Run(25)

“But what’re you gonna do?” he asks. “Y’all gotta make money somehow, right? How’re you gonna do that?”

“I … I don’t know. Maybe I could teach braille somewhere? I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. Bo and I will figure it out.”

“I just … I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Bo would never hurt me.”

“She’d never mean to,” he says.

My fingers knot in the thin blanket as a weight sinks down onto my chest. Utah grumbles in her sleep and shifts her position on my feet.

“I like you, Agnes,” Colt continues. “I don’t wanna see you dragged down by the Dickinsons. You’re too good for that. Too good for us.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not,” she says. “Besides. It’s too late. I’ve made up my mind. I’ve gotta go with her, Colt. No matter what happens from here, I’m with her.”

He sighs. “I know. But I couldn’t just say nothing.”

“Thank you, though,” she says. “For worrying about me.”

“I warned you before. Dickinsons ain’t easy to love.”

“It didn’t stop me then, either.”

There’s a long, heavy pause before Colt says, real quiet, “I missed you, Agnes.”

Then they stop talking.

I turn my head and bury my face in the flat, smelly pillow.

Because the walls are real thin. And if I could hear them talking, then they might be able to hear me crying.





“Sorry the party got broke up,” Bo said.

Colt had just dropped us off in my driveway. He’d also handed me my cane, which he’d managed to grab before we took off into the field.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I still had fun … Maybe more fun than I’ve ever had.”

I regretted saying it the second the words left my mouth. Damn it. Now Bo was gonna think I was a loser. Or some kind of hermit who never left the house and never had any fun. She’d never want to hang out with me again and— “Good,” she said. “I had more fun tonight than I usually have at these things.”

“Good.”

“Well,” she said, after a second. “I better be getting home, I guess.”

There was something about the way she said it. Something tired. Or like there was a touch of dread in her voice. Like going home was the last thing she wanted.

I asked before I could stop myself. “Do you wanna spend the night?” When she didn’t answer immediately, I quickly added, “I know that probably seems like a little-kid thing. Not even sure if people our age still have sleepovers. I mean I sleep over at Christy’s on New Year’s Eve every year, but that’s different, so—”

“I’d love to,” Bo said.

“Really?”

“Agnes.” Mama’s voice came from the front porch. “Honey, why are y’all just standing out here?”

“We’re just talking. Can Bo stay the night?”

“Oh … Um …”

It probably wasn’t real nice to Mama, putting her on the spot again. But after today, I knew for sure that, no matter what she thought of her so far, Mama was way too polite to say no with Bo standing right there.

“Well, uh … sure. Of course,” she said. “Y’all come on in. I’ll make a pallet for you, Bo.”

“You should probably call your mama and ask if it’s okay,” I said as we made our way up the steps and through the front door.

“Nah. It’s fine. She won’t care.”

I tried not to react to that. I asked my parents’ permission for almost everything. I wasn’t even supposed to walk home from the bus stop alone. But Bo went to parties and stayed at friends’ houses without even calling her mother. She went where she wanted, when she wanted.

I wondered what that sort of freedom felt like.

“How was the party?” Daddy asked after muting the ten o’clock news.

“Good,” I said. I was worried that if I said much more than that, I’d accidentally let it slip about the police being called. And there was no way my parents would take kindly to that.

“Really?” Daddy asked. “Because you’re home a little early. I thought maybe it ended up being kind of boring.”

I glanced over at Bo. “No. Not boring at all.”

We headed upstairs to my bedroom. But just as we rounded the corner, I felt the heat of shame wash over me. Earlier, I’d been too focused on the party to worry about what Bo might think of my room. But now, staring at the yellow walls and the menagerie of stuffed animals, I saw it through Bo Dickinson’s eyes. And it was humiliating. It was the bedroom of a little girl. Not a sixteen-year-old who’d just gone to a parentless, cop-busted party.

“Perfect timing,” Mama said when she noticed us in the doorway. “I just finished the pallet. Hope it’s comfortable, Bo. I can always get a couple extra blankets if you need them.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great. Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re quite welcome. Let me know if y’all need anything else.”