“What are you headed to Thatch for?” he asked, and his tone held a hint of something other than curiosity. It sounded like worry, but that didn’t make sense; he didn’t know me in order to worry about me. When I looked at him again, he’d let the dog into his car and had his door open, but he continued to stand there watching me.
It took me a few seconds to think of the best response, and from his face it was a few seconds too long. “I’m going back to Thatch. I’m not supposed to be here.”
The man thought for a minute, then sighed. “Look, kid, if you were one of my students, I would call your parents and wait with you until they showed. But you’re not, and I’m already running late to get to my fiancée’s house—which is just on the other side of Thatch.”
I wanted to tell him he couldn’t be more than a few years older than me, but decided to keep my mouth shut and waited.
“If you can promise me, and I mean really promise me, that you’ll maybe reconsider whatever it is you’ve been doing that you would need to find a ride back to Thatch, I’ll give you a ride there.”
As long as it got me out of this neighborhood and as far away from Collin as I could get right now, I would promise him anything. “I promise.”
He gestured toward his car, and when I walked toward it, he held his hands up. “I mean, I know grown-ups aren’t cool, and parents are the least cool of them all, but they usually know what they’re talking about.”
I nodded, not knowing what else to do or say, and paused outside the passenger door. “Um, I’m wet. I was . . . thrown into a pool with my clothes on.”
“The seats will be fine,” he said after only a second to consider. I could tell by his body language that he was anxious to start driving.
Once we were driving out of the neighborhood, he began talking again. “This is Spartacus,” he said, gesturing toward the Rottweiler who was sniffing and licking the jacket I was wearing. “I’m Max, but I guess that’s weird since everyone your age calls me Mr. Farro.”
“Low,” I responded, my voice still too hoarse to sound normal. When it looked like he was waiting for me to finish speaking, I clarified, “My name is Low.”
He made a noise in the back of his throat. “Interesting name.”
“Thank you so much for doing this.”
Max waved off my thanks. “Just consider what I said. Things seem fun at the time, and it can be fun and exciting to rebel, but you can end up regretting it. Trust me, I’ve been there before—and I have to see it all the time with my students.”
Again, I didn’t know how to respond to that. “I’m sorry, but may I use your phone?” I didn’t know how to tell him I didn’t know where I was going; I also didn’t know how I was going to explain it once we got into Thatch, but I needed to let Knox know I was coming.
After debating for a few seconds, he reached into his pocket and pulled a phone out. “Don’t go calling your boyfriend or anything. Call your parents, or someone who can help you out tonight.”
Despite the afternoon and evening that had been weighing me down, I smiled to myself. He talked like a grandpa who thought he needed to make sure I went down the right path in life. If I weren’t covered in blood and bruises, I would’ve given anything to see his reaction if I pulled off my hood. “Of course,” I murmured.
After dialing Knox’s number, I held my breath while it rang and rang, and my stomach sank when his voice mail eventually picked up. No. No, I need to get to you, I don’t know how to find you! I hung up and tried again, but got the same result. This time I left a short, direct message.
“It’s Low, I’ll be in Thatch soon.”
I hung up and reluctantly handed Max’s phone back to him. I hoped his phone would ring sometime on the drive, but it didn’t. So I sat there worrying over how I was going to find Knox, and what was going to happen with my family and Collin, while letting Spartacus lick my borrowed jacket and listening to Max talk about the history class he taught at Hanford High School.
“Where to?” Max asked when we entered Thatch.
“Uh . . .” I looked around, not knowing what to do. Thatch was a small town—incredibly small—but I still couldn’t go door-to-door. That would take forever, and again, would probably result in police. “You can just drop me off here,” I suggested as we came up on a few shops.
“Are you sure?” Max asked, his tone disapproving. He was in grandpa mode again. Mid-twenties going on sixty.
“Yes, I’d prefer it, if you don’t mind.”
With a heavy sigh, Max pulled his car over. He sent me a wary glance and once again tried to look in my hood. “You keep yourself safe, get yourself home, and thank your parents for being so awesome.”
I cracked another smile I knew he couldn’t see. “Of course. Thank you, Max.”
“That’s Mr. Farro to you,” he said, his voice teasing.
I stumbled out of his car, and tried to gain my footing as quickly as possible without showing any more signs of how dizzy or uncomfortable I was. I couldn’t tell if my head was bleeding anymore, but it had bled enough, and now that I was standing again, everything was tilting to the side—making me feel like I was drunk.