CHAPTER TWO

Dolores’s words are ringing in my head.

“James is a coward.”

“He would rather leave you …”

“… than take you with him.”

And then the way she talked about him. Not in the past tense, but the present.

It was almost as if—

A sharp thought hits me like a ton of bricks and I feel nauseous, bile rising up in my throat as I stagger, my hand gripping the support railing almost blindly.

Could it be that Dad isn’t dead?

My mind is blank as I find myself a seat, not caring that I am dripping wet right now. A few of the kids give me strange looks, but I ignore them, my heart thundering.

Could it be?

But even as I think about it, the ridiculousness of the situation dawns on me. If Dad had been alive, he wouldn’t have left me here.

No.

No, Dolores was just messing with me.

But just for a moment, the thought that he might be out there had me so hopeful. The possible opportunity to see him once again—

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, pushing back against the tears which are threatening to fall.

Jerk!

She did this on purpose.

Making herself out to be some saint who saved me while my father was a deadbeat. What does she know?!

Sniffing, I shiver and look around. There are a couple of kids on the bus, a few of them shooting me curious looks now.

I don’t know why but something about them is off. They look skittish almost.

Weirdos.

The last thing I need is to get stuck in one of those crazy correctional camps with these kids. I know what happens in places like those. I’ve read about them. They treat you like shit. Beatings, harassment, they break you.

I’ve had enough.

I glance out the window. This is going to be a long ride, but I’ve already earmarked the bus station in Denver. There’s going to be a quick bathroom and snack break there. And that’s where I’ll disappear.

I have enough money stowed away to be able to make it to another city and then get a job. I’ve waitressed long enough to know that nobody cares about what your real name is as long as you are willing to take a pay cut and accept under the table payments.

I shrug off my backpack and place it next to me. This bag has everything I own. I need to protect it with my life.

I’m about to take my wet hoodie off when I feel someone sit next to me.

My head whips to the right, and I see a dark-haired boy with freckles all over his face. He has pudgy cheeks, a sticky mouth, and small, beady eyes which make me shudder. There’s something about him that makes my skin crawl. He looks to be about my age, or maybe a year younger—I don’t know.

“Where you from, new girl?” He asks, sneering. “Did your parents throw you away?”

I raise my brow, “First of all, I know you’re not talking to me. I have a name.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to tell you,” I snap. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t be like that,” he snickers and reaches out to grab my wrist, his voice taking a darker turn. “You don’t want to piss me off. You don’t know the kind of people I hang out with. They’ll set you straig—”

I don’t even blink as I grab his wrist and twist it until his arm is behind his back, and I bend him forward, hissing as he cries out. “Touch me again and breaking your arm will be the least of your worries.”

“Hey! Stop that!”

The bus driver’s growl makes me grin at the little bully with tear-stained eyes now, and I whisper, “Don’t mess with me. I may be small, but I can break you like a little twig.”

His face pales, and I give one more tug for good measure before releasing him. He scampers back to his seat.

Sinking into my own seat, I brood as I stare out the window. Bullies don’t bother me. I know how to protect myself. Trailer life isn’t glamorous in the least. Living in a trailer, I had to be vicious and fast, otherwise there were always predators around, just watching and waiting for a sign of weakness.

I hang my hoodie on the back of the seat in front of me to dry out, rifling through my bag at the same time. Thankfully, I had glued plastic on the inside of the bag, and everything is dry.

I close my eyes and lean back, just biding my time.

I feel nervous, and my fingers are pulling at my damp blouse. I just have to get off this bus. I’ll figure everything else out later. I feel the bus pull to a stop, and my eyes fly open. Despite not wanting to be curious, I do look up, only to see a young girl get on the bus. She has soft, blue eyes, which are framed by ugly looking glasses. Her golden hair is tightly plaited, and she looks like a nerd. However, she looks more nervous than anyone on this bus, and her eyes are swollen and red.

My mouth is dry as I stare at her.

She looks so familiar.

Jane.

She looks like Jane.

I find my heartbeat quickening.

The resemblance is uncanny.

Jane, my younger sister.

My memories of her are faded but not all of them. And this girl, she looks like her.

I hear some of the boys murmuring behind me, and I know they’ve set eyes on her. My jaw tightens, reality hitting me like a ton of bricks.

Not my business.

