Page 17 of You Had Me at Hello World
I crack open the bedroom door and then freeze.
On the floor, there’s a yellow rhombus cast by the refrigerator light. Somebody is in the kitchen. From the heavy movements and grunts, I’m guessing it’s Michael, or maybe a walrus.
Probably he lost big. That’s the only reason he ever comes back this early.
If he blew through all his money, he’s going to be in the worst mood. The last time this happened, he put his fist through our living room wall. I wanted to hang a picture frame around the hole, like it was modern art.Untitled, Michael Saunders. Materials: Drywall and toxic masculinity.Mom didn’t find the idea funny.
Anyway. Maybe I could wait in my room until he passes out. But who the hell knows when that’ll be? The plane might be above Montana by then.
So I have to risk it. I lift my suitcase up so the wheels avoid the ground. It’ll be quieter like this. Carefully, I pick my way down the stairs and tiptoe past the living room. Now all I have to do is—
“Where you goin’?”
Fuuuuck.
Slowly, I turn around. “Nowhere.” Which is the stupidest lie ever. I’m literally dragging a suitcase.
“You think this is a hotel? You come and go however you want?” Michael throws the living room’s light switch. I blink rapidly, my eyes stinging at the sudden brightness.
He squints. “What’s in the suitcase?”
“A dead body.”
He doesn’t laugh.
“I know where she’s going.” It’s Olive. She pops out onto the second floor, looking totally sober and awake. God, why isn’t she drunk off her ass? What’s even the point of dating a senior guy if you’re not getting absolutely wasted at graduation parties? “I saw the pamphlet in our room. It’s that summer program. Alpha Fellowship. It’s funded by some billionaire.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Michael asks. Wait, actually, that’s a legit question. I’ve been side-eyeing my stepsister for being a snitch. But she didn’t snitch on me.
Olive is silent for a beat, then says, “I didn’t think she’d actually get in.” Which. Okay. Thanks for the vote of confidence, I guess.
“Char?” It’s my mother in her nightgown, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Fucking awesome, now it’s a full-blown family reunion. Maybe we should invite my dad and his mistress too. “Why do you have a suitcase?”
“She’s going to some fancy summer camp,” Michael sneers. “For rich kids.”
This conversation is destroying what few remaining brain cells I have, and Lola is waiting outside. “It’s not for rich kids. It’s for smart kids.”
I turn to leave, but Michael’s hand clamps down on my left forearm. “Hang on, missy, where do you think you’re going?”
“I have a flight to catch.” I try to shake him off, but he’s too strong.
His voice is poisonous and low. “What, you think you can just up and leave? Without telling anyone? You think you’re too good for us?”
“Let go of me.” I squirm, trying to twist out of his grasp, but his nails dig in deep, like knives. “Let go, dude! You’re hurting me.”
“If you leave, you can’t come back. Got that?” His grip tightens, and I bite back a cry of pain.
My eyes land on my mother. She’s hunched near the wall. Her shoulders are trembling. She’s doing nothing to help me. She sees exactly what’s going down right now, and she’s doing nothing. And somehow my mother’s mousy inaction is more infuriating than anything Michael could do.
With a supernova of rage, I knee my stepfather in the groin and wrench my arm out of his clutches as he doubles over in pain.
“Have a nice life,” I spit out. I’m not sure if I’m saying it to only Michael or to all of them.
I grab my suitcase and bolt for the door. Without looking back, I pound down the steps and jump into Lola’s waiting car, shoving my suitcase in next to my knees.
“Drive, drive,” I yell.
My best friend frowns, glancing over my shoulder. “Hey, what—”
