Things We Didn't Say

Chapter 21

Dylan



Tiffany’s head is in my lap.

This is not really so great.

Because we’re in a mall and she’s asleep and my leg is going to sleep and we’ve been up all night and we’re not in New York City but Cleveland. I’m tired of dragging my sax case around, which is heavy enough even when I haven’t stuffed clothes in it, like it’s a suitcase.

Also? I’m hungry.

I wonder if this is how my dad felt when he married my mom, realizing he’d just made a huge mistake but it’s not like he can just erase it and start over.

My dad would never say it like that; even when they split up, he was always careful to not say anything bad about her, and to say that he never regretted a thing because he’s glad to have us. I bet some days he wishes he could wave a magic wand and have us, and Casey, too, but not our mom. I see what his face looks like when he talks to Mom, like he’s fifteen years older.

I look down at Tiffany and her hair has fallen over her face, so I brush it back. A security guard from the mall walks by, and he glares at us. He’s been by here, like, three times. I should wake her up.

I jiggle my leg a little, but she doesn’t move.

She started out kinda mad at me because I didn’t run into her arms and swing her around like something in a movie when I first saw her, but it wasn’t my fault I was surprised. She didn’t look anything like her picture, and I can’t be blamed for that because it isn’t her, and she admitted it right away. She didn’t think I’d like the real her.

I’m not gonna lie, the picture she sent was prettier. She’s a little heavy, for one thing, and she’s got some pimples that she covers up with this orangey makeup. But that’s not her fault, and anyway, I like her because we talk and the things we say, and that’s what I told her. And I hugged her and it was nice.

It was just a shock, you know? I can’t help being shocked. You get an idea in your head of somebody . . . Lucky for me I’ve learned to tell people just what they want to hear, so it’s mostly okay now.

Well, obviously it would be perfect if she looked super-hot in addition to being witty and funny and nice.

Trouble is, in person? In real time? She’s not as funny as she was over the computer.

Or maybe I’m just being an asshat because she doesn’t look like her picture.

I shake her awake by the shoulder before the security guard comes back to ask why we’re not in school. She sits back up, and I tell her we should walk like we have somewhere to go or we’re going to get hassled.

She nods, and we stand up and start walking, having to swing around the moms pushing kids in strollers and the old people walking with their white sneakers. I’m starting to feel like a neon sign is over our heads going, TEENAGERS NOT IN SCHOOL! RUNAWAYS!

“We should go somewhere else,” I say to her.

She slips her hand into mine. It feels clammy. I resist the urge to pull my hand away and wipe my palm off on my jeans.

“Where are we going to go? We’re out of money.” She pouts, like it’s my fault or something.

The bus station people wouldn’t sell us tickets, being underage, and I remember feeling annoyed with Tiffany because I thought she was going to plan ahead and buy them through the mail, like I did, where they can’t check ID.

We hung around until the bus station people started to look at us weird, and then we just started walking. We walked until we were so tired we couldn’t stand up and it got really cold and started snowing so we found a sheltered bus station bench and snuggled up as best we could, using my sax case as kind of a pillow, mostly so it wouldn’t get stolen. We had loads of time to study the bus lines and enough change for bus fare, so in the morning, we took a bus to the mall so we could eat at the food court and have somewhere warm to be.

But then we found out her wallet was missing, probably stolen on the bus, and I was going to ask her why she had it in her backpack where it was really easy to get into, instead of, say, in her front pocket.

But then I saw her lip was puckered out and her eyes were all teary.

I don’t think she’s actually sixteen, either. That’s what she said on Facebook, that she just turned sixteen. But she seems pretty young.

I spent my own cash already—I never had much, but Tiffany made it sound like she had tons. Now we have no money and no ride and it’s snowing really hard out there, too.

After the wallet got stolen I decided to call home with a calling card I bought for emergencies, since I wasn’t taking my phone. Tiffany was in the bathroom, and I called the first number that came to mind, Casey’s cell, the number I call if I need something during the day when Dad’s at work. But somehow my mom grabbed the phone and started screaming and then Tiffany came out of the bathroom and I didn’t want her to think I was chickening out so I hung up.

“I think we should hitch,” Tiffany says, now swinging my hand in hers, which annoys me. I stiffen my arm so she has to stop and she gives me this little hurt look through her hair.

“Yeah, and then we get hacked up into bits by some maniac. Good plan.”

“C’mon, there are two of us. We won’t get in someone’s car if they look crazy.”

“Not all psychopaths wander around drooling and rolling their eyes.”

“Okay, no droolers. That will narrow the choices.”

I allow a smile at this. “No, serious, Tiffany, we can’t. Have you seen the weather out there? W-w-w-we didn’t dress for standing by the side of the road sticking out a thumb. Someone would probably call the cops on us, an-n-n-yway.”

We walk a few more steps, and I test the waters with something. “You know, we could call your parents.”

She stops dead, forcing me to stop, too, by yanking on my hand.

“We can’t do that! It’s horrible, I can never go anywhere or do anything, I’m like a prisoner in that house. I had to escape.”

I look around to see if anyone heard that. A mother wheeling a stroller by gives us a long look.

“S-s-someone will hear you.”

Tiffany had told me all kinds of stories about how she was never allowed to go anywhere but school, the library, and church, and couldn’t even use the phone unless her dad was in the same room listening, and her only Internet access was taken away when he found out she was talking to me. She had to change her e-mail address and send me messages through Facebook and Gmail at the library when she was supposed to be studying. He took away her phone, too, when he found out she’d been sneaking calls to me.

She said she had actual bars on the windows, and a lock on the outside of her room that he threatened to use if she disobeyed.

This all sounded pretty bad.

And she talked about running away alone, and I didn’t want her to do that and get abducted and murdered. So she said I could come with her. At first I thought that was a bad idea, but then school every day was awful, and I had no friends at my old school anymore either, then Angel and my dad and Casey started fighting all the time. I couldn’t even breathe, it felt like. My stammer got worse, and some kids at EXA started mocking it.

Tiffany started talking about freedom, and it all sounded so . . . free.

But she also sent me a picture of a model instead of her face, and told me she was older than I think she really is.

“I’m hungry, anyway,” I tell her, stalling. “Let’s try to find something to eat.”

“With what?”

I sigh. I hadn’t wanted to do this, but I’m running out of options. “I’ve got my dad’s credit card.”

She lights up like fireworks. “You do! That’s great! Let’s go to T.G.I. Friday’s!”

I shake my head. “We can’t go anywhere where they have time to really look at the card and ask for ID and stuff. We should probably, like, walk to a convenience store and just buy some food where I can just swipe the card and scribble something on the paper. A gas station, someplace like that where they won’t care.”

She nods. “Okay, fine, a gas station. Then we’ll hitch. Really, it’ll be fine. My cousin used to do this all the time, my mom’s cousin I mean?” She says that last part in a rush because she’d already talked about not having cousins, back in our first days writing to each other. “He said a couple can get away with it, no problem.”

Outside the mall doors, through the blowing snow, I see the glowing sign of a gas station across the busy street.

“Well,” I tell her as we turn to walk into the storm. “I guess. But I think we should go someplace warmer than New York. Florida or something.”

“Oooooh!” she exclaims, skipping across rows of snow in the parking lot, raising her voice to be heard over the wind. “Disney World!”

Yeah, right. Hey, kid, you just ran away from home with no money and no car, where are you gonna go now?

Whatever, I’m freezing. Maybe hitching isn’t so bad, if we’re careful.