Page 8 of Run
And I realize that my dad may be a dick, but he’s nothing compared to Axel.
CHAPTER 3
ARI
Ishift in the back seat, the backs of my legs sticky and sweaty against the torn, fake leather of Papa’s car. The one that actually runs. The muffler is loud and the driver’s side back door is a different color from the rest of the car, but Papa says it runs just fine. Hot air swirls in from the open windows, blowing my hair around my face in a knotted mess.
Papa’s looking at me in the rearview mirror and smiling. “What are you so happy about, girl?”
“I’m excited for the carnival.” I gather my hair and pull it to the side, but the wind keeps twirling it out of my hands.
“What?” he says over the roar of the muffler and the whoosh of the wind through the open windows.
“I said …” I shout louder, “I’m excited for the carnival!”
“You’re excited?” He’s still looking at me through the mirror, smiling. I nod repeatedly. “Good!” After a moment, he adds, “I think things are going to start looking up. My disability got approved for another six months, so we’ve got some more money coming in.”
I’m not sure why Papa gets money for a disability when he doesn’t actually have one, but I know better than to question it.
The past year has had its ups and downs when it comes to Papa’s moods. I managed to avoid him many times when I knew he was cranky, but other times, I took a lickin’ and had to miss a day or two of school so no one would know.
Well, no one except Ethan. He always knows. Even when I don’t tell him, he knows.
Then summer returned, and I managed to keep Papa happy by making sure dinner was ready every night and the house was kept clean. But school starts again soon, and I won’t have as much time for all that.
As we enter the carnival, music that sounds like it’s coming from a cartoon fills the air. There’s thetsk-tskof drum symbols and the varioustingsof a xylophone. It’s coming from a giant carousel in the middle of the festivities. There are also random sounds of horns and buzzers coming from all the games lined up along the outer edge of the space.
The smell of oil from the fried Oreos and pickles and a certain sweetness swirls around as I see a worker at a booth twirling cotton candy around a cone-shaped piece of paper. Lights flash where people can spray water out of guns to make wooden horses move across a fake raceway, or toss rings into a sea of empty bottles and somehow win a giant stuffed animal.
Papa tugs me toward a booth, slides a bill to the woman inside, and she hands over a rope of tickets. He stalks off, yelling “Come on” over his shoulder as I scramble to keep up. “Now, I don’t have too many tickets, so I’ll just show you how it’s done.” Weapproach a booth that has a pyramid of old milk bottles stacked up in the center.
Throughout the night, Papa plays several games without winning any prizes, and I watch his good mood slowly chip away.
We enter a tent with a sign for “Cold Beer” and he holds two fingers up. He takes the first cup that’s placed in front of him and drains it in one gulp, then picks up the second and turns around to look at me, but something catches his attention over my shoulder.
I turn and see some girls from my school snickering and pointing our way. “Those friends of yours?” He takes another sip.
I shake my head. “No.”
“They sure seem to know you.”
“No, Papa. I go to school with them, but we aren’t friends.” I risk a glance and see Chloe, Jessica, Elena, and another girl whose name I don’t remember giggle and talk with their hands over their mouths.
“Go talk to them.”
“Oh, no, that’s OK. Can I go look at the other games? I won’t ask for tickets to play them. I just want to see what they are.”
I start to walk away but feel Papa’s hand at the back of my neck, grabbing me by the scruff like I’m a dog, and he steers me toward the girls, instead. “I said …” he grits out, breath smelling like cheap beer, “go talk to your friends.” He gives me a little push and I stumble forward.
The girls all stare at me as I slowly step toward them, twisting my fingers in front of me. They’re laughing but go quiet as I approach. I feel like the last person picked for T-ball, when slowly everyone around me is called to be part of a team and I’m left standing there all alone.
“What are you doing?” asks the girl whose name I can’t remember.
“Yeah,” adds Jessica. “Do you think we want you to hang out with us?”
I shake my head, then glance back to see Papa’s back to us as he drinks another beer.
“What are you even wearing?” asks Elena, and I smooth my tie-dye T-shirt over myself. All four girls start laughing, and Jessica even reaches out and pokes my shoulder. “Run along, trailer trash.”
