12. Coraline
12
CORALINE
The golden girls and I link elbows as we skip down the empty sidewalk, riding the post-concert high. Ears ringing, body sticky with sweat, and hearts full of laughter. The night air is cool against my flushed skin, a refreshing contrast to the heat of the crowd.
Sophie’s laughter echoes off the brick buildings nearby. This part of town is bustling during the day, while Grand Avenue sits quietly on their little hilled lot. But at night, everything changes. The historic building is a beacon of light and noise, while the surrounding blocks are asleep.
I almost wonder if it was design or luck—having such a large concert venue surrounded by parking lots and businesses. Nothing residential for a six-block radius.
“Damn, Cora, why did you have to park a million blocks away?” Blanche whines, laying her head on Addy’s shoulder.
I slide a glance toward her feet. “Babe, I say this with love, but you need to leave the heels at home next time. I’m honestly surprised you haven’t broken an ankle yet.”
“We tried to tell her,” Sophie says with a huff.
Addie chimes in and says, “But you know what she always says . . .”
“Fashion over function,” Sophie and Addie say at the same time.
Blanche pouts, stumbling over an uneven sidewalk stone. “That’s it. I’m moving in with Cora.”
I laugh, not only because the idea is humorous. But there’s no way any of them will ever leave one another. They have too much fun together.
“I already have three roommates, remember?” I droll, shaking my head.
“Yeah, but we’d be so much better,” Blanche sing-songs. “Plus, they’re like never home. You must be lonely.”
She’s not wrong but I don’t mind it really. Sure, we’re not as tight as the golden girls are, but we also don’t have blowups about Tupperware and cleaning.
“ We ? Who’s we ? I’m not leaving our flat,” Sophie sputters with a laugh.
“Same. Sorry, Blanche. We’ll visit though,” Addie adds, holding a giggle back behind her hand.
I roll my lips inward and glance at Blanche. “Sure, you can share my four-bedroom flat with me and my three roommates. But you can’t bring your shoe collection because my place is trash for closets.”
Blanche tips her head toward the sky and lets out the biggest sigh, like she’s put out by all of us. And it’s exactly the thing to push us into full-on laughter.
We’re still giggling when my car comes into view, right where I left her. Parked under a street lamp in front of a sub shop.
I slow my gait. “This is me, gals. Thanks for walking me all this way.”
“Of course. Buddy system, remember?” Sophie says, leaning in for a hug.
The other girls take their own hugs after Sophie, but none of them leave until I’m safely inside my car. I wiggle my fingers in a wave and smile.
Tiredness weighs my shoulders down a little bit, but it’s the good kind of tired. I buckle my seatbelt and glance at my phone. I have a few unread texts from Harper and two texts and a missed call from my sister.
“Jesus,” I mutter, noting the time. I’m not going to get home until one o’clock in the morning. My internal clock is weeping. I’ve been getting up before the sun for so many years that sometimes I can’t sleep in even when I want to. When I desperately need it.
But I can still disco nap like a champion, so I’ll always have that.
With a sigh, I slide my key in the ignition and twist it. Instead of the low purr of my engine, I hear a ticking noise.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
I ease up on the key and the ticking stops. I try to start it again, and the noise returns.
I repeat this process another two times, which is honestly three more than I should have. I’m not mechanically inclined, but my brother Beau is. And I know enough to know that sound isn’t good.
“Fuck me,” I mutter, banging my head against the top of the steering wheel. I slide my key out and drop it in the available cup holder.
My heart sinks as I grab my phone to call one of my brothers for help. My car has never given me trouble before, and I’m not sure I can afford for it to be a problem now. I’ve sunk almost everything I have into the bakery.
They’ll be annoyed, but it’s better than trying to call my parents. At least my brothers are usually awake at this time. And they do live in Avalon Falls, so it’s like why wouldn’t I call them?
Graham or Beau?
My lips twist to the side as I hedge my bets and click on Beau’s photo. Except nothing happens. It’s silent. I pull my phone back from my ear and quickly realize the problem.
