Chapter 52

NIGHT FRIGHTS

I hear someone calling my name from far away as I run into the cold, dark night. I think the person yelling must be Marjorie. I had to push past her to get out of my room, out of the house. I feel bad, but there’s no time to apologize.

I have to get to Tuality.

I have no clear plan, no awareness of anything except the desperate need to get to Katie. There are shoes on my feet, but I have no idea how they got there. I’m not wearing a coat. I am wearing my Snuggie, though. Plus I’m running, so I’m warm.

I dart across a busy street.

The honking wakes me up a little, and I remember something dim about how I’m supposed to look both ways before I cross a street. I plunge forward, past a McDonald’s, a Walmart, a strip club, a check cashing place. I barely notice them as I run past. My mind can only process one thought: Katie, Katie, Katie.

My chest is tight, and I suck in a lungful of diesel fumes. God, I’m out of shape. My calves cramp and my thighs ache as I plod one heavy boot in front of the other. Why didn’t I wear running shoes? Sweat pools under my breasts, and I feel my hair sticking to my forehead. I run on. I can’t stop. I can’t slow down.

Katie.

My mind never gets further than that. I feel it flex, like a fist trying to hold sand. My best friend.

A group of guys coming out of a strip club eye me. “Hey, cutie!” one of them yells. “Wanna ride?” He pumps his pelvis back and forth, and his buddies laugh.

I run on.

I pass the 7-Eleven, the Dollar Tree, a Wendy’s. I must have run about three miles. Only three miles! I’m not going to make it, I think. I’m not.

A war breaks out in my mind between the You-Need-to-Rests and the If-You-Stop-Now-You’ll-Never-Make-Its.

I have to keep going. Katie, Katie, Katie. I can’t stop. Can’t stop.

Another mile. Two.

Pain stabs into my side. I stumble, then run another five steps. Run on. Finally, the You-Need-to-Rests win.

Just a minute, I tell myself. Just a minute, then I’ll get up. I’ll get up and run the rest of the way.

Katie, Katie, Katie.

There’s a small patch of landscaping at the edge of a gas station. I sit down on a pile of freezing mulch and pull my Snuggie close around me. I rest there a moment, then lie back. There are no stars above me. Just glare from the gas station sign and darkness beyond. I’m tired. Bone tired.

I start to wonder if I’m going to make it. I’m not sure I can get back up.

Beep! Beep!

I hear a car roll up, and fear shoots through me because I figure it must be that group of drunken strip-club guys. But I’m out of strength. I can’t even sit up. Let me die comes into my mind, and it’s terrifying, because I’ve never had a thought like that before.

“Cuckoo!” someone shouts, and before I can process what’s happening, strong arms scoop beneath me and I smell Flatso’s familiar, flowery scent and hear her voice beside my ear.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” she whispers over and over as she carries me to Zitsy’s car.

Zitsy cranks up the heat in the car as Flatso gently fastens me into my seat belt. “We’re going to see her, Kooks,” she says. “We’re all going. We’ll take you. Don’t worry.” Her voice is both soothing and firm, the exact kind of voice you want to hear after running five miles through a scary part of town at midnight. It occurs to me that if Flatso were a guy instead of a girl, she’d likely be on the football team, and she would probably be one of the most popular guys in school.

But, instead, she’s a girl. The world doesn’t see her strength—they only see her weight. And instead of being popular, she’s one of my very best friends.

My best friends.

My best friend.

Katie, Katie, Katie.

And that’s the thought that wraps itself around me as Zitsy pulls out of the gas station and drives off down the black ribbon of road toward the hospital.