Page 1 of Run
CHAPTER 1
ARI
Idrag my knees in closer and wrap my arms around them, trying not to shake. Trying not to make any noise. But my breathing is loud and no matter how hard I try, I can’t make it stop. Curled in a tight ball, my lungs are unable to expand with air and I’m left panting.
The screen door slams, and I jump, the side of my head hitting the undercarriage of the old car abandoned in the gravel driveway. I don’t fit under here easily anymore since I grew another two inches this year, according to the doctor. But she might be dumb because she believed Papa when he said the bruises on my back were from falling out of a tree.
It wasn’t completely a lie. I did fall out of a tree. But that’s not what left me bruised. That happened after Papa yelled at me forcoming home covered in dirt and broke a wooden chair over my back.
Boots crunch on the gravel and I wait for the scratchy voice that will bellow soon.
“Arlene!” It begins. “Where are you, you little brat?”
Curling in even tighter and praying the flat tires of the abandoned Accord hide my growing body, I lay on my side, wishing I could sit on my butt and hide between the wheels like I used to, and pray Papa’s too drunk to see me under here.
“Arlene!” He’s closer now, and again, I jump—causing my bare foot to slide out and glide across the loose gravel, making a scraping sound. I quickly pull it back in and hear Papa’s steps stop. “When I find you, girl, you’re going to be sorry.”
His boots make their way around the side of the car, getting closer, bigger, louder, before they stop next to me. My eyes squeeze shut. Papa should be asleep by now. He always falls asleep after finishing the bottle of brown alcohol. All I have to do is wait for him to fall asleep.
A lazy whistle wafts around me—a sound I recognize. It’s his way of pretending to be calm, pretending he isn’t going to hurt me, and trying to lure me out.
Another screen door slams, the sound a little further away, and I hear Papa grumble, “Great, another bastard child.”
It’s eerily silent for a moment as a breeze blows some gray dirt from the loose gravel in my face, and without thinking, I cough.
Loose pebbles crunch under Papa’s foot as it pivots, and I know he’s searching for the direction the sound came from.
“Whaddaya lookin’ for?” I hear an unfamiliar boy’s voice from a little farther away. Papa’s boot swivels again. “Hey, old man! I said, what the hell are you looking for?”
I peel open one eye as Papa takes a few steps away from the car. “You sassin’ me, you little shit?”
Oh no, the boy is only making Papa angrier.
“I ain’t scared of you.”
Papa huffs. “Yeah? Well then, why don’t you come over here and I’ll show you what you should be scared of?”
The boy laughs. “Yeah, real scary, you pot-bellied, greasy old man.”
I chuckle, then pull one hand away from my knee to slap it across my mouth as Papa’s boots stall again. “Where is she? That little brat. I’ll teach her a lesson once I get my hands on her.”
There’s a pause, then, “You talkin’ about the girl with the red hair?”
“Yeah. You seen her?”
Another pause. “Yeah, I saw her. She went that way.”
I wonder which direction he’s pointing Papa in and get ready in case this boy is being mean and trying to get me into trouble, but then Papa takes steps away from me, toward the side of the house. After a moment I open both eyes and don’t see his boots anymore.
A soft crunch causes me to turn my head to see a pair of muddy sneakers heading my way. They stop right in front of the tire I’m hiding behind and, after a moment, a pair of knees hit the gravel and a hand reaches under the car, palm up, fingers wiggling.
ETHAN
A flash of red outside catches my eye, and I spin around to perch on the back of the couch just in time to see a girl crawl under the beat-up old car in the neighbor’s yard.Maybe she’s playing hide-and-seek? But there are no other kids in sight …
The screen door of the neighbor’s house slams and the guy my dad warned me about comes stomping down wearing unlaced tan work boots, dirty shop pants, and an untucked whiteundershirt that hugs his body. His dark, unkempt hair looks like it spent all morning smashed up against a pillow.
“Where are you, you little brat?”