Then I see her lift her hand to adjust the strap of her backpack, and her sleeve falls down, revealing a purple bruise from her wrist down.

Unlike me, she looks so delicate and weak.

A part of me feels weak, wanting to check and be sure. My memories of the last time I saw my sister are fuzzy but so much time has passed that she became a ghost of a memory, one I buried until now.

Like this girl, my sister also had a delicate disposition.

Why would her family send someone like her to this hell zone?

She takes a few steps and one of the boys calls out, “Hey, melons! Come sit with us!”

It’s not hard to understand where the nickname came from, as vulgar as it is. The girl’s face flushes, and my upper lip curls in disgust. To my shock, however, she begins walking in their direction. Maybe it’s because she can’t find a seat up front.

Just before she passes my seat, I move to the side, making room for her. “You can sit here.”

She hesitates before looking behind me, clearly calculating the alternative, before sitting down next to me. “Thanks.”

Her voice is clear, but she looks on edge, quickly pulling down her sleeve.

I don’t want to ask because I have a “mind your own business” policy but when I see her wipe her eyes for the fifth time, I find myself asking, “Uh, you need a tissue or something?”

“N … No,” Her voice cracks.

Oh, shit! She’s crying. What am I supposed to do with a crying girl?

“Um, look, you want some trail mix?” I grab the small packet from my bag and shove it at her.

She blinks, suddenly taken aback. “T … Trail mix?”

Her tears are all but forgotten as she stares down at the small packet, dumbfounded, and when she looks at me, her lips are twitching. “Why are you giving me trail mix?”

At least she’s not crying anymore.

“I don’t know,” I admit, reluctantly. “Thought it’d make you feel better.”

This time, she smiles at me, and it is such a sweet smile that I flush. “I have other food too. Nothing fancy but some peanuts and stuff. They might be expired if you care about that sort of stuff—”

“It’s okay,” She opens the packet. “I like trail mix. I’m Beth, by the way. Beth Lee.”

“Taylor Night,” I reply, reluctantly.

I see her smile before she munches on some trail mix and then she sighs. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. I didn’t know how hungry I was.”

“Why not?” I turn to look at her.

She shrugs. “My nephew broke my brother’s laptop and blamed me. I got punished for it.”

I glance at her arm. “Those bruises part of your punishment?”

She shrinks into herself, and I give her a wan smile. “I’ve been ‘punished’ plenty. It sucks.”

Beth looks down at the packet of trail mix in her hands before murmuring, “Who hit you?”

“Dolores. She’s my stepmother. Real nasty temper.”

“Where’s your Dad?”

“Dead.”

My voice is harsh as I say the last part, and I instantly feel guilty when she flinches.

“So, um,” I shoot her a look, “what about you?”

“My parents died last year. Plane crash. My brother and his wife moved in with their kids. They don’t like me very much so they’re not very nice to me.”

Her words are careful as if she measures each one before speaking. She reminds me of a waitress who used to work at the restaurant where I worked part-time. Her husband used to beat her all the time, and she would talk like this, hesitantly, weighing each word, as if scared to get in trouble.

“So, they’re getting rid of you by sending you to this camp?”

Beth’s expression turns weary. “My parents left me a lot of money and the house. I’m sixteen. I’ll legally get everything when I turn eighteen. My brother wants to send me here so that in the next two years, they can declare me incompetent and put me in conservatorship and take everything from me.”

I whistle in horror. “Are you serious? How rich are you?”

She shrugs. “My Dad invested in a lot of big companies. Not like my brother didn’t get his share. He just wants mine as well. My aunt suggested sending me here.”

I feel sick to my stomach listening to her story, and I don’t know what makes it worse, the fact that she seems to have come to terms with her future, or how dull the look in her eyes is. And here I thought my situation was bad.

I frown at her. “You’ve got to fight back!”

“Me?” Beth almost seems amused by the notion. “I’m sixteen. What am I going to do?”

“Well, if you roll over and take everything the world throws at you, you’re bound to suffer. Nobody’s going to fight for you but you.” My words are fierce.

She gives me a weak smile, “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Anyway, my brother talked to one of the counselors at this camp. I don’t even know if I’ll survive in this place. He has a plan.”

My heart sinks.

It’s evident to me that Beth has no intentions of fighting her fate.

But the more I look at her, the angrier I get. She can’t survive in there. Not without someone having her back.