I don’t have any service. Zero bars and less than ten percent battery. That ten percent will last me awhile still, so I’m not too worried about that, but the lack of service is going to be a real problem.
I worry my bottom lip and try to clear my frustration away to figure out what the hell I’m going to do now. Leaning forward, I peer out of my windshield and look for the golden girls. Maybe if I’m quick enough, I can catch up to them.
But I don’t see them. I don’t see anyone around.
“Shit.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and try the oldest—and maybe silliest-looking—trick in the no-service book: I stretch out as far as I can, holding my screen in various places around the car to see if I get lucky and get a spot of service. It only takes a few moments for me to realize that this isn’t working.
With a huff, I shuffle out of my car and continue the same thing, moving around the car, onto the sidewalk—even in the middle of the street. Nothing is helping. I’m walking down the yellow dotted line that separates the two lanes, arm extended and face turned toward the screen when I hear footsteps and the low murmur of conversation.
I pivot on the ball of my foot, my boots squeaking against the ground in protest. Any vestiges of hope plummet to the Earth in a fiery crash when instead of a nice old lady it’s a group of people. They look like every cliche villain in an ’80s or ’90s movie. A handful of hulking figures—most likely men—cast long shadows as they amble down the sidewalk. Though I admit I can’t see them too well. The moon is a waning crescent, so she doesn’t provide enough light. And while I parked my car under a street lamp—the next one isn’t for another hundred feet.
And I’m standing exactly in the center, shrouded in shadows.
“Fuck,” I whisper. I clutch my phone in my hand and balance my weight better. I’m trying to remember everything my older brother taught me about self-defense. But it’s like every thought has emptied from my brain right now. All I can think of is how he hammered in the number one thing I should do if I’m in an unwinnable situation: run.
But the problem is that I don't have anywhere to run. I’m essentially trapped by the time. I could hide . . . except that I’m in a part of Avalon Falls that doesn’t have a whole lot of greenery. For a town that’s named after their waterfall and known for their lush parks, most of the town is rather . . . dry. Maples with skinny-trunks dot the sidewalk sporadically—definitely not wide enough to hide behind. No bushes or shrubbery. If I was closer to the venue, I might be okay. But that’s five blocks away.
“You lost, girlie?” a male voice shouts.
“Goddamnit,” I hush out under my breath. Maybe if I don’t answer they’ll just move along.
Maybe they’re harmless. Just a group of kind, do-gooder men who are out for drinks and decided to walk home because it’s such a nice night. I nod my head, like I’m agreeing with my own hopeful assessment.
“Yo, you hard of hearin’ or somethin’?” another voice yells, this one deeper.
My body breaks out into a cold sweat, dampening the back of my neck and blooming underneath my armpits. I shake out my arms a little, wiggling my fingers as best I can while still clutching my phone.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine,” I whisper to myself. It started out as a silly joke I said with Evangeline, but over the years, it’s turned into a sort of mantra. Sometimes it’s ironic and every once in a while, it feels a little bit like a prayer. Like right now.
Except I’m not fine, because they finally noticed me. And there’s no way in hell that I’ll make it back to my car before they reach me. But it’s the only play I have.
I exhale and start power-walking toward my car, keeping my focus on it like my life depended on it. I know my family teases me for being a little dramatic sometimes, but right now, it really does feel like my life depends on me reaching my car in time.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears, a quick, thumping beat in time with the way my boots hit the pavement. I keep my pace brisk, but I don’t run. Because someone once told me that it’s natural to chase things when they run, and I am not trying to be chased today.
I’m halfway there when hope blossoms under my breastbone like a tiny, fragile flower. I’m going to make it.
Ten feet away when the group of men head in my direction like a pack of wild animals. They’re laughing and bumping into each other. One guy even shoves another off the sidewalk and into the street.
Five feet away when one guy peels away from the rest. He jogs toward me, and that hope curdles, curling into itself and plummeting into my gut like a stone.
He steps into my path, and I rock back on my heels. My head snaps back and I glare at my ex-boyfriend for the second time tonight.