ya u ryans gf?
SweetasSugarSara: Uh…yeah.
SweetasSugarSara: So…Ryan.
RyanHenderson009: ya
SweetasSugarSara: Not you, Jason. RY-AN.
RyanHenderson009: hes nt here
RyanHenderson009: but if u stp by ill make it up 2 u
SweetasSugarSara: Charming. No thank you. Where is he?
RyanHenderson009: boss caling gtg later baby
SweetasSugarSara: I don’t think so, where’s Ryan?
RyanHenderson009 signed off at 7:17 p.m.
SweetasSugarSara: Damn.

Walgreen’s? That seemed a random place for Ryan to work…She grabbed a phone book, searched the name, and came up with two phone numbers in her area. She dialed the first one, hoping he didn’t work at one that was very far away.

Ring…Ring…

“Walgreen’s Pharmacy, how may I help you?” a woman’s voice said.

“Hi, is there an employee there named Ryan Henderson?”

“Ryan something?” she repeated, sounding confused. “Can you hold for a moment?”

“It’s not Ryan something, it’s Henderson—”

Hold music. She despised hold music. It was almost as terrible as the music played on elevators. She sighed with impatience as she waited for three minutes, four. Then someone picked up the line again.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s no one called Ryan he—”

She slammed her thumb on the TALK button, letting out a frustrated breath…that’s what she got for putting her on hold, with music, too. Still muttering under her breath, she dialed the other number.

Ring…Ri—

“Walgreens, Manager Clark Dennison speaking.”

“Hi…Mr. Dennison…is there an employee named Ryan Henderson at your store?”

“Ryan?” It was not the same tone the woman had used; more as if he was surprised at someone calling for him. “There is, who wants to know?”

“Sara Barkins, but don’t tell him that, he won’t answer.”

“Ah, the famous Sara?” The man’s voice took on a much warmer tone. “A pleasure to finally be able to talk to you, Miss. Ryan’s told me about you.”

“Has he?”

“Yes, of course. He thinks very highly of you, I wondered—”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she interrupted, “but is Ryan there? I need to talk to him, it’s important.”

“No, he isn’t.” She imagined he was frowning. “He stayed home today…and, actually,” he added, before she could say anything, “I was hoping you could tell me something. He hasn’t been to work all week…”

“He’s been at school…he was there today…”

“Oh, all right…do you have any idea why he wouldn’t, miss?”

“Uh…” She hesitated. “Well…he might be sick…he looked sick…”

“Any other reasons, perhaps?”

“No sir…I can’t think of any…”

“Well, then, Miss Sara, could you perhaps give me his address? I don’t seem to have it.”

“Um…” This guy was really making her nervous; it was like he knew everything, and was just waiting to see what she’d do, just to mess with her. “I don’t know…”

“Or perhaps his cell phone number?”

“No…don’t know…”

“Of all people, Miss Sara, you should know at least THAT…”

“Well, sir…you should probably ask him…”

“And how exactly do you propose I do that, if he won’t come to work and I have neither his phone number nor address?”

“Well,” she snapped, “I don’t know, I’M not his boss…”

The minute she said it, it clicked.

“Who is this again?” she had asked, and his answer had been “My boss.”

He seemed to sense her understanding. “If you would drop the act, Miss Sara,” he said carefully, and she imagined his smile fading away across the telephone lines, “just tell me something…”

“Shoot,” she managed dimly.

He took a deep, calming breath. “How much do you know about Ryan Henderson?”



She took the phone away from her head, staring at the earpiece. When she had decided that he was not, indeed, being creepy on purpose, or imitating some cheap thriller, she put the phone back to her mouth and said the first thing that came to mind—naturally, the completely obvious.

“You’re that guy.”

“I suppose,” he replied, completely bewildered. She elaborated.

“You’re the guy Ryan told me about, the one who got the apartment for him!”

“Yes,” he clarified, “I am.”

“b*****d,” she spat into the mouthpiece.

“I beg your pardon?”

“How could you let him live like that? Why couldn’t you just take care of him properly, or find him a foster home or SOMETHING, a*****e, have you never SEEN that place? And why—?”

“Miss Sara,” he interrupted coolly, “that is quite enough.”

She let out the breath she was going to use to harp on a little more with, creating static on the line.

“I have three answers to that,” he continued, completely collected. “First of all, I did not bring him back to his family or to a foster home because he didn’t want me to. Second, yes, I have seen ‘that place,’ and though I thought it was a little small he insisted on it, refusing to stay with me even though I offered to a hundred times. And thirdly, it is absolutely none of your business what goes on between Ryan and me.”

“Oh yes it is,” she exploded furiously. “If you were any proper guardian at all you wouldn’t let him stay there no matter what he said, I don’t BELIEVE you, he’s under your care and you let him live off of…of rotten fruit…and peanut butter…and beer, and—”

“Beer?” She could sense him frowning. “You must be mistaken, Miss, I told him no such thing would be allowed there…and as to the rest, are you sure that was all he had?”

“Absolutely sure!” she shot back. “And don’t you tell me it was because he grocery-shops on Sundays or something, he was ECSTATIC about it, you know, HIS idea of the perfect meal is…is a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, for Christ’s sake!”

“I wasn’t aware of that…”

“Well, you better goddamn remember it! How do you sleep at night, Mister DENNISON, you should be ashamed of y—”

“Sara,” he cut across her, “that’s enough. All I need you to tell me is where Ryan might be, and why he won’t pick up the phone.”

“Well, he probably doesn’t want to talk to you, that’s why,” she sniffed.

“I doubt that’s the entire reason. What kind of mood has he been in, Sara?”

“Pissed off. Why?”

“Since when?”

“Since…” She swallowed, biting her lip guiltily. “Since this weekend.”

“And what happened then?”

“Um…I went over there.”

“Yes, I thought so,” he sighed. “Poor Ryan.”

“What d’you mean, sir?”

“He’s just a little proud, Sara, that’s all. He can’t stand people feeling sorry for him or treating him differently. He probably trusted you enough to show you all of that, and your reaction wasn’t what he expected.”

She squirmed guiltily in her seat.

“Perhaps that’s why he won’t pick up his phone?”

“Probably, sir. He won’t talk to me much, either.”

“Well, when you see him tomorrow at school, please tell him that he had better come to work, or I’ll come over there and bring him myself.”

“Yessir.” She didn’t feel like arguing with him anymore.

“Oh, and Sara…one last thing.”

“Sir?”

“Be careful around him.”

She digested this statement thoroughly before she asked the question. “What d’you mean, sir?”

“If you know anything about his history, you know that he can get you into serious trouble. He cares about you quite a lot, but he can make a mistake at any time—he would rather you keep your distance than get you into the same predicament he is in. Understood?”

She was too preoccupied with thinking about this that all she said was, “Yessir,” and hung up.


The warning would come into play the very next day.

