Run(40)

She trailed off, and as awful as it sounds, I was glad. I didn’t think I could hear any more. I already felt sick, just trying to imagine what living like that might be like. And, deep down, I felt guilty. Guilty because I’d always had a safe home, because I’d never had to worry about knives or creepy dads. And I’d never even thought to be grateful for that before.

“Living with Mama’s no picnic, but I’m so scared, Agnes. That’s why I’m always listening to that police scanner. I’m always waiting to hear her name. I’m so scared she’s gonna get arrested again. If she does …”

When she didn’t finish the sentence, I pushed. “What?”

“I can’t do it again,” she murmured. “If she’s arrested again, I’m taking off. I ain’t gonna stick around and wait for CPS to come get me.”

“Oh …”

We were both quiet again, then Bo said, her voice shaking, “You know … what she said … about me and you. Agnes, I don’t—just because I like girls, too, don’t mean I—”

“I know.”

“I just don’t want you worrying that I—”

“I don’t,” I assured her.

And it was true. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about Bo’s secret. We hadn’t talked about it since that first night in my bedroom. But as uncertain as I felt, this was not something that had ever crossed my mind or made me uncomfortable. I knew her better than that.

“I just—”

“Bo, you don’t have to explain to me. Ever.”

“Good.” She sighed. “That’s just another reason I can’t tell nobody but you. Everyone around here already thinks I’m a slut. If they got wind I liked girls, too, they’d think I was going around trying to f*ck everybody. Even my own mama thinks so.”

“Bo …”

“It’s all right,” she said.

But it wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t all right.

Bo was always so strong, so tough, that hearing her voice shake like that, hearing the pain and the fear, just about killed me.

I wanted to hurt everyone who’d ever hurt her. I wanted to go back to that trailer and cause her mama the kind of pain her words had caused Bo. I wanted to hunt down and punish every goddamn gossip who’d ever spread the rumors about her, called her names, made her feel ashamed and alone. Even if that was just about everyone in Mursey.

Even if it included me.

The thought made my heart drop into my stomach. I’d only been friends with Bo for a few months, but the memory of standing with Christy on the steps of the church, being one of those town gossips myself, felt like a different lifetime. And now, the idea of her going anywhere, of her leaving me, was about the scariest thing I could imagine.

“Bo … would you really run away?” I asked after another long, quiet stretch.

“I don’t want to,” she said. “But … yeah. If I got to, I’ll run.”





There are sirens blaring by the time we get back to the car. I toss Utah into the back while Agnes dives into the front seat. It ain’t a second later that our tires are squealing and the car is speeding into the dark.

For a while, the only sound in the car is our heavy breathing. And as I drive, I can feel my eye starting to swell.

“Well,” Agnes says after ten minutes or so. “What’s next?”

“That wasn’t enough for you?”

She laughs. “That’s not what I meant. But it’s late and we can’t just show up at your dad’s house in the middle of the night. We ought to park somewhere and find some place to sleep.”

I almost argue, because we ain’t gone very far today, but I don’t. Not because showing up at Daddy’s after midnight is such a bad idea—it don’t really matter what time I show up—but because, even after what just happened, I ain’t ready for all this to end just yet.

So I find a gravel road that seems real deserted. It weaves like a thread through a thick patch of woods. I follow it about a mile in, the car bouncing along, tossing us around a bit, before I pull off to the side. We park beneath a small patch of moonlight that’s bleeding through the leaves.

I shut off the car and we lean our seats way back. Utah shifts in the backseat, trying to get comfortable.

“Bo?”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Fight that guy.”

I turn my head to look at her. “You heard what he called you.”

“Yeah, I know, but …” She pauses, then rolls to face me, too, even though I know she can’t see nothing in this dark. “People call you names all the time. And you don’t do anything about it. I used to think it didn’t hurt you at all, but now …”

I swallow. She ain’t gotta finish the sentence.

… but now I know you’re weak.

Maybe that’s not how she’d say it, but it’s the truth. I might be loud and crude sometimes, but I bruise easy, and I don’t heal real well. But I told her that a long time ago—that I was no Loretta Lynn.

“The only times I’ve ever seen you get into a fight—or get close—were when people said rude things about me or your mama. How come?”