Page 61 of Run
“BEEP!” I shout obnoxiously and shake my closed fist in Ethan’s face. “A Few Good Men.”
“A Few Good Men! I knew it! I should get half credit. I knew all the actors.”
“Nope.” I laugh as he tickles my feet. “That’s not how the game works and you know it.”
He keeps up his tickling assault as I squirm on his lap. “You should have never told me you can still feel these feet, Red.”
I try to pull away as I shriek, “Ethan, stop! Uncle. I said uncle!” I fold over and try to pry his hands off my feet.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he says, angling my body toward him and settling my head on his lap. I awkwardly—and slowly—shuffle my legs out the other way.
He leans over me and grabs some remotes off the coffee table, then kicks his feet up onto it, keeping my head in his lap. Usingone hand to turn on the TV and start flipping through streaming services, he runs his other through my hair.
“Your hair is still really soft,” he mumbles as he flips through movie options, and I enjoy the feel of his fingertips against my scalp. “Why on earth did we stay apart for so long?”
Before I can say anything, he pumps his fist holding the remote in the air. “Aha! OK, we are brushing up on our movie trivia because I willneverbe schooled again.”
I open my eyes to see the beginning credits ofA Few Good Menlight up the screen and let out a laugh.
“Go ahead and try, buddy,” I say sleepily. “Go ahead and try.”
CHAPTER 21
ETHAN
Amindfuck—that’s what tonight has been. I can’t believe what Ari has been through. If I didn’t just tuck her into my bed before coming back out to sleep on the couch, I wouldn’t believe she is actually here.
Grabbing my tablet off the coffee table and falling onto the couch, I immediately open up an internet browser and type in “Arlene Scott + Rochester + car accident,” but get nothing. I try “Rochester + hit and run,” and scroll through news stories from the past two years. Again, no results come up. Abandoning the search, I reach for my phone and fire off a text to Fonz.
Dude, how could you not tell me about Ari???
I go back to the tablet and pull up the ROC Record news website and search Ari’s name but get nothing. How could there be no news articles about the accident?
My phone dings with a response from Fonz.
You hate me?
Of course not. I’m just totally mind blown and confused and, honestly, a little messed up over it all
I get it. I promise I will lay it all out for you tomorrow. I’ll be home either very late or very early. You’ll be around?
I close the tablet, giving up on my search, then type out a reply on my phone.
Yeah. Ari is here. She fell asleep on the couch so I put her to bed
Three bubbles appear and disappear, then Fonz responds with the emoji with the brain exploding.
Bruh, you have no idea.
I lay down on the couch and pull the throw blanket up over myself, grab the pillow Ari was sleeping on, and tuck it under my head. Immediately I am hit with a whiff of something floral and sweet. I turn my face into it and inhale heavily, and the familiar smell evokes a childhood memory. Although it’s been several years, the imagery plays through my mind with striking clarity.
I bounce up the steps, giving the bus driver a nod and turning down the aisle, taking a seat about midway, thankful the school day is over.
The ride home is quick as I chat with Fonz, and at some point big, fat snowflakes start to fall—the first snowfall of the season. When we get to my house, I stay put, opting instead to get off at Fonz’s house. However, as the bus rolls to a stop and pauses before the driver realizes I’m not getting off, I catch sight of Ari curled up on her front step. Since she’s a grade behind us, she isn’t in middle school with us and takes a different bus. Her posture is much like it was the first time I saw her: arms and mitten-covered hands hug her knees to her chest, and a head topped by a knit cap is tucked into her knees like she’s rolled up into a little ball.
The bus engine chugs and the vehicle begins going forward again, the sound gaining Ari’s attention. Her head shoots up as we start to roll away, and I get a glimpse of her face. The bruise on the side of her chin from last week is fading, but it’s the look in her eyes that gets me. She’s scared.
And then I see why.