But I’ve always known that the world is a cruel place.

This is not my business.

I have to fight for my own survival.

I decide to sit in silence, but Beth wants to talk. The problem with that is that the more we engage in conversation, despite my half-hearted, one-word responses, she doesn’t seem to care.

This is going to be a long ride.

***

I’m not a chatty person, but Beth seems to have a knack for drawing one into a conversation.

And I decide that I don’t mind her chattering at me.

She tells me about her family, her parents, and a few times, I have to glance at her to make sure she’s serious.

Something akin to worry settles within me. It’s not that she’s said anything outright, but she seems to have borne more abuse than me. It shows in her mannerisms—the small flinches when someone walks by her or if I move too quickly.

I can also see the way the boys sitting in the back are eyeing her, and my stomach twists.

By the time we reach Denver, I feel like shit.

The bus pulls to a stop and the driver announces, “Go deal with your business and get back. You all get a half-hour reprieve.”

The kids rush off the bus at the gas station, and I pick up my bag and hoodie. “Okay, I’m going to head out.”

“Bathroom break?” Beth asks, with a sweet smile.

“Yeah,” I say abruptly.

“Okay, I’ll wait for you.”

My jaw tightens as I head toward the doors.

But as I reach the doors, I hesitate.

I have all of five minutes to make it to the other bus stop. This is my only ticket to freedom.

But my foot doesn’t get off the last step.

Everything is planned and in place.

Go!

But something inside of me is stopping me.

I look over my shoulder to see Beth sitting, looking out the window. She’ll be okay.

I step off the bus, and just as I do, I feel a strange tension in my nape. Before I can take another step, I hear Beth cry out in alarm, “Stop it! Please!”

My hand tightens on the faded, silver handle of the door.

She can handle it—

Her scream is full of terror, and I jump back onto the bus. My eyes take in the sight before me, my blood boiling.

The boy who had tried his luck on me was holding her down while the others surrounded her.

“Get off her!” I roar, tossing my bag to the ground and striding forward.

I see the boy’s head whip toward me, and alarm enter his eyes before being replaced by a smug grin, clearly bolstered by the presence of his companions.

“We’ve got another one!” he hoots.

Beth is crying, hysterically, and my jaw tightens.

“I said, get off her!” I grab the boy closest to me and drag him back.

He’s stronger than me, but I’m fueled by rage.

He fights back, laughing mockingly, and there is a flash of memory within me, one that can’t be my own.

Hysterical screams, maniacal laughter.

My voice screaming for someone.

Jane!

For a moment, I can’t hear anything, a violent rage grabbing me by the throat.

I yank the boy who had tried to harass me and lift him like he weighs next to nothing before tossing him toward the end of the bus. He goes flying, his back hitting the glass.

The cracking sound of the glass is ear splitting.

He slumps to the seat, a quiet moan escaping his mouth.

The rest of his friends freeze in shock.

I’m shaking right now, but when I turn my attention toward them, they abandon Beth, scurrying back toward their friend.

I stare at their white faces, but my head is hurting at this point. I stumble toward Beth who looks traumatized. I help her up. My voice is rough, “Are you okay?”

She opens her mouth but nothing comes out except tears. She suddenly wraps her arms around my waist and starts sobbing.

Despite the painful pounding in my head, I glare at the boys now huddled in the back seat. “Next time, I’m just going to stab you. I mean it.”

They don’t say anything, their confidence drained.

I settle Beth into her seat before grabbing my bag.

I’m also trembling right now, studying my hands.

What on earth was that?

The same happened with Dolores! And now this!

I glance at Beth who is shaking. I’m not a very physically affectionate person, but when she leans against me, I end up putting my arm around her, uncomfortable as it is.

She’s going to die in there.

She’s got no one in the world. Just like me.

But she’s also none of my business.

My hand curls around my bag, my knuckles turning white.

Go! You still have the time!

I’m not a very good person. I don’t believe I am.

Only the selfish survive in this world. That’s what I’ve learned growing up. You have to look out for yourself because nobody else will.

Go!

It doesn’t take me long to come to a decision. When I look at the girl sitting beside me, I remember Jane. Sweet, wide-eyed Jane.

“Taylor?” Beth sounds uncertain as I get to my feet.

“Come on,” my voice is firm. “We’ll go buy some snacks.”