Will ignored my question and glanced around, his eyes narrowed. “You need to hurry. There’s not much daylight left.”
“I can’t change in front of you,” I whispered and he moved away from me without a word, his back to me as he bent over the backpack he held in his hands. As he rummaged through it, I watched him for a while to make sure he wasn’t going to turn around.
“Hurry, Katie,” he urged and I tore my dirty, ripped shirt off, letting it fall to the floor before I tugged his T-shirt over my head. It was too big, the sleeves hitting me at my elbows, the hem about mid-thigh, swallowing up the stained and grungy shorts I wore. I stood on shaky legs, nearly stumbling to the ground because my knees felt like they would give out.
He turned and rushed toward me to grip my elbow, and I jerked out of his touch. “I’m fine,” I muttered, my skin burning where his fingers brushed against my skin. It wasn’t a bad burn. More like this tingling electricity that felt like a shock to my system.
I didn’t understand it.
“I thought you were going to fall,” he murmured, his head bent as he looked at me, black strands of hair tumbling across his forehead. Yet again I thought the color completely unnatural and I studied him, really studied him, trying to figure him out.
He wore a black T-shirt. Plain. Faded black skinny jeans, and the most scuffed-up black Vans I’d ever seen covered his feet. His left ear was pierced with a thin silver hoop, and so was the right side of his lip. He was all black, from head to toe, one long, lean line, with hair hanging in his eyes and a defiant expression on his face. He reminded me of the emo kids I went to school with, though he wasn’t pale like they usually were. And he had muscles. His arms weren’t bulging but his biceps were defined. He looked strong.
Almost intimidating.
“We need to leave,” he said firmly, his gaze meeting mine. He sounded like a man, what with that deep voice, but from the look on his face, the nervousness in his gaze, I could see he was really just a kid.
Just like me.
I paused, unsure if I should go with him, and he saw it. Must’ve seen the reluctance in my gaze and when our gazes clashed, I confessed, “I’m scared.”
His expression faltered for the smallest moment. I don’t think he knew exactly what to do with me. “You can’t be scared, Katie. You have to be brave. You have to come with me.”
I wanted to. I really did. “What if he finds us? What will he do?”
The determination that firmed his jaw made him look more manlike. Not so much a kid any longer. “He won’t do anything to you. I won’t let him.”
“You promise?” I asked for too much but I needed to hear the words. Needed the reassurance.
His gaze was solemn. “I promise.”
I wanted to believe him. I needed someone to believe in to get me out of here. So I was putting all my faith in him. I had to.
There was no other choice.
Without hesitation he turned and headed toward the shed door. I followed after him, trying my best to keep up, the mostly empty water bottle still clutched in my hand. He took my other hand to help me down the rickety wooden steps, his long fingers clutched around mine, and I winced when the rough edges of the wood scraped the soles of my tender feet.
“You need shoes,” he murmured, reaching for his magical backpack. He pulled out a pair of bright orange Old Navy flip-flops, the cheap ones you can get for under five dollars. “I found these.” I wondered who they might have belonged to.
It didn’t matter, though. Now they belonged to me.
I slipped them on and though they were a little big, they’d work just fine. He smiled at me. This lopsided, closed-mouth curve of lips that was there and gone, all in a fleeting moment. Then with a flick of his head, he indicated without a word that he wanted me to follow him. I did. I fell into step behind him as we made our escape from the backyard, passing the lone carousel horse propped in the corner of the fence.
“Is that your horse?” I asked him, wanting to know if he lived there. How he played a role in this moment, this situation.
He paused, his head turning toward the horse, a faraway look crossing his face. “Yeah. I found it in a dumpster not far from the park.”
The park. The amusement park. It was close. Closer than I thought.
“They usually sell them. Auction them off. People like to buy them. It’s like buying a memory, a piece of happiness from their childhood,” he continued, and I studied him. Wondered if this horse represented a piece of happiness from his childhood. Though he was still a child, too. Older than me, but definitely not an adult yet.