One Day Soon (One Day Soon, #1)(33)

I hated those hours after he came back to me. He was a shell. Shattered pieces of the boy he had been when he left.

But they were the only times I was allowed to hold him the way I wanted to. It was also when I knew how bad things were for him.

So I waited for him to come back. I sat underneath the bridge, huddled in my sweatshirt, warming myself by the fire in the trashcan Bug had lit a little while ago. It was an unseasonably chilly evening in July.

Di and Shane were riding their skateboards and Karla was smoking a joint with some guys down by the river.

When I heard my name being called, I froze in shock. I hadn’t seen any of my friends in almost a month. I had scrounged up some change to call Amanda a few times, but she had never followed through on her promise to come see me. Until tonight.

I got up and turned around to see my friend running towards me in too high heels and a skirt that was dangerously close to revealing parts of her anatomy that were best left covered. Obviously the cool weather wasn’t going to stop her from dressing in as little as possible.

“Oh my god! Imi, you look horrible!” Amanda shrieked and I cringed. Amanda was always too loud and too much.

I noticed Karla glancing our way, a smirk on her face. I could only imagine what she’d say about Amanda later.

I took my friend by the elbow and steered her away from the crowd that lurked too close. “What are you doing here?” I asked, casting a nervous glance around. Girls like Amanda stood out like a sore thumb in the dark, gritty world I now lived in. Her overly styled hair and expensively distressed clothes made it clear that she didn’t belong.

Amanda frowned, apparently not pleased with my less than enthusiastic greeting. “I came to see how you were doing. I miss you.”

I let out a humorless bark of laughter. “How I’m doing? Well I’m still alive, so I guess that’s something.”

“Where did you get those clothes?” Amanda made a face, curling her lip in disgust. As if my outfit were the most important thing to address.

I ignored her comment. It was that or pull my hair out.

“What are you doing here? Did you come to hang out with the homeless kids? That sounds like a good night out,” I sneered.

“Wow, someone has been drinking the bitterly resentful Kool-Aid. I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she snipped, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder and casting a look around. “I mean, what’s it like?” she whispered, seeming worried.

I sighed and sat down on a pile of crumpled cinder blocks, tucking my knees up under my chin. “It sucks,” I told her honestly, dropping the attitude.

Amanda hopped up beside me, bumping my shoulder with hers. “You haven’t been hurt or anything have you?” She chewed on her bottom lip and looked downright worried.

Not that I blamed her. The sun was starting to set and people were beginning to congregate in groups. Smoke filtered up into the sky, music played from stereos.

At first glance it looked like a party.

Once you peered closer you realized it was anything but.

This was a grasping, desperate existence.

“No. I haven’t been hurt. But I’m always scared I will be. The Pit—”

“The Pit?” Amanda interrupted, confused.

“It’s what everyone calls the warehouse on Summit,” I told her.

“Cheery name. I didn’t realize that’s what it was called,” Amanda muttered, pulling her skirt down self-consciously.

“You’ve never been inside, Mandy. If you had, you’d understand the name.” I picked at a piece of thread on my shirt. It was dirty and smelled like unwashed skin. I knew what I looked like without needing a mirror. I knew that there were dark circles under my eyes and my skin, which had always been clear, was riddled with dirt and pimples from not washing enough. My hair, which had always been a source of pride, was greasy and held back in a sloppy bun.

At one time I would never have been caught dead looking the way that I did. But now, it wasn’t even a concern.

“When was the last time you ate?” Amanda asked.

“I had stuff this morning. There’s this guy—”

“A guy? Oh is he cute?” Amanda’s face brightened in relief as she maneuvered the conversation into normal girl talk. She giggled and I rolled my eyes. Only my friend could focus on the totally shallow while discussing my being homeless.

“Yes, he’s cute, but that’s not the point,” I replied primly.

“Of course it’s the point. You may be homeless, but you still have your girlie parts,” Amanda pointed out.

“Anyway, his name is Yoss, and he’s sort of been helping me out. He watches out for me. Makes sure I eat. He got me some deodorant and toothpaste,” I explained.

“Nothing says I’m hot for you like toiletries. I get it,” Amanda teased. I felt myself getting frustrated, even though I knew it wasn’t fair. Amanda was only trying to be nice, but I couldn’t help but be annoyed by her ignorance.

“You don’t get it. He makes sure that no one messes with me. That first night someone would have hurt me. But he made sure nothing happened. He’s…well, he’s special.”

“Oh my god, Imogen. You can’t stay out here,” Amanda said, her hands wringing together. The momentary levity was long gone.

“I have nowhere else to go,” I reminded her, wishing it weren’t true.