I’d just finished washing my hands and shut off the faucet when I heard the front door open downstairs. I poked my head out of the bathroom and watched as shadows crossed the living room.
“Come on,” my sister’s voice whispered.
“What about your parents?”
I didn’t know that voice, but it belonged to a boy.
“They’re heavy sleepers,” Gracie told him. “And we’ll sneak you out before they get up in the morning.”
“You sure?”
“You don’t want to?”
“No. Believe me, I do.”
The shadows weren’t crisp enough for me to make out what they were doing, but I knew what it sounded like when people kissed. Not from personal experience—just TV and some awkward encounters in the hallways at school—but that’s what my sister and this boy were doing at the bottom of the stairs.
I felt my cheeks heat up.
After a second, the kissing sounds stopped. Gracie giggled. “Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered.
I backed up and hid behind the bathroom door. I heard the lamp switch off, and a second later two sets of footsteps hurried up the stairs and past me, down the hall. There were a few more seconds of giggling before Gracie’s door shut with a soft latching sound.
I leaned against the wall for a minute, then pressed my fingers to my lips, wondering what it was like to be kissed, wondering if I’d ever find out. I’d been jealous of my sister a thousand times over the years—she was the one with perfect vision, the more popular one, the more confident one. But it was more than that.
Gracie stayed out late. Gracie had boyfriends. Gracie went to parties and was going to college.
Gracie was getting out of Mursey.
And I was gonna be stuck here forever.
We don’t drive too far, just across the county line and a few miles down the highway. I mean to go farther, but the adrenaline’s fading fast, and the late hour is catching up with me. There ain’t no way I’m driving this tired. Not with Agnes in the car.
I pull into the parking lot of the first hotel I see. A giant, glowing sign tells us it’s Sleepy’s Spot. It’s awful big, two stories, and seems as decent a place as any to catch a few hours of shut-eye.
“Where are we?” Agnes asks. She don’t sound a bit tired.
“Hotel,” I say. “Come on.”
“Shouldn’t we keep going? We can’t be far from home yet.”
“I’m too tired to keep driving,” I tell her. “Your parents won’t know you’re gone until morning, and nobody’s gonna be hunting for me this late. If they are, they won’t be looking outside Mursey yet. We got a few hours.”
Agnes clearly ain’t so sure about this, but she don’t argue. I get out of the car and unload Utah, who stretches and yawns before hopping out of the backseat.
“Grab our backpacks,” I tell Agnes. “Don’t bother with your cane. I’ll guide you in.”
She tosses her white cane, folded up into a bundle of sticks, onto the floorboard. Me and Utah walk around the car and wait until Agnes’s got one backpack slung over her shoulders and the other hanging from her right hand. I stare at the purple bag for a second, the one she brought with her.
“You didn’t bring your phone, did you?”
“Of course not. Just clothes and money—like you said.”
“All right. Just making sure.”
She holds out her left arm, and I step forward, letting her grip just above my elbow, the way she’d taught me.
We don’t say a word as we head across the parking lot, toward the automatic sliding doors of the hotel.
“Good evening,” says the man behind the desk, even though it’s several hours past evening, if you ask me. “How can I help y’all?”
“We need a room,” I say.
His eyes fall on Utah, and he stumbles backward, even though there’s a tall counter between us. Like he’s scared my dog, who’s wagging her tail so hard she could clear a coffee table, might maul him. I oughta not be so hard on him, though. German shepherds do have real sharp teeth. And he don’t know Utah would never use them.
He clears his throat. “Ah. Well, do you have a reservation?”
“No.”
“I see … How old are you two?”
“Seventeen. Why?”
“I’m sorry, girls.” But he don’t look too sorry to me. “We can’t let you rent a room from us.”
“Why the hell not?” I demand.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Well, for one thing, we don’t allow pets. But even if we did, all our guests are required to be at least twenty-one.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I’m afraid I’m not,” he says, and he sounds awful annoyed. Probably ain’t used to being cussed at by teenagers in the middle of the night. “And you’ll find that’s the case with most hotels in Kentucky. Now, if you have somewhere else to keep the dog and a parent or guardian who can—”
Me and Agnes are out the door before he can even finish that sentence.