Chapter 16
Ibent over the sewing machine in my room, trying to line up the hem on my skirt.
I’d pinned it all the way around, but with how shaky my hands were, it wouldn’t have surprised me if I screwed it up somehow.
As soon as I’d gotten home from school, I’d taken Rosie’s advice and picked out the busiest print skirt in my collection and had taken scissors to it.
Mom would’ve had a heart attack if she saw the amount I cut off, but it’d almost felt like how it did when I chopped my hair—exciting, freeing.
Best of all, working on this kept my thoughts busy.
Now, though, with a cut-up skirt on my sewing machine and my plans for tonight looming closer and closer, I was busy contemplating how much I really wanted to die at sixteen.
Sneak out. How had I planned to do that, again?
It wasn’t like I could waltz out the front door.
There was no way I could leave my bedroom window open—it faced the street, and I could just imagine nosy Mrs. Jasper calling Dad, asking about it.
I wanted to throw my hands up and say well, what a bummer, and tuck myself in like I hadn’t planned anything, but I had no way to contact Hudson and call it all off. We never exchanged numbers.
I pressed a button on my cell phone to look at the time. Nine-oh-eight. He’d be waiting soon.
My foot let up on the pedal and I clicked the machine off, rocking into my seat.
It wasn’t like I was going to be out all night—this wasn’t the all-nighter we were pulling.
I knew what I had to do; it was just putting the plan into motion that had me uneasy.
I looked down at the puckered skin of my palm.
The scrape from the gravel wasn’t deep, but it left the skin tender, and I’d been able to take the bandage off the first night after the antiseptic seeped in.
It was a wincing reminder, like Hudson had said, that actions had consequences.
And I had a feeling that this action’s consequence would be major if it was ever found out.
I finished the rest of the hem at nine-twelve and left my room to lock myself in the bathroom. My reflection showcased my wide, wild eyes. This was a bad idea, and the risk versus reward had me asking myself if this was really worth it.
Except the more I tried to convince myself to stay home, the more unsettled I felt.
As I stared my reflection down in the mirror, the background of the bathroom became clearer, and my gaze focused on something behind me.
It was covered by thick curtains, but it was an obvious beacon—the window.
It was a window that faced our fenced-in backyard, where no Nosy Mrs. Jasper could see an open window, where Mom or Dad wouldn’t notice if it was cracked, just an inch.
My escape route.
My bare feet squeaked on the wooden floor as I turned the corner to my bedroom, and they squeaked again when I ground to a halt over the threshold. “Where’s the fire?” Mom asked from where she leaned against my bedpost.
I frantically looked toward my sewing machine, but the fabric of the skirt was so bunched up that it was impossible to tell how long it was. Or, really, how short it was.
Breathe. My heart didn’t seem like it wanted to quiet down. I forced myself to not look at the clock. “I saw a spider.” Lie. It was such a bald-faced one that I couldn’t believe Mom didn’t call me out for it. Small words or big, lies were lies. That was what she should’ve said.
But she didn’t. “Are you going to bed early?”
It was a little before my normal bedtime, but not by much. I looked down at my pajamas. “I, ah, don’t feel good. I was thinking about turning in early.”
Okay, spoken with a bit more hesitation than I’d initially planned for. I added a fake cough for good measure.
“Landon said he wasn’t feeling good either,” she said as I came closer, and she reached out for me, laying the backs of her fingers on my cheek. “Hmm, you do feel a little feverish.”
Wait, Landon beat me to that excuse? Was Mom suspicious because both of us were sick? Was he actually sick? I fisted the edge of my nightgown, swallowing hard. “Maybe it’s just being overtired. The back-to-school season…it’s starting to hit me.”
“Maybe we should all go to bed early, huh? It’s the middle of the week, and it’d be a great time to recharge our batteries.
” She nodded her chin gently toward my covers, and I followed her instruction, climbing in.
“I think you should braid your hair for bed. It’s such a tangled mess in the morning. ”
“I’ll try not to toss and turn so much,” I promised her, the scent of lavender tickling my nose. “Did you wash my sheets?”
“I did.” Mom beamed and sat on the side of my bed.
I could feel where her body pressed into the mattress.
It was how she used to sit when I was a little girl, smoothing my hair off my forehead as the movement lulled me to sleep.
Now, though, she peered down at me. “I’m proud of the woman you’re becoming, Gemma. ”
I felt my eyes grow huge in my head, knowing for certain that this was it.
She knew what I was planning. She could see right through me.