She got out of her car and walked to the front of the building, adjusting her backpack, checking her purse for some lip gloss and planning what she would do for Spring Break, little under seven hours away, when she saw Ryan sitting on a bench outside, his head in his hands. Sensing another opportunity to get through to him, she dropped her backpack next to him and sat beside him.

“Morning, Ryan,” she said cheerfully. He mumbled a greeting of some sort, not even looking up.

“What’s up?” she inquired. Again, his answer was an inaudible mumble. She sighed, shoving him in the shoulder. “Come on…don’t ignore me, it’s Spring Break in another day…”

“Huh?” he muttered dazedly, looking up; his eyes were vague, his gaze semi-focused, and to her horror, she smelled alcohol on his breath. She sat frozen for a moment before grabbing his wrist and pulling him to his feet and around the corner.

“C’mere.”

“Why?”

She looked around to make sure no one was in sight, and, satisfied, slapped him hard across the face.

“Ow!” he shouted, a little too loudly, his voice slurring. “What was that for?”

“You idiot!” she hissed. “What the hell did you do? You SAID you never go anywhere drunk, what is the MATTER with you?”

He shook his head, as if he didn’t hear properly, murmuring a dazed “what?”

“And why NOW? It’s seven-thirty in the morning, what can you possibly need beer for this time of day?”

Again, his answer was unintelligible. She shook her head in disgust.

“How many did you HAVE? You can’t possibly have gotten drunk from just one…”

His eyebrows met, and he raised a hand to his face, putting up a few fingers experimentally as if to see what the beers had looked like with his blurred vision. He seemed fairly confident about three.

“Where did you GET them?”

“Stole ‘em,” he mumbled. She wrinkled her nose as she smelled his breath again.

“Idiot! WHY?”

“Can’t ‘member…”

Snorting, she dragged him over to the nearest water fountain, pressed her hip against the button, filled her cupped hands with water, and splashed it on his face. He drew back and spluttered, and she did it again until he stopped looking so confused.

“WHAT?” he demanded. She put her wet hands on her hips, scowling.

“You know perfectly well what! Don’t tell me you think you can come to school half-wasted and no one will notice! You could get into so much trouble, and you DROVE that way! What if you hit someone?”

“Drank ‘em on the way,” he muttered, shaking his head hard as if water was trapped in his ears. “Didn’t kick in until I got here.”

“Oh, thanks for the valuable life lesson,” she snapped sarcastically. “Why’d you pick today of all days, Ryan? It’s spring break, for crying out loud!”

“’Cause,” he said matter-of-factly to the wall above her head. “Sorry, Sara…”

“Don’t you sorry me, why?”

“I hate school.”

“No one LIKES it, stupid…oh, forget it,” she sighed, pushing him towards the water fountain. “Drink some.”

He bent down, took a few sips, straightened up. She held up her hand.

“How many fingers?”

“Four?”

“No, three and a thumb. Close enough. Now get your a** to Chemistry, Ryan, NOW.”

Muttering under his breath, he followed without a word into the almost-empty hallway. It was too early for the morning rush, yet.

“’I don’t go anywhere when I’m drunk, Sara,’” she imitated furiously. “‘ Oh no, I stay at home and lay in bed and read the Bible’…idiot!”

“Can’t BELIEVE you.” He too was mumbling venomously, so quietly she could barely hear. “Now it wore off, great, thanks for the headache…”

“You deserve it! Why’d you have to do that, Ryan, did you WANT me to see you like that, or did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I got hungry again,” he said shamefacedly. She froze for a moment, but then only pulled him more forcefully along.

“You EAT when you get hungry, not DRINK, stupid!”

“Now I can’t feel it anymore,” he continued, pretending not to hear her. “Thanks a lot, Sara, I was saving that for forever…”

“Obviously it wasn’t enough, you could get into SO much trouble…sit,” she added, shoving him into the Chemistry lab. No one was there. “Stay here. I’m getting a muffin or something, you eat THAT, you moron…”

He paled at the mere mention of food. “I don’t feel very good,” he murmured, putting a hand to his mouth. He stood up and left the room; she sat cross-legged on a desk and waited for him to finish throwing up. He only came back five minutes before class started, looking white but more sober than he had been all morning.

“’Bout time,” she sniffed as he sat beside her—quietly, as there were people in there now.

“You still mad?”

“Well, let me think about it…HELL yes.”

He grunted some monosyllabic reply, unsurprised, holding his aching head in his hands. Must be some massive headache, she guessed…well, he deserved it. Idiot, coming to school drunk…

Ryan fell asleep during Chemistry—at least, he buried his head in his arms and did not respond to her pokes and prods. But he must have been awake at some point, because after she said goodbye to him to go on to her next class, she found a note in her purse. “Meet me behind the cafeteria at lunch,” it said. She pondered this all throughout Spanish 3—Ryan was in Spanish 4—and approached the cafeteria in some trepidation. She decided against buying her meal right away, as the line was too long, instead grabbing her backpack and retreating outside to sit on the small square of concrete outside the cafeteria’s back door. Ryan wasn’t there.

The cafeteria back door had only one purpose—to unload food into the kitchen. Because of this, a little driveway led up to the door from the main parking lot. Ryan did not come from around the building, as she had expected, or even from the back door…instead, he drove his beat-up Chevy truck up the driveway, put it in neutral, and jumped out to meet her.

“What the hell?” was all she could manage. “Ryan—”

Before another word could escape her, he pulled her close and kissed her. Surprised, she hastily pulled away—no telling where his mouth had been this morning.

“I don’t want to be friends with benefits anymore,” he said softly, refusing to let her go.

“Ryan—“

“Sara,” he cut across her, his voice low and, so it seemed to her, a little nervous. “You want to come with me?”

“Go with you…” she glanced over his shoulder at the truck, idling in the drive, “…where?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, shrugging. “Somewhere. Anywhere. Not here.”

“Like, a road trip?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You’re cutting school?”

“Screw school, I’m cutting this whole city.”

“For how long?”

“Who cares?”

“So you’re…running away?”

Their eyes met; his showed just a little bit of doubt. But when he answered, it was with a firm, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t you figured out why?” he exploded suddenly, pulling his arms away from her as if she was contagious. “This…this city…the place I live in…my entire life sucks, and I want to get away from it! Yours, too, Sara! Don’t you hate having parents that are never home…or friends who aren’t really your friends…or just that feeling you get every day or your life, like you’re drowning and you don’t even know how you got in the water?”

His chest was heaving—he stared right at her, but she had to turn away. Now, how did he know that? Perhaps he was just assuming their feelings were the same.

“Come on, Sara,” he pleaded, grasping her hands in his. “Please…I’m begging you…I can’t stand leaving you behind.”

