Tone Deaf(29)

For a brief moment, I consider telling her everything. About the pain and the fear and the anger, and how I understand in the most unfortunate way possible. But I shake away the thought. I don’t ever talk about that shit, and I’m not going to start now. “Well, you’re not going to get it,” I say.

Her lips purse into another frown, and I groan without moving my mouth. Damn it. Why can’t I just be nice for once? But, no, it’s like I’m hardwired to be a jerk.

I gently grasp her shoulders, and this time, she hardly flinches. I turn her around until she’s facing the short hallway leading to my bedroom in the very back of the RV. I point to it and step forward so she can see my hands clearly. “You should go take a nap. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

She eyes the door hesitantly. “Is that your room?”

“Yes.”

“Then no thanks.”

I roll my eyes, not even hiding it this time. Then I sign, “I’ll take Cuddles out, and you can lock the door. We’ll all stay out here.”

She stares hard at my bedroom door. “Promise? You promise to stay away?”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I promise.”

She nods, but her eyes narrow a little, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am: all she has to protect her is the word of a random dude she barely knows. A random dude publicly known for being a jerk and a player.

But it’s the best she’s going to get, and she seems to realize this, because she hesitantly shrugs in what I assume is resignation. I jog to the door and open it, finding Cuddles lying in the doorway, staring up with a pitiful expression. She’s used to being the center of my attention when we’re on the road, and she’s probably not very happy about having Ali onboard. But my dog is going to have to buck up, because Ali is sticking around, as long as I have a say in it.

I shoo Cuddles out of the room, and she trots off toward the kitchen. Ali cringes away from my dog, but then she turns to me and gives a nod of thanks. I shrug and walk back toward the couches, leaving Ali to nap. She disappears into my bedroom, and as she closes the door, I hear the lock click into place.

My chest starts hurting again.





14


ALI


WHEN I OPEN my eyes, everything is wrong. The ceiling isn’t the right shade of white, and it’s too low. The walls are painted bright green, instead of the soft beige of my bedroom. Even the scent is wrong; my room is supposed to smell like pencil shavings and laundry detergent and that unmistakable odor of an overheated computer. This room smells like cologne and some sort of wood varnish. It smells like a . . . guy.

Then it hits me:

The concert. Tone Deaf. Running away. Jace.

A sudden burst of anxiety hits me, and my chest feels impossibly tight as the reality of my situation strikes me. I’m on the run with a guy who’s practically a stranger. And if that’s not bad enough, any minute now my dad is going to be figuring out that I’m gone, and he’s not going to give up on finding me.

I close my eyes, concentrating on slowing my frantic breaths. There’s nothing I can do now to make things better, so I just need to focus on staying hidden away and out of my dad’s reach. I’m way too far into this to ditch my plans of escape.

I glance over to the door and find it still locked, which gives me a little relief. Jace kept his promise to leave me alone in here. As I toss the sheet off, I look down at my clothes and grimace. They’re damp with sweat, probably from the nightmares I was having. Definitely time for a change.

The room shakes a little, and I throw out an arm to steady myself. We must be moving. I mean, this is an RV after all. As my heart calms down a little, I notice the steady flow of vibrations running through the floor, probably from the engine. It’s official: we’re on the road, and I’m actually running away.

I gulp in a deep breath and decide I can second-guess myself and freak out about the situation later. For now, I’m sweaty and thirsty and hungry, and I need to do something about that.

I creep outside the room, relieved when I don’t see anyone. They must still be in the front of the RV, where those couches are. Should I join them? Or should I wait for Jace to come get me, to make sure I don’t intrude on anything? I shuffle my feet and peer around, hoping for some sort of clue about what to do. My breath catches when I glance out the tiny window above the front door and see the setting sun. Have I really been asleep all day?

The RV jostles as it hits a pothole, making me stumble and bump against the wall. I curse and then bite my lip. Did anyone hear that? One of the worst parts about being deaf is not being able to control my volume level. It’s hard to tell how loudly I’m talking when I can’t hear myself, and my anxiety isn’t making it any easier.

I give a frustrated groan—not too loudly—and then rush into the bathroom. Relief courses through me as I spot my duffle still tucked in the corner, undisturbed.

I grab the bag and dig through for another change of clothes, quickly settling on a pair of ripped jeans and a T-shirt. I take a deep breath and stare into the mirror, cringing at the mess that looks back at me. My hair is all ruffled, and without makeup to hide it, my skin is freakishly pale, except where it’s blotched with dark bruises. I curse again, unable to stop myself, and do my best to quickly fix my hair. Cleaning up further will have to wait until I get something to eat. I’m starving and my mouth is totally dry, reminding me of my long trek to the stadium.