“Her name is Ali,” I correct. I don’t like how all my bandmates have taken to calling her “the deaf girl,” especially since I think they picked up the habit from me. But I was wrong to ever call her that. She’s more than just a girl, more than a deaf person. She’s a person with a name, someone who lives and breathes and . . . feels.
“Whatever. Ali can come.” Arrow points an accusing finger at me. “But if she messes things up, I’m blaming you. We’ll all blame you.”
“I’ll take full responsibility,” I say.
“Good.” Then Arrow frowns. “We’re leaving in just a couple hours. When’s she going to join us?”
“She’s meeting me at ten. But as far as anyone else knows, she’s not going to be here at all. This is between you and me and the band. No one else can know.”
Arrow stares at me blankly for a long moment. Then he shakes his head and says, “She’s in deep shit, isn’t she? I mean, it’s not like we’ve never broken the law before, but this is . . . different.”
“Yeah, I know. But she needs help, and I’m not just going to ditch her.”
Arrow nods slowly and chews at his lip, considering this. Then he asks, “Does Tony know about this?”
“Tony would never let her come. He’d be too worried it would cause a publicity scandal.”
“So then he doesn’t know.”
“No.”
Arrow stands up and gently clasps his hand on my shoulder. I flinch at the unwelcome warmth of his hand, but for once, I don’t pull back.
“You realize Tony would be right, don’t you?” Arrow says. “If someone figures out you’re hiding away an underage girl in your RV, it’ll cause a scandal for sure. The media isn’t going to care that you’re barely a year older than her. They’ll label you as an adult and her as a little girl, and your reputation will be ruined.”
“I know.”
“And you’re still sure you want her to come?”
“Totally and completely sure.”
He nods and lets his hand fall away. “Then just tell me how I can help.”
12
ALI
I’M PRETTY SURE my legs are going to fall off before I make it to Jace. Between the scalding hot sidewalk and the rub of my poorly fitted sneakers, my feet feel like they’ve been through a meat grinder. Three miles hadn’t sounded so bad the night before, when I made my final escape plans: take dad’s old car, drive it to a café downtown, and then walk a couple miles to the stadium. Easy peasy.
Plus, the café is right next to a bus stop, so when my dad eventually finds his missing car, he’ll hopefully be convinced I hopped a bus. I’m crossing my fingers he won’t search too hard for me, but I know it’s useless to be so optimistic. During his law enforcement career, he frequently helped find kids who ran from their homes. If he doesn’t launch a full-out search for me, it would look suspicious, and risk ruining his carefully maintained reputation.
Under the heat of the sun, walking those three miles felt like a marathon. Somehow, I made it to the stadium without my legs completely cramping up, and as best I can tell, no one followed me. But now all I want to do is curl up in a ball and never move again. I’m dizzy from walking, my stomach is still sore from throwing up my breakfast earlier, and I’m sure my face is all puffy from lack of sleep.
I’m a total mess. Jace is probably going to take back his offer when he sees me.
I take a shuddering breath, trying to quell the thought, and push on. I’ve already jumped the back gate leading into the stadium, like Jace instructed me to do last night. Did he have to be so vague? Come in the back way over the fence. I’ll be waiting. He didn’t even mention that the gate is like eight feet tall. Thank god for Avery and all those tree-climbing lessons she gave me when we were little.
I heave my duffle bag into a more comfortable position. My muscles ache in protest, and I glance down at my bag. Even though I can feel it tugging at my arms, I’m still terrified I’m going to lose it. It’s all I have; I didn’t want to bring more than one bag in case someone got suspicious and stopped me on my walk over here.
What I’d been able to fit in the duffle isn’t nearly enough to last me four months, but it will have to do. Besides, I have the money I’ve been saving for the past few years: eight hundred and twenty-eight dollars, and thirty-seven cents. Not much, but at least it’s something. Plus, I have Jace’s check stuffed in the bottom of the bag. I haven’t cashed it yet—he’s already doing enough for me at the moment. But it’s my backup plan in case Jace loses interest in helping me.
Just a few hundred yards to go. I can see a mass of RVs and trailers parked in the distance, heat shimmering around their tires, people scurrying around as they load up equipment. A drop of sweat falls into my eyes, and I adjust my grip on the bag so I can scrub it away.