This was all too fast…overwhelming…she could barely breathe…

“I swear, Sara,” he continued, “I swear…the minute you want me to…I’ll bring you back here. Just for a little while. Just for Spring Break…please…”

She glanced from Ryan to the cafeteria, full of people who she thought she knew…who thought they knew her…endless, faceless, teeming masses…her eyes moved to the sky—it was a lovely day—to Ryan’s truck, idling patiently, waiting for her, burning gas, burning daylight…the bell rang, a signal for those who were in the other lunch to get to class…her eyes fell on Ryan again, eyes pleading, desperate, completely sincere.

She hesitated, and then gave her answer.

“Okay.”


They were out of San Antonio now, probably almost to the Texas border, heading west. When she had asked Ryan why, he had responded with a casual reference to Las Vegas.

“Think we’ll have enough gas for that far?”

“No.”

He didn’t seem too talkative. Perhaps it was because it was nearly ten at night. She was tired, too.

Ryan had refused to listen to reason save on one respect; he had stopped in front of her house for a few minutes so she could grab all her money, a change of clothes, a book—To Kill A Mockingbird—and a sheet of notebook paper and a pen, with which she wrote a note to her parents. Something along the lines of, “Went off with Ryan, be back later.” Ryan had assured her of this. But she wasn’t convinced.

Which still didn’t explain why she was still in this damn truck, driving to the West Coast.

“Listen you,” she had said sternly, hours ago, “when we run out of cash I am NOT selling drugs on the street.”

“’Course not,” he said vaguely, his entire attention focused on the road. She gave up talking to him after a while.

They drove in silence for hours, the windows rolled down during the daylight, Sara watching the scenery fly by, Ryan keeping his eyes on the road. She could tell he was thinking hard about something, but decided not to ask. If it was important, he would tell her. Maybe.

Music played from the radio, an endless CD of random songs…”Burn This City,” “Save Us,” “Minstrel’s Prayer,” and “Runaway,” by Cartel, “Hands Down” by Dashboard Confessional, “Wonderwall,” by Oasis, and a few others, including the one playing right now.

“Show me, show me how you do it…
And I’ll run away with you...I’ll run away with you…”

All of them seemed to have a theme, but it would take her awhile to find out what that was.

But she was far too tired now to do anything but sleep, and think.

Why had she done this? It was crazy. Anything could happen to them out here…they would be in trouble for skipping school…her parents would be furious, perhaps…Ryan’s boss…

“Ryan.” Her voice was a little hoarse.

“Mm?”

“Your boss told me to tell you that…if you didn’t come to work today…he would come and get you.”

“So?”

“So…it’s a pretty suckish way of repaying him, running off like this.”

“I can’t repay him with just a stupid job.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“There is no plan.”

“But you’ve gotta go back and face him sometime…”

“No, I don’t.”

She stared at him. “So you really are running away?”

He was silent for a moment, letting out a deep sigh that ruffled his hair. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I am.”

“And you’re taking me with you…why?”

“No,” he said at once. “I’m not taking you with me. I’m bringing you home whenever you want me to. But I’m not going back.”

“Where’re you going to go?”

“Somewhere.”

“How’re you going to get money?”

“I dunno.”

“How long did you plan this?”

“A few days, maybe.”

“Then why haven’t you figured all this out, Ryan?” She nearly shouted it, frustrated by this latest stupidity of his.

“Because it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Why not?”

“Sara,” he snapped suddenly, “do you want to go home or not?”

She blinked; her mind supplied her with a surprising answer.

“No.”

“Why?”

“It’s Spring Break. California would be cool.”

“Las Vegas is in Nevada.”

“So we can ski or something. I don’t care.”

He nodded, and she thought she saw a smile on his face.

But that was quickly erased as his phone, tossed carelessly into the cupholder, started vibrating like crazy.

He ignored it. She stared at him.

“Are you going to answer that?”

“No.”

She checked the glowing screen. “But it’s your boss.”

“Then definitely not.”

“Well,” she muttered, picking up the phone. For a rare moment, he turned his eyes from the road.

“Sara, don’t—”

“Hello?”

“Miss Sara?” Mr. Dennison’s voice said incredulously. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you…is Ryan with you?”

“Why, yes he is.”

“Sara,” Ryan said quietly, his voice low and, if she wasn’t wrong, a little nervous. “If you tell him where we are, I’ll…”

“Where are you?”

“Uh…on some highway.”

“Where, exactly?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s in Arizona somewhere…”

“WHAT?!”

Sara held the phone away from her ear. “Ouch,” she muttered. Ryan shot a murderous glare at her.

“Let me talk to Ryan, right now, please!”

“Sure thing, boss. Hey, Ryan.”

She shoved the phone into his face before he could object. He shot daggers at her as he took it. Mr. Dennison’s voice could be heard, talking rather loudly. Ryan rolled his eyes.

“Lo siento, no está un Ryan aqui…”

“Ryan, I know it’s you!”

“No, no se un Ryan…tienes un número equivocado…”

“Don’t you try that Spanish trick, you better answer me in English, right now—what the hell are you doing?”

“Señor, perdón, pero no se hablar ingles…”

Sara giggled silently—it was funny, even if he would get into serious trouble later.

“Ryan! Turn around and come home right this minute!”

His voice suddenly sharpened.

“¡No tengo un casa! Silencio, el hombre viejo, ¡no me gusta hablar a ti!”

I don’t have a house…Shut up, old man, I don’t want to talk to you…Ryan was ticked at something.

“Ryan, I want you back here by morning or I’ll give you hell for it, understand?”

Ryan said something in Spanish that Sara wouldn’t repeat in any language. Mr. Dennison obviously understood it, too.

“Don’t you talk to me like that, Ryan Henderson, no matter what language you put it in, you’re in serious trouble!”

“¡Yo no necesito un padres!” he shouted. “¡Y tú no está mi papá! ¡Perdes te!”

And with that harsh note, he slammed the phone shut. “Translate THAT, b*****d,” he muttered, throwing it into the cupholder again. “And YOU,” he added, turning a burning gaze onto Sara, “should mind your own business.”

“‘Get lost’,” she translated. “That’s really harsh, Ryan…”

“I told you not to answer it! What’d you do it for?”

“He’s just worried about you!”

“Big deal. He shouldn’t be.”

“But he cares about you…”

“Why should he? He’s not my father.”

¡Yo no necesito un padres! he had yelled, if she recalled properly. ¡Y tú no está mi papá!

“You shouldn’t’ve been so hard on him, Ryan,” she said softly. “Even if he’s not…he didn’t want to hear that.”

“What?”

“’I don’t need parents, you’re not my father’…that’s an awful thing to say.”

He snorted. “Screw him, and anyway, he can’t speak Spanish.”

She might have replied, but his cell phone started vibrating again. Text message. Ryan swore.

“Who put the damn thing on vibrate anyway?”

She ignored this, picking the phone up and opening it.

“Sara, I swear to God, if you answer that I’ll never speak to you again…”

“I’m not,” she said vaguely, reading the text:

ryan u thre

Jason, she guessed. She closed it, pressing a button to see something…

“Ryan!” she said sharply. “23 missed calls!”

