Run(42)

“We could go in February. You can get a few days off, right, Colt?”

We were standing in Tanner’s kitchen, leaned up against the counter while George Jones’s “He Stopped Loving Her Today” played on a radio in the corner. Not exactly party music. I took another drink from my red cup, trying to hide the frustration I was feeling.

Bo hadn’t given up on that road trip to Nashville she’d suggested months ago. I’d tried to tell her more than once since then that I didn’t think it could happen, but I guess it wasn’t sinking in, because she just kept at it. She made all sorts of plans about the places we’d see and the route we’d take and how good it would feel to get out of Mursey.

And I wanted all that. I wanted it so bad.

Which was the reason I was getting so annoyed. It was bad enough to be trapped here, but worse when Bo kept acting like there was some chance of escape.

I just wanted her to stop.

“Don’t y’all have school?” Colt asked.

“Since when do you care about school?” Bo asked, laughing.

“Agnes might care.”

“Agnes wants to get out of town as much as I do.”

“Agnes can talk,” I said.

“Good,” Bo said. “Then tell him why we gotta go to Nashville.”

“No.”

“What?” Bo sounded surprised, but I didn’t know how she could be.

“I’m not going to Nashville with you, Bo.” It came out harsher than I’d meant it. Apparently, a couple beers made me a little mean.

“Why not?” she asked. “This was our plan.”

“No. It’s your plan,” I said. “There’s no way my parents will let me. You know how they are.”

“You ain’t even asked them yet,” she pointed out, still sounding confident. “It’s just Nashville. It ain’t that far.”

“Bo, I had to lie to even be here tonight,” I reminded her. “They’re never gonna let me go to Nashville for a week, during the school year. Not with you. Not with anybody. It’s never gonna happen.”

“You ain’t even asked them,” she repeated. And now she sounded like the one who was frustrated.

“All right,” Colt said, his voice tinged with a hint of nervous laughter. “Maybe we should—”

“I don’t gotta ask them. There’s no point.”

“You’re always talking about wanting to get out of Mursey.” She was getting mad now. Her voice raising just a little bit, but enough that I noticed. “Well, here’s your chance. Why’re we arguing about it?”

I slammed my cup down on the counter, sloshing beer onto the sleeve of my sweater. “Because not everyone can just take off for a week and leave the state, Bo. Not everyone can just decide when they wanna skip school in the morning and know no one’s gonna punish them. Some of us actually have families that give a shit about us.”

I knew the second I said it that I shouldn’t have.

I could blame it on the beer if I wanted. Or on my weird, secret crush on Colt making me crazy and clouding my judgment. But deep down, I knew it was mostly me. Me and my jealousy. Not of Bo’s situation with her parents—I didn’t want that—but of the freedom it gave her. Of the fact that she really thought she could just go to Nashville for a few days. No worries. No consequences. I didn’t have that. Nothing close to that. And the more Bo talked about these plans, the more angry and jealous I got.

But now, I’d crossed the line.

For a minute, no one spoke. There was no sound but the radio and some drunk boys singing in the next room.

Then Bo pushed herself away from the counter. “Happy f*cking New Year,” she muttered.

“Where are you going?” Colt asked. When she didn’t answer and just kept walking toward the door, he hollered at her. “Bo! Where the hell are you going?”

“Getting a ride home!” she yelled back at us.

“Bo!”

But she didn’t come back, and he didn’t follow her. Instead, Colt turned to look at me.

I’d been having dreams about the two of us being alone for months, but this wasn’t quite how I’d pictured it happening.

“Damn it,” I said, looking at my cup still sitting on the counter. Then, after a second, I dumped it into the sink. I wasn’t gonna be having any more tonight.

In the next room, the boys started singing louder, belting out “Family Tradition” a cappella, at the top of their lungs and way off-key. It didn’t mix well with the heartache in George Jones’s voice on the radio.

Colt sighed. “Wanna get out of here?”

I looked at him. I couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t sound mad at me. He should’ve been, though, after what I’d just said. But instead, he just sounded tired.

There was a crash and some laughter from the room full of singing guys next to us.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m ready to go.”





I wake up with Utah’s tongue lapping at my cheek. I groan and look at her. She’s got this big doggie grin on her face, like she’s real proud of herself. Outside, the sun is up, light shining down through the tree. The bruised skin around my eye is throbbing a little.