But the tenderness didn’t ebb from her vision, and she looked more nostalgic than anything, and guilt quickly replaced the fear.
This wasn’t a lie itself, sneaking out, but it was deception at its highest point.
“It’s all because of you and Dad,” I murmured, but my voice came out small.
She kissed my forehead before wishing me goodnight, and though I knew I needed to get moving, I lay still for a long moment, watching my ceiling fan go around in lazy circles.
Since Mom had flipped off my light switch, it powered down the fan as well, and it gradually slowed.
You have a good life, my thoughts told me.
What’s so wrong with it? What’s so wrong with keeping your head down and your mouth shut?
This life I had—it was a good one. There was a roof over my head and food on the table. My older brother cared for me, and my parents made sure I was always safe.
But they also dictated what I did in my free time, who I spent my time with, and the dreams I could dream.
It was a good life, but the only problem was that it wasn’t mine.
My fan slowly ground to a halt, and that was when I threw the covers off. I knew the answer.
I grabbed the skirt off the sewing machine and quickly snagged a thick sweater from my closet, and with my collection, I tiptoed down the hallway.
The living room light was off, no longer leaking into the corridor.
Landon’s door was shut, hinting that he was already tucked in for the night, and I made sure to move slowly past it, afraid he’d hear the floors creak.
All the while, my heart raced to a drumbeat from a heavy metal band, so hard that I wondered if I’d pass out before I even made it to the bathroom.
I eased the door shut behind me and quickly got dressed.
As I pulled the skirt on, I had to swallow a little laugh at how strange the hemline tickling my thigh felt.
I tucked my head into the oversized sweater next, and Rosie, once again, had been right.
With my legs exposed, I looked less like a girl styled by her mother and more like a girl who styled herself.
I looked pretty.
The cold, mid-September night air hit me as soon as I opened the window, and I didn’t even look at how far the drop was before I hooked my legs over the sill, knowing that if I was going to do this, I couldn’t waste any time.
Sucking in a breath, I fell the five feet onto the ground without making a sound. My feet slammed on impact, and it jarred up my legs, but it felt good. Once I reached up to slide the window down, leaving a one-inch gap for me to push open later, a rushing feeling swept through me.
I was out.
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to silence the sound, but the happiness still welled within, adrenaline hot on its heels.
I darted across the lawn, carefully letting myself out the back garden gate, and then I was at the sidewalk. I was free.
My sneakers slapped against the road in a sort of anthem to my happiness, and even though the wind was cold against my bare legs, I welcomed it as it tugged on my hair, pulling the black locks backward.
My legs began burning, because flat-out running like this was new for me, but I couldn’t stop. Not even if I wanted to.
I must’ve looked ridiculous, running down the middle of the road a little after nine o’clock at night, but I didn’t care. For once in my life, I didn’t have a single care in the world. It made me laugh again.
When I turned the corner from Huntington Avenue onto Willow Street, I heard him. Another note in the anthem in my head, as clear as day. “Gem!”
I whirled around, the world tilting with the sharp movement, and found Derrick’s car on the opposite side of the street corner.
The passenger side door was open, and Hudson stood beside it, palm resting on the roof.
My tilting world shuddered for a moment, the dark street totally ebbing away as I focused on him.
His eyes were wide, lips parted, almost like my suddenness shocked him speechless.
I bit down on my lower lip, chest expanding. “I thought you said left onto Willow.”
His expression was hard to read even though the streetlamp directly overhead illuminated it clearly. “I did,” Hudson said as I came closer. His eyes took a quick glimpse at my legs before darting up to my eyes. “Derrick parked on the wrong side.”
“My bad,” Derrick called from the driver’s seat, ducking down to peer at me under the roof of the car. “Dang, look at all that hair you have. You could’ve saved some for me, you know.” He ghosted a hand across his buzzed head.
My hair was wavy from being tied into a braid all day, and now that it was freed, the locks fell to my hips.
I grinned at Derrick as I tucked a chunk behind my ear, knocking my knees together.
Even though I’d been in love with the length back in the bathroom, it felt weird for so much of my skin to be on display for others to see. “So, what are we doing tonight?”
Hudson opened the backseat door for me. When I rounded the side of it, his lips stretched as he regarded me.
I could see myself in the reflection of his eyes, all wide-eyed and wild-haired.
In my chest, my heart gave a hiccupping gasp, like it short-circuited for a second before it began racing faster.
“We,” he began, voice a low murmur, “are going to have a fun night.”