“Huh,” he muttered. “Gotta delete those…”

“And 16 texts that you didn’t answer, what the…?”

“Don’t do anything with them but delete them, Sara. I’m warning you.”

She read the first one.

Ryan, i read your note. Come home now.

Note?

The next ones as followed read:

Ryan! Answer me!

hey ryan where r u boss is pissd

Come back to the store now, Ryan. I need you here. You have not come to work all week, we are shorthanded.

ryan dude cme help me out

ryan?

“Give it to me,” Ryan snapped, holding out his hand. Without the chance to read any others, she sighed, closing it and slapping it into his palm. He flipped it open and, by the looks of it, deleted all the texts and cleared his missed call list.

“Don’t ever mess with my stuff again,” he ordered coldly. She nodded meekly, and made a timid suggestion.

“Why didn’t you just turn it off?”

“Good idea,” he agreed, pressing a button. The phone turned itself off.

“But, Ryan—“

“Just shut up, Sara.”

They rode in silence for a while.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He said nothing. She sighed and leaned against the window, feeling the cool glass against her forehead. She made a promise to herself that she’d make it up to him later…but the car drove so smoothly on the highway…and the music was soft and relaxing…and all was quiet…  

[KirbyVictorious]

Ryan looked over at the sleeping Sara, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t meant to shout at her, or anything of the sort…even if she had been meddling in his affairs, she meant no harm. Just like Clark was. He was acting like his father, and now she was acting like his mother…

…no, that wasn’t true. He took it back. Sara was just trying to help…

“I’m sorry,” he said aloud, but quietly—Sara either ignored him, or was asleep.

It was almost one in the morning, and he was dead tired…but all he saw were trees. He sighed, tightening his grip on the wheel, glanced once more at Sara…and drove on.


Sara was shaken awake very gently, feeling as if she had only slept for a few minutes, and in a very awkward position, at that.

“Sara, wake up.”

She tried to ignore him, but he persisted.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” he joked, kissing her on the cheek. “Rise and shine…”

She opened her eyes, saw blackness, and immediately became indignant.

“Ryan Henderson, it’s the middle of the night!”

“Actually, it’s 2 in the morning. Wake up, I brought you some dinner.”

“Where are we?”

“In a gas station about a hundred miles south of Phoenix. ‘S all I know.”

“Oh…”

She unbuckled her seatbelt and slid out of the truck. Ryan closed the door behind her, grasped her shoulder, and led her to the truck bed, its cover to one side, where he had pulled the tailgate down and set their “dinner” upon it—two root beers, a steaming microwave burrito, Cheetos, Ritz Crackers, and a Hershey’s Chocolate Bar.

“Dinner, huh?”

“Gas station food. Get used to it.”

“This is our food supply from now on, huh?”

“You better believe it. C’mon, you must be hungry.”

She was, so without argument, she sat down, opened her root beer, took a long drink from it, and took a cracker.

“Burrito’s yours,” Ryan informed her, rummaging in his backpack. He drew out a jar of peanut butter from it and dipped a Ritz in. She munched gratefully on the warm food.

“Why’s peanut butter in your backpack?”

He gave her a grim smile. “Strange, isn’t it? I can fit everything I own into that little thing.”

She looked inside and saw the red, yellow, and white adapter plugs for the N64, the sleeve of a shirt, and a book.

“You brought everything?”

“Everything.”

“But why?”

“Because.”

She sighed, annoyed by the cryptic answer, and finished her dinner.

“Hey, Ryan?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

She meant it, too. He didn’t even look up, as if he had been expecting this.

“No, don’t apologize. I’m the one that’s sorry.”

“You’re not mad anymore?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, good.”

She took a Ritz and dipped it in peanut butter. It tasted pretty good, and she was starving. But just as she was draining her root beer, she heard an odd clicking sound, and looked over at Ryan.

“WHAT are you doing?”

He didn’t look up, running his thumb along the wheel of the lighter as he positioned it under a cigarette between his fingers. It lit, and he breathed in the smoke, making a face. She coughed as a cloud of smoke billowed from his mouth.

“Ryan! Hey! I’m still right here!”

“You want one, or something?” he said casually.

“No, I do not! What the hell are you doing?”

“Smoking.”

“But WHY?”

“’Cause. Maybe nicotine keeps you awake…”

“It does not, do you wanna give me lung cancer?”

He scoffed, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “You’re not going to get lung cancer…”

Furious, she was about to punch him…but after several deep, smokeless breaths, she calmed down.

“Okay, okay. Mind if I have a drag?”

He shrugged and handed it to her, whereas she promptly snapped it in half and ground it under her heel.

“Hey,” he muttered, offended, “you didn’t have to do that…”

She took the box away from him before he could light another one. “You idiot! Haven’t you ever seen the Duck commercials? Do you KNOW what’s in these?”

“Who cares?”

“Look—” She pointed to the Ingredients bit. “There’s, uh…cyanide, rat poison… probably petroleum…yep…some 4000 chemicals in all…and nicotine, which is ADDICTING, dumbass, and did you know I’m swallowing all that too?”

“Huh. Interesting.”

She rolled her eyes and jumped off the tailgate, fixing her rumpled shirt as she walked up to a burly gentleman smoking on the corner.

“Hi,” she said. He nodded to her. “Look, I have a box of cigarettes…Marbolo…” She showed him. “And there’s three missing, but the rest haven’t been touched, d’you want ‘em?”

“Free?” he said incredulously.

“Well, I kinda need the money…how about ten?”

“Ten for cigarettes? Are you crazy?”

“Hey, I didn’t buy ‘em. Ten or not?”

“Seven.”

“Ten, and I’ll throw in a lighter.”

He nodded eagerly. “Deal.”

She skipped back to Ryan, hiding her gratitude at not having a switchblade between her ribs, and wrinkling her nose at him.

“You get more out of selling ‘em, stupid.”

“You couldn’t have left me one, could you,” he said resentfully, glaring at the man.

“No, I could not, and see, they’re addicting, so you either become obsessed with them or you give them up because they’re gone now. I thought you didn’t smoke?”

“I don’t.”

“Well, then why were there two missing, and why light up now?”

“Those two were always missing, and I’m tired, all right?”

“No reason to start that disgusting habit.”

“So it sucked, big deal…”

“You have a thing for self-destruction, don’t you?”

“Well, if you put it that way…”

“Look, if you want, I’ll get those back for you, but then I’m hitchhiking home, and we’re over, Ryan. Kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray, I’m not doing this, I’m not.”

He sighed. “Fine…”

“So, what now?” They had scarfed most of the food—the Cheetos were gone in the blink of an eye, either in his mouth or in his backpack.

“Well, there’s a Wal-Mart around here, we can park there and go to sleep…”

“Fine with me.”

He was true to his word—it was a five-minute drive to Wal-Mart, which was obviously closed, but a few cars still remained in the lot. She had already curled up on her seat, but he obviously had other plans—he got out, said, “c’mon, Sara,” and shut the car door.

