Page 71 of Run Away Home: Tempered

“Jack?” she asks as she pats his face.

“Hmph?” the man groans.

Mom looks back at me. “Go into your room for a sec.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Hayley, go!” she demands and snaps her fingers.

I know how this works. I have to hide in my room so the men don’t see me. Men don’t like children, or even teenagers my age. That’s why I never had a dad. I’m the reason he left. Men suck big time. I wish they didn’t exist. I go into my bedroom and close the door, but I press my ear against it.

“You passed out, Jack.” Mom laughs.

“I think I... I must have drank too much.”

“You think? Whoa! Hold your horses! We aren’t even in the bedroom yet!”

“I just—”

Mom’s bedroom door closes. I know what comes next, and I don’t want to hear it.

I pop the pills from my pocket into my mouth and chew, chew, chew. The more you chew, the faster they kick in. I dig through my end table, find my CD player, and stick my headphones into my ears, turning the music up as loudly as it can go.

Chapter Twelve

Danny

I’M SITTING AT THEkitchen table, playing with the cereal in my bowl. Red loops go on top, green to the right, then the yellow—

Peter sits across from me, still wearing his PJs and that weird grandma robe he puts on when he gets out of bed. He places a Christmas tree coffee mug on the table and cradles it with one hand. He leans back in the chair and looks at his phone.

“I’ve thought of so many things to do without the TV,” I say.

“Like play with your breakfast?” he asks without looking away from his phone.

“I’m organizing them by color, like your sock drawer. I thought you’d be proud.”

“That’s funny. I only have white socks.” He sips his coffee.

“How are you doing with the TV in your room anyway? Keeping you up at night? Giving you nightmares?”

He ignores me and sips his coffee again, really loud this time.

“It’s not Christmas!” I yell.

“So what?”

“Your mug?”

He finally looks away from his phone and examines the mug. “My apologies.” He takes another sip and looks back at his phone.

“Yeah. Your apologies.”

“Are you going to get dressed for school soon?” Now he sounds kinda mad, tapping his fingers on the table.

“I am dressed! I’m wearing this.”

He raises one eyebrow and looks me up and down. “No. You’re not wearing that. Go get dressed.”

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