Page 27 of Dotted Lines (Runaway 5)

And there were only three days left.

The hope I had of seeing him again after we left this place was dwindling like the numbers on the truck’s wall.

I struggled to find any excitement at all for Las Vegas. For the first time, I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to leave here and leave him.

Regardless, I’d packed. Aria and I were both preparing to leave. Ready or not, time was running out, and I had to move on with my life. Most of what we’d done today had been to organize our belongings.

We’d be taking a bus to Vegas. Four days ago, we’d gone to the station to ask about tickets and get the schedule. There would be room enough for us to each take two backpacks. Today, I’d packed the keepers and set out the clothes I was leaving behind. I’d be wearing them for the next three days, like my shirt today. It was a favorite but the hem was frayed and there was a hole in the armpit. Aria and I had decided that wrinkled jeans and tattered shirts were worth wearing now, so that when the time came, we were loaded to leave with our best stuff.

“Come smell me.” Aria emerged from the maze, her hair wet and a towel looped over her arm.

“Why am I smelling you?”

“Because I smell awesome.” She smiled and came close, putting an arm around my shoulders.

I scrunched up my nose. “You did use soap, didn’t you?”

“Huh?” She stepped back and sniffed her underarm.

I giggled. “Kidding. You smell great.”

“It’s that new shampoo I got at the dollar store. I love that it smells like a flower. From now on, that’s going to be my smell.”

“Flowers?”

She nodded. “Yup.”

“Good choice.” My favorite smell was orange and vanilla. It reminded me of Creamsicles, the ones Dad used to buy us on hot summer days from an ice cream truck. But I still hadn’t found a soap that smelled just right. Probably because there were only so many options at the dollar store. Maybe when I had a job and some money, I could go to a beauty store and buy my smell.

“What do you want to do for dinner?” Aria asked, hanging up her towel on our “hook.” It was just a hinge in the truck door, but it worked.

“Should we have peanut butter and honey sandwiches? Or honey and peanut butter sandwiches?”

“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “Peanut butter and honey is fancier than honey and peanut butter, and I’m feeling fancy tonight.”

“Then allow me to cook for you, madam.”

“And fetch me our best champagne.”

“But of course.” I feigned a bow and hopped into the truck, going to the food stash. With our one and only butter knife, I made us each a sandwich.

“Is Karson back?” Aria asked, taking a bite after handing me a bottle of lukewarm water.

“Yeah. He came over when you were in the shower. She was there again today.”

“Bitch,” she muttered.

“Has he said anything to you?”

Aria shook her head. “No. But he doesn’t talk to me like he talks to you.”

“I might make him a sandwich. See if he’s okay.”

“Fine by me. This bread is about done anyway.” There was no mold, but the crust was hard and dry.

We ate in comfortable silence and when I was done, I made Karson’s sandwich. When I left, Aria was settled on her bed with a book on her lap, braiding her hair into a long rope.

A nervous flutter settled in my belly as I walked toward Karson’s tent. The flap on the door was open but I knocked on the wall anyway. “Hey. It’s me.”