Curious, she followed him around the back of the truck, to where he was strapping on the truck bed’s cover. “We’re sleeping back here?”

“Should be warm,” he replied airily.

“Uh…okay…”

He finished with the cover and crawled into the one-and-a-half-foot space, digging a blanket out of his backpack. She followed, a little apprehensively—she’d never slept in the bed of a truck before, to tell the truth. Ryan closed the tailgate behind her; he had thoughtfully left a corner unattached, but it was still pitch black.

“Here.” She felt him drape the blanket over her shoulders, and felt it tug as he lay down. She followed suit, and felt his arm slide across her shoulder and draw her close.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He might have left it at that, but she wanted to talk to him.

“Ryan?’

“Hmm?”

“Why’d you want to run away?”

He yawned. “’Cause I was sick of it, that’s why. I wanted to get away.”

“Forever?”

“Yeah.”

“But that doesn’t make sense…you know you can’t live by yourself…”

“I have been…”

“No, I mean, get your own house…you said you can’t give I.D.…”

“Uh…Sara…d’you mind if I explain that later?”

“Yeah…sure…”

But she was still curious. She would be reminding him frequently.

“Thanks…Sara?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not…mad at me…are you?”

“For what?”

“Anything…I guess…”

“Well…I’m mad at you for coming to school drunk…I’m mad at you for smoking in front of me…and I’m mad at you for forgetting to kiss me goodnight.”

This last one was a joke—he HAD been smoking, after all.

“Oh,” he said simply. “I’m really sorry, Sara…”

“Mm…s’okay, but…why do you do all that?”

“What?”

“Drink and smoke…”

“Oh…” She felt him shrug. “I just…It helps me…forget.”

“Forget what?”

He shook his head. “No…it’s a secret…”

“But, Ryan…you don’t have to do all that…”

“Maybe, but I’m not really into drugs…I know they work better, but…”

“Ever tried reading fiction?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah…not boring stuff…like, The Redwall books and the Artemis Fowl series and To Kill A Mockingbird—I have it with me—and…and, well, anything…”

“Oh.” He scoffed. “Those’re kid books.”

“But, Ryan, every time I read them I forget where I am…and what I was doing…it’s amazing…”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really…”

“Mm…I dunno, Sara. You don’t have much to forget.”

She laughed dryly. “Wanna bet?”

“What could you POSSIBLY need to—?”

“Nuh-uh. You have to tell me, first.”

This sobered him up—he said nothing more, save “goodnight.” She returned the greeting, letting her mind drift…but just when she thought he was asleep, he gently pushed her hair behind her ears and kissed her on the cheek.

“See you in the morning…”


But when Sara woke up, Ryan wasn’t there.

She could tell by the feel of the air and the sunlight that it was about ten in the morning…not too early, not too late…and Ryan was conspicuously absent from the scene.

She yawned, stretched, and poked her head out of the gap in the tarp, through which sunlight was streaming in, and obviously through which Ryan had escaped. She could hear faint music, and the car was running, in neutral, she guessed, so he was nearby. She took the opportunity to grab her bag from the corner of the trunk, change her clothes—she was still wearing her uniform, ugh—brush her hair, and try to erase the feeling of riding in a car for a straight fourteen hours, which included an ache in her side from sleeping in awkward positions and on odd surfaces and a longing for a hot bath.

Satisfied with her appearance, she lifted herself out of the trunk via hole and looked around for Ryan.

He was actually right behind her—music was playing through the open window, something by Reliant K. He was brushing his teeth and reading a book at the same time, a tube of toothpaste, a bottle of water, and two paper cups of steaming coffee on the rim of the truck bed behind him. He didn’t notice her until he turned to put his toothbrush away.

“Morning, Sara,” he said cheerfully. “Sleep all right?”

“Yeah,” she yawned. “What’s with the book?”

For she’d seen the title now: To Kill a Mockingbird.

“I borrowed it. Is that all right?”

She nodded, though still a little nonplussed as to why one needed entertainment while brushing one’s teeth. He gestured to the two coffees.

“One’s yours, if you want it. It’s still hot, though.”

She took it, and though she wasn’t quite in the mood for it yet, the warmth that soaked into her hands felt nice. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” He sat beside her on the rim, nose buried in the book once again. “You were right,” he told her. “This is good.”

“It’s one of my favorites. I just love it, especially when—hey, wait a minute, did you go in my bag for that?!”

“It was right on top,” he argued innocently. “I didn’t look through your stuff or anything…”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“You better not’ve,” she threatened lightly, trying a sip of her coffee. Too hot, still. “Where’re we going today?”

“Uh…west.”

“How far west?”

“Far as you want.”

“We still going to Nevada?”

“Sure. Why, though?”

“Well, I was born there, that’s why. And I lived there until eighth grade.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well now you do. I like it in Nevada, Texas is…”

“…Texas.”

“Exactly.”

He lifted his coffee cup to his mouth, looking around at the dry landscape. “How d’you like Arizona?”

“Mm…’s all right.” It was certainly different; back in Texas, there were three temperatures: hot, hotter, and freezing-your-a**-off-cold. Here it just stayed safely in hot.

“If we drive all day we’ll be in Nevada by…five or six.”

“Cool.” Her coffee was finally cool enough to drink; she did so, singing with the song now playing on the radio.

“If we try hard enough I’m sure we could forget it,
Cause this black-hearted wedding’s enough to start a panic,
We would clean for three days while you were running down the block,
Eleven minutes sober now we’re counting down the clock…”

“Sorry, but we’re not going to pass the Grand Canyon, I think…”

“That’s okay. It’s just a big hole in the ground, right?”

“Sorta. Not a big deal, really….” He took another sip of coffee, looking away. “Hey, Sara?”

“Yeah?”

“…nothing.”



Three hours down the road. The songs started repeating, the highway started making her feel like she was running in place.

“Where are we, Ryan?” Her voice was hoarse from disuse.

“Halfway there, honey.”

He’d never called her that before.

“Do you want me to drive? Are you tired?”

“No, I’m fine. You go back to sleep.”

His fingers tapped the wheel impatiently. He was rarely so agitated; she had to ask.

“Are you okay?”

“Define okay.”

“You’re tapping.”

“So?”

“You don’t tap.”

He did not answer her directly; he politely directed her attention to the radio, asking if she wanted to pick the song. She didn’t, and the silence stretched on.

She woke up without even realizing that she had slept; she felt stiff and uncomfortable as she stretched and burrowed further into Ryan’s stolen jacket.

“Ryan?” she asked sleepily.

“Yeah, honey?” Again with the “honey”.

“Where are we?”

“Almost there.”

“Almost where?”

Silence.

“Sara? Do you mind if we take a detour on the way to Vegas?”

“No…’course not….”

“Good…. ‘Cause we’re already here….”

She glanced outside, but it was too dark; the city limits sign passed her by.

