Page 83 of Runaways

"Lilah?" Zoey calls. "Are you okay?"

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. "Yeah," I say, but it comes out as a whisper. "I'm fine."

"Do you want to take your break before we get hit by the afternoon rush?" she asks.

Zoey places her hand on my arm, a comforting gesture, but I shrug her off on reflex. She's nicer than I give her credit for, especially considering what a dick I am to her sometimes.

"Yeah." I clear my throat, take a deep breath, and try again. "Yeah, I do. I just…yesterday was a lot, and I didn't sleep well. Mason and I broke up, too, and—"

"You and your commitment issues, right?" she asks. How does she know? Does he talk about me? The question must be rhetorical because she continues. "I get it—it's fine. I'm not as helpless as you think; I can handle it."

"I don't think you're helpless."

She smiles, squeezing my shoulder before stepping around me. "Sure you don't."

I thank her before heading to the back room. Then I sit at the table, dropping my head into my hands, and try to get a fucking grip.

The afternoon rush is even busier than I expected. Jodie comes in, and I'm on my feet and preoccupied enough to keep at least some thoughts of impending doom at bay.

But the shift passes far too quickly…because I know I'm safe here, surrounded by people, and when I leave, I won't be.

At nine, Zoey and I both clock out and walk out into the dark parking lot together.

I've never found it menacing—actually, I don't think anything has truly frightened me since that night—but I do now. A chill runs down my spine as the cool late October rain settles on my skin, along with the distinct feeling of being watched.

"You sure you don't want to come over?" Zoey asks. "We'vegot plenty of booze to go around, and from the looks of it, the party is already in full swing."

"No, thanks," I tell her. "I don't even have a costume."

"That doesn't matter," she says. "But suit yourself."

Zoey walks off toward her red Bronco, and I turn in the other direction, stopping when I spot the same two masked men from the café watching me from the other side of the street.

It's them. Iknowit is. They're going to follow me home and kill me.

"Zoey, wait!" I call out. "I'll go with you!"

I jump into the Bronco, breathing a shaky sigh of relief once inside.

"Lilah, you really need to relax. You look like you've seen a ghost."

I feign laughter, and it must come out just as awkward as I think it does because Zoey grimaces, sucking air through her teeth and shaking her head before starting the vehicle.

Music blares from the speakers as the engine comes alive. Zoey throws it into reverse, tires slipping on the wet gravel as she brakes. Mason does the same fucking thing. It's like there's some unwritten rule—the further you get into the mountains, the more unhinged the drivers are. She pulls onto the main drag, gravel flying, and speeds unnecessarily toward the house she shares with three other girls our age just a few blocks down.

I grab the handle above the door as she pulls off the road without warning, driving through the yard and parking right next to the front porch.

"Jesus," I say. "What the hell, Zoey?"

"Well, the driveway is full, and I'm not parking down the block—this is my fucking house. Let's go."

I step out into the muddy front yard and then follow Zoey up the porch steps and into the crowded house. It's been a long time since I've been to a party like this, and it makes me a little uneasy, but I'm safer here than I am at home right now.

Still, I can't hide forever, and I know that. I'm just not ready to deal with it.

"Come on," Zoey says, taking my hand. "I'll get you a drink."

She pulls me through the crowd to the kitchen, where she grabs a couple of plastic cups from the counter. Before she can fill them with whatever red liquid is in the giant blue storage container in the middle of the kitchen, another girl stops her.

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