Burned Ones

Chapter 16

Annabeth.
15 years old.

I sat on the hood of the car with my legs bent and my arms wrapped around the underside of my thighs. There was a small part of my brain that ached to sit with my legs criss-crossed but my dad reprimanded me every time I did that while growing up. He said it limited the ability to get up quickly. Sitting in this car in the middle of a field, filled with nothing but weeds and grass as tall as my knees, the absurdity of it all swarmed around me. I had let my dad dictate how I even sat.

Finn was next to me, lying on his back with his head resting in the windshield as he crossed his legs over each other at the ankles and swung them from side to side slowly. His gaze drifted down from the stars above our heads and over to me.

It had been almost two weeks since my dad burned the Casey mark into my back but it still didn't feel comfortable lying like Finn was. About half of the time, I let Finn stay in my bedroom with me. My dad never brought him up but I wasn't naive enough to think he'd forgotten about Finn. Plus, Cameron and Alex stayed with me often and it gave us all time to plan more of our runaway trip.

Having them stay in my bedroom removed some of my privacy but it was much more bearable than when Jay was forced to stay with me. Jay still checked in often, though. He followed me around places and hung out when Cam wasn't around. Every now and then, he would sneak into my room during the day and lounge on the bed when I was in there and a minute or so would pass before my dad stuck his head in the bedroom to ask me a question. Jay would always wait a few minutes before leaving, giving me a wink on his way out. I wasn't sure how I felt when he winked and my insides no longer jumped.

There was a song playing softly in the background, pouring out of the open driver's side window. I wasn't sure who the band was but Finn liked them. Yesterday, he'd told me to meet him at the arcade at 10:00 p.m. tonight to show me something. I told myself I didn't really want to meet with him. Anything he needed to show me, he could show Alex and Cam, too. I was trying very hard to hate Finn. And Finn was making it very hard to do so.

Whenever Cam or I snuck him into the Casey house, or whenever we met up at the arcade, I tried to glare at him as often as possible. I didn't talk much when he spent the night, even though he was in my bed. Each time I saw him, I made it a point to tell him another fact about the Casey gang or my dad. They weren't nice facts, either. They were always the more gruesome things. Every time, I expected him to run out of the house or arcade and realize he was better off pretending he never met me or my family.

But instead of running, he would just show up the next day. Or make a joke. Or laugh. Smile, even.

I didn't know what to do with that.

I hated it.

Yet, I found myself at the arcade at 9:50 p.m. and around 10:05 p.m., Finn pulled up in a beat up car that had definitely seen better days. He got out with a large grin on his face, motioning to the car every which way, like he expected me to not literally see it parked in front of me.

"Hmm?" he asked me about twenty times, while he held his hands out in the direction of the car. "Hmm?"

With an eyebrow raised, my mouth a tight line, and my arms crossed over my chest, I stared at him because this car was nothing to show off. It had more rust than paint.

Finn stomped his foot at the same time his hands flew to his sides, like Alex used to whenever he was throwing a tantrum. With quick, long steps, Finn was in my face faster than I expected. A conspiratory expression was on his face as he whispered, "I hotwired it."