“Keston, Nevada,” Ryan offered quietly. “My hometown.”

She stared out of the window; miles of farmland and barren countryside stretched on, and then lights blurred by them as tiny houses clustered together. A small town, where everybody knew everybody else. Cute, picturesque, like a Christmas postcard.

“It’s beautiful.”

“In so many words, yes.”

“How did…?”

Ryan took her incomplete question and answered with a story.

“The night I ran away, when I was thirteen, I hid in a gas station—I told you that. Exxon Mobile. I’ll show you when we pass it. I hid in the warmest place, in the corner by the pretzel machine, and when I got hungry, I stole some food. The manager came to clean up and saw me, told me to go away and fork over the money, and when she found out that I didn’t have any she started yelling. After a minute a man walked in and politely asked her what the problem was—he had a Texas accent, and a ton of Southern courtesy. She explained and he offered to pay for it; then he took me to the bathroom, cleaned me up, introduced himself as Clark Dennison of San Antonio, and took me outside and let me pump his gas. He acted like a father to me, and I liked him; he asked why I had been all messy and bloody and I told him everything, I trusted him completely. He offered to help me and I agreed, I didn’t know what to do.

“He was the manager of a Walgreens in San Antonio, he told me, and he had a family back home—he was driving to Vegas for a weekend of fun, just for the heck of it. He took me to my house and told me to grab enough clothes for three or four days, plus anything I couldn’t leave behind—I stuffed my N64 and clothes and stuff into my backpack and let him take me. I knew it could end badly, but nothing was worse than what I’d left behind.

“Nothing bad happened. The opposite, really. He took me with him to Vegas and gave me the best weekend of my life. Then he promised to take care of me. Originally, he was going to find me a foster home, but I begged him to keep me hidden, I was scared of being arrested…and after a few weeks, we made a deal. He saw I had potential, I was smart…he said that he’d pay for my school tuition and anything I needed, and then when I went off to college on scholarship and got a job, I’d pay him back in full. He knew I didn’t want to owe him anything, but I bet you he wouldn’t have made me pay anything at all in the end. He…he was just like another dad….”

“Was?” Sara asked softly. “Ryan….”

He said nothing; he just drove on, his eyes shining brightly.

“Ryan,” Sara said again. “What do you mean, you were all bloody? What were you….”

He said nothing. She clicked the pieces together, paling.

“Ryan, did you kill someone? Ryan…?”

He started shaking; he passed under a street light, the yellow washing away the color in his face. “Yes,” he whispered, and swallowed.

She stared at him, speechless.

“I didn’t mean to….” His voice was lower than a whisper, a hoarse breath. “Sara, I didn’t…he took me out driving…we did it a lot, no one was around usually…but then…I was going too fast, and I turned a corner and there was a tree branch blocking the road…and I swerved…and….”

He turned onto a residential street, traveling half a block, turning again, and stopping halfway down a dead-end street. He turned off the car, resting his head on the wheel.

“I hit the wheel…Dad hit the windshield. There was blood everywhere….I got out, and I didn’t know what to do…no one was around…so I ran….”

He was still shaking uncontrollably; she was still staring.

“They thought I’d run off into the woods and died,” he murmured. “I saw it on the news. I was missing, presumed dead, and they never found me, Sara. God, I hope they never do….”

At once, a hundred things to say popped into her head, simultaneously, so that it was hard to choose…. “Ryan,” for instance, “it was an accident, it wasn’t your fault….” Or, “Ryan, I swear to God, if you don’t turn around and take me to the nearest bus stop right now….” Or, “Ryan, quit feeding me this bullshit and take me home.”

What she finally said, watching the house they were parked astride—dark, deserted, with a rusting For Sale sign in the yard—was: “Ryan…this is your house, isn’t it?”

He nodded, refusing to look up.

“It’s nice.”

“It functioned,” he mumbled. “Most of the time. If the electric bill couldn’t be paid, Dad and I would just make s’mores…no problems at all….”

She didn’t know what to say. Finally, she did the least of what she could; she slid over the console and into his lap, lifting his head and kissing him. He didn’t kiss her back, but he didn’t stop her; she stayed in his lap, curling up against him when she was done and holding him tightly.

“I’m taking you home, Sara,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have been dragged into all of this. You won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said into his collarbones.

“Why would you want to stay, anyway?” A touch of bitterness sharpened his words. “I killed someone, remember?”

“No, Ryan,” she sighed, kissing his neck. “It was just an accident.”

“That’s what everyone says,” he snapped. “Excuses.”

“No….”

They fell silent. Sara knew he needed more than words, and refused to let him go. After a long time, when she was half-asleep and couldn’t be sure he actually did, he put his arms around her and held her close. He might have said something, but she was too warm and comfortable to pay attention; they fell asleep together, entwined, kidnapped by dreamless sleep.


Sara awoke as two strong arms carried her across a street, onto grass, and then slid her into the passenger’s seat of Ryan’s car. She stirred and yawned into wakefulness as the driver’s side door slammed, making her jump.

Seeing she was awake, Ryan cupped her face in his hands and, without so much as a “good morning,” said, “Sara, I love you. I would do anything for you, I would go to the ends of the earth, I’d die for you, I want to spend every second of my time with you until I die. I don’t want anything from you except your permission. Please, Sara….”

He leaned over and kissed her hard, responding almost violently to her half-awake attempts at kissing back. “I love you too,” she whispered during a breath, and he reached over and pulled her closer, as if pressing them into one person, one body, one soul.

Finally, he pulled away, just an inch, his clean scent washing over her every time he breathed.

“Sara,” he pleaded, kissing her again. “You’re all I live for…life sucks for me, and I know it does for you…please, come with me…run away with me…from everything…. I’ll fix it all, I swear I will….”

She wasn’t sure what he was asking, but it was hard to think between kisses like this; she gasped some kind of assent before pulling him back into her welcoming lips. She lost any track of time as they kissed without end, lost in the moment.

After an eternity, he pulled away, a hard, dangerous glint in his eyes. “Buckle your seatbelt,” he ordered her, revving the truck into life. “Or maybe don’t. It doesn’t matter.”

She left it dangling, leaning over to kiss him briefly again before he pulled out of his former street and slammed his foot onto the gas pedal.  

[KirbyVictorious]

The speed tore at her body, pinning her to the seat.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t care.”

Ryan’s fingers were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Ryan, WHERE ARE WE GOING?”

“Nowhere. Fast.”

“Why?”

“A lot of reasons.”

“It’s too fast—”

“We’re in a hurry, aren’t we?”

“To go where?”

“To oblivion.”

“Ryan!”

“Hey, Sara, can you do me a favor?”

“I…wha?”

“Can you get my cell phone and text a message to my boss for me? Tell him I’m sorry, I love him, goodbye.”

She grabbed the phone and flipped it open automatically, her fingers clumsy with confusion.

“But why?”

“Just do it, please, honey. It’s important. Send one to your parents too if you like.”

