Page 24 of Haunted

After first period, while everyone else is changing classes, I walk out the front doors and order an Uber on my phone. It costs eleven dollars I don’t really have. Nobody stops me. Nobody even looks up.

I let myself into the Broussards’ house with the key they gave me and stand in Lance’s bedroom for a long time.

The air mattress is still on the floor, the sheets tangled from last night. His room smells like him—deodorant and clean laundry.

I fold the sheets into a square and set them on the end of his bed. I pull the plug on the mattress and kneel on it to push the air out, and it makes a long flat sound like something giving up.

Then I go through what’s mine, which takes almost no time, because two weeks ago everything I owned burned.

The clothes go in the garbage bag. Three shirts from Target with the creases still in them. Jeans that are too big. The black pants I wore to bury my family. Socks Mrs. Broussard bought in a six-pack. The sweater Bree picked out because she said the color looked good on me.

In the bathroom I take the razor I’ve used twice, and the deodorant, and the green toothbrush with Kermit on the handle. I stand there with these things in my hand for a second. Then I put it in the front pocket of the backpack where it can’t get crushed, and I zip it shut.

I leave the shampoo, because it’s theirs. I leave the towel folded over the rail.

The drawing is still on his desk with a pencil laid across it to hold it flat—the one I gave him, the one he made me sign. He hasn’t got it framed yet. I stand there and look at it for a while, and then I leave it where it is.

That’s everything. Eighteen years, and it fits in a backpack and a garbage bag, and I carry both of them to the front door in one trip.

Then I sit at the dining table and write two notes.

The first one is for the family. I take my time with it.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Broussard, and Bree—

Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I will never forget your kindness. Aunt Shelley and I are going to figure things out together. I’m transferring to Central so I can be closer to her. Please don’t worry about me. I’m going to be okay.

Love, Parker

The second note is harder. I stare at the blank page for a long time. Then I write:

Lance—

I’m sorry. Please don’t come looking for me.

—P

I leave both notes on the table, weighted down with the salt shaker. I look around the kitchen one last time—the coffee pot, the coloring books on the counter, the fridge still crammed with neighbors’ casseroles—and I pick up my things.

I could still take it back. I could call Mrs. Banker at Farley and tell her I don’t want to transfer to Central. I could slide the notes out from under the salt shaker and tell Lance I felt sick and had to go home, and then nobody would ever know I almost left. I stand with my hand on the front doorknob and have to take three deep breaths and a small coughing fit before I can open it.

The bus stop is three blocks away. I sit on the bench with the garbage bag between my feet and my backpack in my lap. I pull up Aunt Shelley’s contact in my phone and start typing.

I left the Broussards. Can I come to you?

The dots come up. Then they stop. Then nothing at all for long enough that I start writing the second message, the one where I say never mind, forget it, I’ll work something out.

Aunt Shelley

Come. Right now. Don’t you dare go anywhere else.

The sun is warm on my face. I am so tired.

When the bus comes, I get on. Then I turn my phone off, because at three o’clock Lance is going to walk out of that building looking for me, and sometime after that he’s going to start calling, and for the first time since the fires, I won’t be the thing taking him apart.

Chapter nine

Lance