two

SO I GUESS YOU MIGHT BE curious about my aforementioned epic tale of running away and generally behaving like a mixed-up doofus. All right, you asked for it. So here goes.

Okay, so, basically, without going into the gory details, the Humiliating Incident of last spring was that I witnessed my best friend Rory, who I was kind of secretly in love with, bumping uglies with his gross boss, and I retaliated by going over to my badass English teacher’s house and making a pass at her, because I was also kind of secretly in love with her, too, but all she did was laugh at me and tell me to go write down all my mixed-up feelings in my journal, for crying out loud. And when I confronted Rory about the whole boss thing, he told me in no uncertain terms to butt out, even though we’re supposed to be best friends. Hm, come to think of it, maybe that’s Humiliating Incidents, plural.

Anyway, since Rory and Mrs. Lidell were the only two people in Hawthorne besides my grandparents who gave me the time of day, I decided it was high time to get the hell out. I quickly formulated a plan. I would go live with my mom for a while. Simple as that. Except for the fact that I had no idea where she lived. Or if she would have me if I found her. I’d been trying to find out about my mom for a long time, and yeah, I could have just asked Janet and Leo, but the thing about Leo was he basically lived his life as if my mom no longer existed. He seriously wouldn’t even talk about her. No pictures in the house, nothing. So, trying to get any information out of him was going to be like trying to walk up to the CIA headquarters to politely ask what was really going on down at Area 51. It would only result in Pissing Leo Off, and no one wanted that. I had long ago made up my mind that, once I saved up enough caddy money, I would hire a private investigator to find my mom, and I would keep her whereabouts to myself. But, after the one-two punch of seeing Rory with Super Creep and the Humiliating Incident with Sam, I figured it was time to pack my bags and go. I was going to reunite with my mom, wherever she was. Because that’s where I was really meant to be.

This is where Tracy came in. She always said I could come up and visit any time. We’d become friends at Drama Camp a few years back. She was really funny, always bursting into song from some musical. She turned me on to all these weird cult movies like Rocky Horror and Clue. When her parents split up, Tracy’s mom moved to Ohio, and her dad moved to Washington, DC—only a few short hours from New York City, where, I felt pretty sure, I’d find my mom. Tracy still lived with her dad while she studied theater at George Washington University. I didn’t realize it then, but the fact that her dad was kind of nutty was part of why everything got so crazy, with Janet and Leo thinking I’d been abducted and all. Tracy’s dad was phobic about computers and cell phones—he said they gave off beta waves that could fry your brain or something. So Tracy and I mostly kept in touch through postcards and letters via snail mail. When I packed my bag that night, I was moving fast. I could’ve copied down the return address and all that, but instead I just grabbed the whole stack of letters from my desk drawer, figuring I’d read back through them for her telephone number on the way.

I’d planned to take the bus up to DC—it was cheapest—but before I got to the station I stopped off at the Flying J Truck Stop. In the dark arcade, by the light of the claw machine, I took out Tracy’s letters and looked for the one where she’d written her new cell phone number; last year, her dad had finally allowed her to have a phone for emergencies. I’d left my own phone behind, because, well, I was feeling kind of screw-you-guys when I left, and I didn’t foresee myself being in much of a mood to chat with anyone. Rory in particular. So I changed a few dollar bills for quarters at the change machine and headed down a smoky hallway toward the pay phones. Tracy’s voice was groggy, but she picked up.

“Hi, Trace, it’s Lula Monroe.” My voice came out all high-pitched and squeaky. I was nervous as hell. “Sorry to call you so late.”

“It’s all good. I’m up. What’s going on?”

“This is kind of crazy, but . . . you know how you always said I could come up and stay with you if I was ever in DC?”

“. . . Uh-huh.”

“Well, ah. Long story short, uh . . .” Where did I even start? With a lie. Forgive me, Tracy—all will be explained soon. “Actually, George Washington is one of the schools I’m applying to, so I’m coming up for a tour. And Janet and Leo said I could go by myself if I was staying with a friend, so . . . I know this is short notice, but I was wondering if I could stay with you?” I was literally holding my breath.

“Hell yeah you can stay with me. You’ve got my address, right?”

“Yeah.” I exhaled. This was going to work.

“Call me when you get here. Are you driving in, or flying or what?”

“I’m uh . . . taking the bus.”

“All right. Call me when you get here. You’re coming up this weekend?”