“Oh…o-okay….”

She tapped out the message, sent it to Clark Dennison, and then rapidly punched some more buttons and addressed the letters, useless letters and numbers and words, to her father’s cell number: “Sorry. I love you. Goodbye.”

She had no idea of what the hell she was doing as she sent it.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Sweetheart?

“RYAN!”

“Relax, hun. I’ll still take you home if that’s what you want.”

A voice pitched with adrenaline, tight with thrilling fear. Sara felt fear too, so strong and hot that she couldn’t breathe.

“Slow down!”

“Yes, Sara, dear.”

The speedometer twitched but still moved steadily upwards. They swung onto the freeway, earning a few honks as they did.

“SLOW DOWN!”

“You promised, Sara. You’re in this all the way, or not at all. Please, just let me know if you want to back out. It can wait.”

“WHAT can wait?”

He picked up speed, weaving through the ten o’clock traffic, which was, compared to San Antonio’s congestion, nonexistent.

“We have a mission.”

“What’s that?!” She was nearly screaming with frustration. He grinned.

“Suicide.”

She stared at him. “WHAT?!”

The grin faded from his face. The speedometer steadied itself at seventy-five.

“Sara, honey, let’s face it. My life sucks. It’s worthless. It’s been total crap until I met you. And now I’m dragging you under too. People ruined it for us—if money didn’t exist, if people didn’t need to be tagged and herded like cattle everywhere, I might have had a decent life. What I did was my own fault, but I guess the universe couldn’t let me be happy until I was paid back for being so stupid—so here we are. You, on the other hand, seem to have a perfect life, but I bet you don’t. I bet it’s horrible. I bet you wish it would all go away, just like I do.”

Sara’s words froze in her throat. He was right. He knew it. The speedometer needle ticked higher and higher, Ryan’s eyes frozen to the road, his jaw set. Her mind raced at eighty, ninety miles per hour as the car played a deadly game of catch-up.

There were hundreds of things that no one knew about Sara. People guessed—they guessed, but they weren’t too sure—that she had two parents, no siblings, a modest lifestyle, no problems in her household whatsoever. People guessed that she was innocent, had no skeletons in her closet, no parking tickets in her dresser, no locks on her door. People guessed that she had never touched a beer or cocktail in her life. People guessed that she had never been tempted to smoke, drive crazy, break the law, or do drugs. People guessed that she didn’t even text message and drive at the same time. And people were absolutely right.

But only two people knew that Sara had had her first kiss at seventeen, had never even contemplated the thought of a boyfriend, and was completely new to the ways of love. Only two people knew that she found her life monotonous and boring, until recently. And only one person in the entire world knew that Sara Barkins had, at one time, seriously contemplated suicide, and that person was Sara Barkins herself.

“I thought about killing myself once,” she gasped out, all at once, as the speedometer needle rose and rose. “I really did…no one was home, so I grabbed the pistol from my parent’s nightstand and put it to my head…I had a note and everything…and I kept it… it was only a few months ago, too…”

“Why?” Ryan asked her, not sounding too surprised. Every iota of his concentration seemed to be focused on the car and street alike, though now, it was beyond his control.

“Because I was sick of it…I was sick of being scorned at for making the dumbasses look bad…having “friends” that weren’t really my friends, that stabbed me in the back when I wasn’t even turned around yet…coming home to an empty house half the time…my whole life…I was tired of it, and I couldn’t see any way out…”

“Then what stopped you?”

“I was scared…I just couldn’t do it…and…” She gave forth a shaky laugh as she conjured the memory. “When I finally jerked the trigger…the freaking thing was on safety…”

Ryan laughed aloud, though not as if he was mocking her. It was more like the adrenaline and speed were getting to him, clearing his head…it scared her to no end.

“Yeah…the first time, I learned five of the wrong ways to tie a noose. The second time, I couldn’t find a damn pen…imagine, surviving a suicide attempt because you couldn’t write the note….”

“Why did you do it?” she demanded, feeling her pupils dilate in pure fear. “And how many times?”

“Four. All of them screwed up. I almost tried a fifth time, but…”

He stopped.

“But what?”

“But then you showed me how to draw an ocarina,” he said quietly. She stared at him, and he took it as a sign to continue. “I’d planned it for the weekend, you see…when I wouldn’t be missed…but suddenly I didn’t want to die anymore.”

“Then why now?” she shouted over the rush of air against the car. The speedometer was almost at one hundred now.

“Because our lives still suck,” he yelled back. “Yours and mine, Sara. Some twisted bad luck screwed us both over. You’re not a bad person, you’re the smartest, nicest, most beautiful girl I’ve ever met…you and me…we didn’t do anything, but we were born into a world of people that ruined it, that’s why!”

“So you’re taking us both out?”

He took a few deep breaths, which came faster and faster as the speedometer hit 105. “If you want me to stop,” he told her calmly, “I will. And if you want me to keep going, I will. And if you want me to run headfirst into a gas station and blow the whole town to hell, I will. Just say the word, Sara.”

Her thoughts chased each other around her head, faster and faster as the needle inched steadily arched to the right. Further, further, faster, faster, parents and friends and boyfriend and school and empty house and cold dinners and going to bed lonely. An endless charade of the monotony society so loved, but drove her crazy….

“How does it end?” Ryan asked suddenly/

“What?”

“How does the book end? Tom Robinson…did he…?”

Sara’s mouth answered as her heart beat faster. “They all voted guilty except one, Walter Cunningham’s dad. Tom had a chance, maybe, but then he ran for it at jail and got shot down. Bob Ewell looked like a fool and vowed revenge on Atticus, and he tried to get it when Scout and Jem were alone on Halloween night…but Boo Radley saved them and killed Ewell, and instead of making him a hero they let him go back home, into the darkness, because he didn’t like the world…he hated it…he didn’t want to know about Tom Robinson and fires and mad dogs….”

“That’s a nice ending,” Ryan sighed. “Good book.”

“Ryan….”

The words choked her.

“Ryan….”

“Yes, my love?”

Her heart pounded in her throat.

“Go faster.”

A burning smile set his face aflame; he reached over and grabbed her freezing fingers, holding them tightly. The speedometer pushed towards 120; the engine started to groan.

“You’re coming with me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re right. Our lives are s**t. It’s only worse when you KNOW it’s s**t, when you’re smart and everyone else is stupid and you see the problems and you see them making it worse and they don’t. I don’t want to live in this world anymore. I don’t want you to either. So whatever the plan is, do it. I’m ready.”

His thumb rubbed small circles against the back of her hand. “Sara, love….” His voice was surprisingly soft. The radio was silenced. “You don’t know how much this means to me. I…couldn’t do it…without you. I was praying you’d help me…I don’t care if I burn in hell…I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”

“By all means, then, Ryan,” Sara said grimly, grasping the armrests so hard that her nails dug into the leather. “Full speed ahead…until death do us part.”

“Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath hath no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquered,” he whispered. The needle hovered over 115, unable to reach 120.

Her eyes wide with adrenaline, she watched the road and cars fly past.

“You’ll get all the impact,” Ryan told her softly. “It won’t hurt at all.”

She could not answer.

“I love you, Sara.”

His grip on her hand became painfully tight, and he pulled her closer; her numb lips refused to speak, so instead she grabbed him and kissed him hard, forgetting that they were on a suicide run, driving at 115 miles per hour down a freeway in the middle of Nevada, about to die. Ryan kissed her back with all his might, turning the wheel sharply left before letting go entirely and wrapping his arms around her.

They never felt the impact. Death claimed them the instant the eighteen-wheeler crushed them beneath its wheels.


Police Report, filed 18 March 2006

A summary devoid of police jargon and newspaper dryness:

A car accident was reported on a freeway in Nevada at 10:18 a.m. A ’72 Chevy Pickup had collided with an eighteen-wheeler carrying preserved food to cafeterias in towns nearby. The Chevy was completely destroyed, the eighteen-wheeler untouched.

The driver stated that these kids doing over 100, probably drunk, caught up with him and pulled right out in front of him. He affirmed that he did try to stop, but it wasn’t enough. The car was crushed between the wheels, then skidded off the road and overturned.

The corpses of a boy and girl, about eighteen years old, were found in the driver and passenger seats. The girl was identified as Sara Barkins, who attended St. Mary’s Catholic School in San Antonio, Texas and had a perfect record, no problems with drugs, alcohol, or psyche. The boy was identified as Ryan Henderson, a victim of a previous car accident five years previously from which he disappeared, presumed dead. Sara Barkins died instantly, her skull crushed and her entire torso shot through with glass and crushed as well. Ryan Henderson, too, was pulverized from the chest down by the weight of the eighteen-wheeler and bled to death within seconds. Neither was wearing a seatbelt.

Further investigations concluded that Sara and Ryan were boyfriend and girlfriend, both top students at St. Mary’s with clean records, who were both absent on the last half of the Friday before Spring Break. Ryan had not shown up at his job for a week prior to the accident; Sara had not spoken to her parents. Both sent text messages seconds before the collision saying to the recipients—Sara’s parents, Ryan’s boss and, it appeared, benefactor—that the two teenagers loved them, were sorry, and wanted to say goodbye.

Mr. and Mrs. Barkins were traumatized. They had no indication whatsoever that their daughter would be caught in anything like that.

Clark Dennison, to whom Ryan’s text message was sent, is the manager of a Walgreens in San Antonio, where Ryan worked. He admitted to kidnapping Ryan from Nevada and bringing him to San Antonio at age thirteen, after which he took care of him, procured him an apartment at an illegal age, gave him a fake driver’s license, and paid for a fraction of his school tuition—the rest was never given. Mr. Dennison faces another investigation and a fine, but the Barkins family does not want to press charges.

A funeral service was held at St. Mary’s the first day back from Spring Break. Every student attended, along with many others. Most were there because of Sara, saying to all how great of a friend, a student, a tutor she was. Kind words for Ryan were offered by Mr. Dennison and his nephew Jason, who also worked with Ryan.

Two flower-adorned crosses were erected at the burial site of the two teens, on the side of the road on which they died. Friends and family stated many times that they would never forget them as long as they lived.


What the newspapers failed to mention was that at the moment of impact, Sara and Ryan’s souls were jerked free of their bodies and hovered over the street, watching all. Their presence reassured the hysterical driver that he was innocent, forgiven for being in the wrong place at the wrong time; then, Ryan’s soul took Sara’s soul’s hand and pulled her gently upwards, and up they went, free of body, free of pain, free of world.

The sweet release of suicide bound let them be together for all eternity, and for long after eternity had passed.  

[Voxxx]

Gotta harp on your Spanish:

Yo no necesito un padres! he had yelled, if she recalled properly. ¡Y tú no está mi papá!

It should be no necesito unos padres. And tu no eres mi papa. Verbs and all. Though, if he was a formal person and all, it might be usted.

And your ending was great. But the last sentence could use a little tweaking. Let them be is a bit off.
Maybe try left them bound together...?

Anyway, I loved the story. Life is for s**t.  

[NovaKing]

Wouldn't they have accused Boo radley of being a murder rather than a hero if they revealed that he was the one who saved them?

Wasn't the point that Boo Radley hadn't given up on the world? If he had would he have really saved jem and scout children?



~~~

Nothing to really add to that. I would have liked it if you had made your characters more context oriented. For instance, the two characters here were teenagers and probably should have been less savvy with the english language and more prone to slang and filter language ("like"s and "um"s) but that's just a personal preference.

It requires some polishing, but otherwise this peice was on par with, and just as well written as, the other peices I've seen from you in the past.

[If I'm not mistaken the message was: "Life sucks, lets die together." spliced with a: "thou shalt be reprieved of all sin" which I always thought was a silly message becuase it discurages actual redemption by way of actions on this world. Anyways, thats why I said this peice was on par instead of showering you with praise like I usually do. ]

[Still well written though]  

[NovaKing]

I never really understood suicide. I mean life can be horrible, but why throw it away? The world is a mixed up place, and there are enough problems to go around, but what difference does it make if you kill yourself?

Those problems aren't going to fix themselves. Sure, it's gonna take a lot of work, but its not beyond our bounds. And hey, The worst case scenarios are failure and death. If you were to kill yourself the latter is the only thing that could happen, so what's a little failure along side that?

What does death do you?

I say: "nothing."  

[KirbyVictorious]

I dunno, Nova. It was supposed to make you think about it. Should they really have died? Was it really all that bad?

I wrote this a year ago, so I don't know what I was thinking. It's just how the story goes.

In some cases, suicide is pardonable. *shrug* Like with Everan-san.

Boo Radley saved them. 2 kids-1 man=1 good karma point. So Boo=good. Great, great book.

Ryan and Sara are good students. They talk sorta like I do. (Yes, I talk like that). But they probably wouldn't stutter as much.

The message doesn't matter, the story wanted to be written. *shrug*  

[KirbyVictorious]

Gracias, Cara-chan. :3 I think you've fixed it before. I'll go back and change it. <3333 the last bit too, it wasn't liking me at the moment. 1 in the morning, go figure....  

[Reese_Roper]

I think I'll just sit here and wait 'til you go totally balistic on me before reading the rest. surprised  

[KirbyVictorious]

scream *poke* scream  

[Reese_Roper]

I'm kidding! xd

I'm actually supposed to be writing 3 poems (as seen in P/L subforum) and reading "My Name is Asher Lev" for GT and sewing my quilt and writing a report about my quilt and studying for my U.S. History quiz, but instead I'm reading the Evil Overlord List and being bored.  

[KirbyVictorious]

Report, then studying.

BUT FIRST YOU HAVE TO READ MY STORY DO IT.

YEAH.