Page 133 of Maladaptive

The bell rings, and I barely touch my sandwich. We pack up our belongings, and I place the sandwich in my bag and shrug my bag over my shoulders. While Conner and I head towards our art class, Dylan and Sammy attend their culinary class.

My hand grips his, and we walk in silence. Both of us have a lot on our minds. It’s more than likely the same thing—why is my dad hovering around the outside of my school? Maybe what Conner says is accurate, and Dad is worried I will run away once I turn eighteen, and Dad knows the police wouldn’t care because I am of legal age. Therefore, he’s doing everything he can to stop that from happening.

However, wouldn’t he tie me up in my bedroom if that were the case? No, he can’t do that… not anymore. He knows how close I am to my friends. Tying me up won’t do anything but make him look even more guilty. I’m seeing my dad’scapabilities as a police officer for the first time, and he directs all his focus on me.

“We might need to change our plans,” Conner whispers while we draw in our art books.

My grip tightens on my pencil.

“If your dad is watching you at school, our only chances are you sneak out at work or…” His eyes darken.

“Or?” I persist.

“You find an opportunity at home and run for it.”

I hiss out a harsh breath.

“It’s scary, I know. But your dad has ill intentions, and I… I am worried he might do something reckless the longer you stay there.” His hand touches my thigh, and he squeezes gently. “Don’t worry about Friday. Any chance you get, even if it’s tonight, take it. Go somewhere and hide. When you feel like it’s safe, call me, and I will pick you up from there.”

“I’m scared,” I admit.

“We could go to the police about it if you wanted?”

I shake my head vigorously. “No. My dad is sneaky and persuasive. They won’t do anything.”

“Not all of them are bad, Noya. If you’re scared for your life, going to the police is the smartest option.”

“Your mum filed a report against my parents when she was my therapist,” I blurt. Conner stops drawing. His eyes widen, and his face drains of colour. “And I’m still here. I will try the work one first. Dad can’t have eyes on the store’s front and back. I can sneak around the back if you meet me there. We do that tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Tonight is the night I finally take back my life.”

After art, I head to the drama room while Conner heads to the front of the school. My nerves are overwhelming as I clenchmy hands, feeling the nervous sweat build up in my palms of my hands.

Sammy is already in the room. She stands abruptly, but then sags her shoulders when she notices it’s only me. I sit beside her, and we speak briefly. We are both nervous wrecks, which inevitably makes me feel guilty for bringing Sammy and Dylan into my mess. It’s not something I wanted to place on them, and now here we are, waiting for Dylan and Conner to come back with any news. They told us they would spend half of lunch before heading back here.

“Can I ask you something, Noya?” Sammy says, scratching at her glittery black fingernails.

“Sure.”

“Is there a reason your dad doesn’t want you to leave home?”

I bite my lip. I expected this question. This year, Sammy often complains that her parents want her out of the house as soon as she hits eighteen. They say things such as, “I can’t wait until you’re eighteen and can leave”, or “Did you figure out what university you want to apply to? Don’t forget to go on the list for a dorm room,” or “When you’re eighteen, you won’t be my responsibility anymore.” Sammy laughs it off, telling me her parents are joking, but I see the hurt in her eyes whenever she talks about it to Dylan.

If these were different circumstances, I could tell she’d be envious that my parents wanted me to stay forever.

“I’m not really sure,” I admit with a frown. “Some part of me thinks he doesn’t want to be alone. I’ve never asked.”

“You were too afraid to ask?”

I nod.

Sammy sighs while leaning her head against my shoulder. “At least you have us, and… I also have all of you.” She breathes a laugh. “To be honest, Noya, if I didn’t have you in Year Eight, I don’t know where I’d be.”

“Same,” I agree.

She raises her pinky finger. “Best friends forever.”