Page 150 of Run Away Home: Tempered

“Yeah. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Okay. Later.”

“Later.”

Butterflies and a sense of excitement fill me. I got an 85 on my math test. I get to go home after school. I did something bad, so why am I smiling?

***

AFTER SCHOOL, I HEADinto the kitchen and put my phone on the table. I find a package of fruit snacks in the cabinet. Why do I have an Eminem song stuck in my head? I don’t really know the lyrics, but I bop my head to the music.

Hayley’s not even home. Maybe she already left. Maybe she’s gone for good. That’d be sick.

I hear the car horn outside.

Spoke too soon, she’s home.

I peek out the kitchen window and see Hayley sitting on the hood of the car, smoking a cigarette. She’s getting kinda chubby. Probably all the soda she’s been drinking.

Another car pulls up next to her. A man gets out of the backseat. Oh shit, it’s Tristian. He’s not supposed to be here at all. He’s holding a black backpack. He slams the door of the car, and it drives away. Looks like...they’re fighting?

Tristian swings the bag onto his shoulder, and they walk toward our apartment door. Hayley fumbles and drops her keys. I can hear what they are saying through the window.

“Why did you bring him to work?” Tristian asks. “Are you stupid?”

“It’s fine!”

Are they talking about Peter?

I clutch my fruit snacks and run into my bedroom. I close my bedroom door behind me, just like Peter said to do. I hear the front door open. I’ll just stay in my room. I close my eyes and breathe.

The door shuts, and they’re walking up the stairs. Oh my God, they are definitely fighting. They’re screaming, and Hayley’s crying...again.

I turn off the lights and press my right ear against my closed bedroom door.

“It’s going to be okay. Listen! He just looked drunk. His boss is just going to think he’s drunk again. That’s it, Tristian!”

Hayley’s coughing and sniffling.

“I’m going to vomit.” She runs down the hallway, probably toward the bathroom. She’s puking loudly in between cries.

My heart starts to race. What did they do to Peter?

“Just let me think a minute!” Tristian yells.

Hayley flushes the toilet.

“He said he wasn’t feeling well. He took this bottle of Gatorade with him. When he was in the bathroom, I poured a bunch of it out and filled it with that stuff you gave me. He’s going to drink more of it—hopefully, all of it. He won’t make it to a hospital or home. Even if he did, they’ll just think it’s alcohol poisoning. I’m going to say... I’m going to say he was drinking before I took him to work, but that he still demanded I take him. Then, for emphasis, I’ll say he hit me! There’s no way they’ll be able to resuscitate him, right? He drank too much of it, right? Right? Holy shit. I need to take something. I can’t—”

Now I’m really panicking. I’m going to be sick too. I’m dizzy. Where’s my fucking cell phone? I have to call Peter! I have to call McAlister’s! I have to call the police! I have to call someone!

I pat my pockets. My phone isn’t there. I crawl over to the bed and start feeling around for it in the dark. SHIT! Where is it?

Hayley’s phone rings, and she yells. “It’s Peter. He’s calling me!”

“Stop crying! Stop crying, and pick it up!” Tristian responds.

“He-Hello?”

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