Page 35 of Run Away Home: Tempered

I’m sitting on my bed, looking at stupid Snapchat filters on my phone. There’s this one that makes you look like a dog, and when you open your mouth, a big dog tongue comes out. It’s so freaking stupid, but all the girls use it. It’s kinda funny, I guess. Matt uses it a lot, too. I stare at myself on my phone, with the floppy dog ears, and it gets me thinking. What am I? I mean, I know I’m a human and not a Snapchat dog, duh...but Peter is Scottish, so what am I?

I take the filter off and look at my face closely. I have white people hair, I think. It’s a little curly, but not tight curls. Just big, thick curls. My hair isn’t like Peter or Hayley’s hair, though. Mine stays in place and doesn’t move around as much in the wind or when I walk. I have dark skin—way darker than Peter’s—and I have a few freckles across my nose.

I have brown eyes, but sometimes they’re kind of blue. What does that mean? It’s pretty cool. I like my eyes. They are my favorite part of me because I’ve never seen anyone else with eyes just like mine.

It’s not fair. All kids know what they are, but I don’t. All kids know if they’re Black, or Spanish, or Italian, or Scottish. Well, not a lot of kids are Scottish, I don’t think...but if they were, they’d know it! I can’t think of one other person who doesn’t know what—

I put down my phone and stare at the wall in front of me. Maybe there is another person.

I open my door a crack and walk down the hallway. Hayley’s on the couch now, looking at her phone. She’s slumped all the way back and seems pretty chill. I guess she doesn’t care about the spilled water anymore.

She looks up. “I thought you were going back to bed?”

“I was, but then I started thinking about something.”

“Okay...” She looks kinda nervous. I get it, we don’t really talk a lot, and when we do, it’s not really nice stuff.

“What are you?” I ask her and quickly look down at my feet.

“What do you mean, what am I?” She drops her phone onto the cushion next to her.

“Like, Peter is Scottish, so...what about you?”

Her eyes open wider. She sits up straight and grabs her hands together. Her face is rosy pink now. She looks embarrassed, like she just farted or something.

“Uh... My mom was German. So, I guess I’m part German.”

I breathe out loudly and feel my shoulders relax. “So you know what you are?”

“Sort of, I guess.”

“Oh.”

I should have known I have nothing in common with Hayley. Not even dumb, weird stuff like not knowing what you are. Absolutely nothing!

I turn around and start walking back to my bedroom. I close my door and lock it.

What if I never know what I am?

Chapter Seven

Hayley

I’M LYING ON MY BED. It’s been almost a whole day since I’ve spoken to Tristian. We’ve gone through rough patches like this before, but each new patch is rougher than the last. It’s especially rough knowing that when I run out of kickers, I don’t know where to get more.

Peter looks into my bedroom from the hall. Ugh. Why does he do this?

“You can come in, you know,” I say, aggravated, still staring up at the ceiling.

“I like to make sure I have permission first.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, you just standing in the doorway and staring at me is creepy. You might ‘phase out’ again like last night.”

“I’m not going to phase out again. How about next time I’ll ask, ‘Permission to enter you room?’”

“If you say that, I’ll say ‘Access denied.’” I laugh.

“So, what should I say, then?”

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