Chapter 15
I’m not sure what to do once I close the door to my room.
Hide is my first instinct, but what’s the point in that when I’ve already been caught?
All I want is to dig myself into a hole or find some other way to disappear.
Anything that’ll take away the guilt and panic gnawing inside me.
All the feelings I’d plugged up on the drive up here—about Mami, about sneaking out, about myself—come bubbling back to the surface.
Now, I’m willing to be honest with myself.
To confess that I’m barely keeping my head above water—that I’m so out of my element here that I might as well be on a different planet.
Even the few moments spent with Kai can’t outshine the fear pulsing through me.
My skin still burns where Carla yanked me.
I can still feel the vibration of Kiki’s stomps as she closed the distance between us—feel the chill from the iciness of her voice.
I don’t belong here. And it was a mistake ever thinking that I could.
It’s too late now for me to go home tonight, though, so I focus on what I came up here for in the first place. I amble over to the edge of the bed and find my phone buried at the bottom of my bag. The extra light source will be helpful, but my thumb hesitates over the power button.
Worst-case scenario, Mami realized I was missing and my phone will be flooded with calls and texts from her the second I power it back on. While the thought of facing Carla and Kiki again makes me feel like I’d be walking directly into the sun, facing Mami feels just as terrifying.
It might soften the blow—talking to her over the phone instead of in person.
Explaining why I left and how sorry I am.
I can only imagine the grounding she’ll hit me with once I’m home on Sunday.
Not that it really matters—I never went anywhere to begin with.
But I know I won’t call her either way. Because the truth is: I don’t want to admit defeat.
Not to her. Admitting it to myself is one thing, but telling Mami she was right to be so protective is something else entirely.
It means even less freedom, for me and for Mikey.
A confirmation that her worst fears were founded in truth: that when we stray, we get hurt.
That it’s not worth having friends when our family are the only people we can trust.
Kai may have felt like my one shot at a normal teenage life.
But the world is bigger than Millcreek. There’s no money for me to go to college, but I don’t need an education to start somewhere new.
Somewhere far away where no one knows my name or thinks they know my story.
I know after this weekend Mami will be reluctant to ever let me leave the house again, but at least there’s a chance she’d let me leave someday. Once I’ve learned my lesson.
But not if she knows she was right.
The best thing I can hope for is that Kai and Timothy will get the lights back on and I can white-knuckle my way through the rest of the weekend. Avoid giving Kiki and Carla more reasons to be upset with me while I keep their secret.
I wince from the harsh white light of the phone coming to life.
I’m not sure whether to be relieved or concerned when I’m not met with a flurry of messages.
My phone is as barren as a desert most days, and tonight is no exception.
Either Mami hasn’t realized I’ve gone yet, or she has and just can’t reach me thanks to the glaring NO SERVICE message in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.
Well, even if I wanted to bail it doesn’t look like I could escape anytime soon.
After flicking on the flashlight, I hesitate on my home screen. I stare at the red notification over the phone icon. The voicemail Mikey left earlier. Should I listen? I scan the room like the answer might be written on the eggshell-white walls, but ultimately I give in to my curiosity.
It can’t be anything major if he didn’t keep calling and texting.
Especially if Mami didn’t follow up with calls of her own.
It’s probably just another warning to be back on time, or a threat to hold this over my head unless I do his homework for a week.
I’ve nearly convinced myself that I should just delete the voicemail when the message begins to play.
The volume so unexpectedly loud it makes me drop my phone.
But the speaker doesn’t have to be pressed to my ear for me to hear the panic in Mikey’s voice. I don’t even pick it back up as I kneel down on the carpet beside the phone, his voice—and his fear—coming through loud and clear.
He’s rambling too quickly for me to catch what he’s saying at first—something about trouble—only to trail off for so long I wonder if he forgot to hang up the phone. But there’s no mistaking what he says when his voice does come back—low and desperate and as afraid as the night those boys died.
You’re not safe there.