“Actually, my bus gets in . . . tomorrow night.” There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. “I know, it’s totally last minute, it’s totally fine if you can’t—”

“No, it’s fine! I’m psyched to see you. Just call me when you get to town.”

“Okay. Thanks. Wow. Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow!” I hung up the phone. The plan was underway. Now I just had to get to th—

“Tallulah’s in tr-oouu-ble.” I jumped a mile. Around the corner from the pay phones, with his elongated, basketball player’s frame bent at crooked angles over a video poker machine, sat Trey Greyson. Professional Acid Casualty, and Janet and Leo’s former landscaper. So much for my covert operations.

“Sorry, Lulu. Didn’t mean to startle ya, there.” He turned from the glowing jingle of the video poker machine and smiled at me, his eyes heavy-lidded, his white-guy dreadlocks tied back in a rubber band. “Where you catchin’ a bus to in the middle of the night?”

“It’s Lula,” I corrected him. “And it’s none of your business where I’m going.”

“Hey, you don’t look so hot,” he said. “What happened? Did that fat kid get you knocked up?” A laugh gurgled in the back of Trey’s throat.

“I’m not pregnant. I’m leaving on a . . . college visit.” Like Trey Greyson needed to know the truth.

“Leo the Enforcer’s letting you catch a bus by yourself in the middle of the night? And did he finally let you drive the Caddy, too?”

“Fuck off, Trey,” I muttered, hurrying off down the hall. I had a bus to catch.

“Hey, seriously. Wait up.” Trey was following me. Great. “Are you taking a cab? Because I know you don’t have a car. And the bus station’s way up on Northside—aka Crystal Methville. It’s not too safe, walking up there alone this time of night.”

“Thanks for the safety tip, Officer Greyson. I think I’ll manage,” I said over my shoulder.

“Dude, hey. Lula. For real.” Trey grabbed my arm. “You shouldn’t—”

“Miss, is he botherin’ you?” The cranky old lady behind the counter put down her issue of People magazine. Trey held up his hands. “’Cause I can call the cops,” she said, giving Trey the death-glare from behind her thick glasses.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “He’s . . . my granddad’s yard guy.” The old lady gave us both the hawk-eye as I walked outside, Trey following at a respectful distance. She finally gave up and went back to her People.

“Why don’t you let me give you a ride?” Trey lurched up alongside me. “I’ve got my car. I can take you to the station. Or, what the hell, I can take you wherever you want to go.”

“I’m going further than you’re driving. And besides. I don’t get into cars with strangers,” I told him, making my way toward the halogen-lit island of gas pumps.

“Hey, I’m no stranger,” Trey laughed gently. “I’m your granddad’s yard guy. You know me. Hell, everybody knows me.” And then, Trey Greyson proceeded to do the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever witnessed. He broke into song. “Trust Greyson Bacon, that’s the name, for crispy bacon, night or day! For breakfast, for lunch, or even dinner, Greyson Bacon—oink, oink!—it’s a winner!”

From over at one of the gas pumps, a fat trucker burst into applause and whistled.

“Forget the bus, okay? Buses suck. Let me give you a ride,” Trey said. “I’m bored. I could use a little adventure. Hey, look, I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not fucked up. Crazy, maybe, but I don’t do drugs anymore.”

“I think that trucker over there might beg to differ.”

“Well, you just gotta take my word for it that I’m not on anything. Unless you wanna go find a narc to get me to pee into a cup.”

“Gross, no.”

“Then let me give you a ride,” his voice softened. The cool spring breeze blew across the parking lot. The dark smell of a muddy field mixing with the sharp tinge of gasoline.

“Trey. Why should I trust you?”

“Because I’ve been through some shit, and I know what it’s like to wanna get out of town.” His eyes were clear. He wasn’t fooling around.

“I don’t know what I want.” I bit my lip. I kind of just wanted to be back in my bedroom, where it was safe. My guts felt hollow, churning at the mere thought of the trip I was about to take. I felt like I was falling off into nothingness. But then I thought of Rory, and all the anger in me swelled up again, filling my chest. “All I know is I’m sick of being lied to. I’m sick of everybody treating me like I’m some little kid who won’t understand anything. I’m sick of this place and I’m ready to get the hell out.”

“I hear ya,” Trey nodded. “But still. You don’t wanna walk through Northside alone in the middle of the night. Unless you’ve got some hardcore death wish.”

Dammit. He had a point.

“Trey, have you ever seen our nation’s capital?”