A Thousand Ways To Run

Chapter 6

“If you are bored, that just means you’re too stupid to find something to do.”

I couldn't remember where I had first heard that quote from, but it was probably said by some professor in a business suit who was (probably) yelling at the resident cool-kid druggies. At the time, I probably could not have agreed more.

My previous boarding schools kept me busy with encryptions and essays so lengthy they could have been novels. I always worked efficiently and free of distractions, getting the work done much faster than the girls who stayed up until three A.M. to catch up on the latest episodes of their favorite teen dramas. And when I ran out of work, I explored.

I would walk about the school, channeling my second consciousness, or what some call a sixth sense, and I would memorize the building from the inside out, down to chipped paint spots and stained glass patterns. It was all still a game – something to occupy my mind. Using math equations to determine the intricate pattern of the inlaid stone of the main foyer was a lot more fun than dwelling on the fact that Dad had forgotten it was Christmas. . .again.

The bigger the mansion, the more fun.

I would wander the halls, sense a crack in the plaster, and find secret hideaways or holes that other students had carved for less-than-clandestine missions. More than once I had wished the government only put in me same-sex institutions. The awkwardness of stumbling in on a make-out session never does wear off.

And when I was finished committing the buildingto memory, I planned my escape.

I got my skirts dirty by cutting off wired cameras in the duct work. I searched for loose floorboards of attics. I dug deeper; observing the daily routine of staff; learning when each one was most likely to eat lunch or give into their diets. I had gotten too many glares from other kids who knew my lineage – people who knew I would live up to my name. They thought I was a girl who could disappear into thin air, and they thought that’s who I would become.

Whenever I ran away, I always managed a minimum twenty-eight hour head start. On average, I wasn’t found for seven days. What I did during that time, I never confessed to anyone. And I wasn’t about to, either.

My protection detail had managed one thing by moving me to the White House: they completely ruined my record. All statistics were thrown out the window. I failed at escaping. I memorized the confines of my room in less than fifteen minutes. And I was more bored than I had been my whole life.

It had been two days since my encounter with Warren. The edginess that I had after that little rendezvous had worn off already. I realized shortly after that my little truth spell had been a big mistake. If anyone found out that he knew what I was, there would be hell to pay. When  he came around again, I would keep my mouth shut. Any future interaction with him would be strictly for enjoyment, to get out of that damn fourteen by fifteen room.

I had given up on my bookshelf almost two hours ago, finding all of them all superfluousand unnecessary.

My fingers were moving rapidly across the keys as I attempted another encryption that would hopefully break through the database and get me internet access. I had tried guessing the WiFi password to no avail; that required so much more work, and the firewall was pretty good. With more time I would crack it. All I really wanted was some kind of connection to the outside world. I felt like if a nuclear war had broken out, I wouldn’t even know.

It was then that a folded up piece of paper came sliding underneath my door. I grabbed it quickly and read, feeling an irreplaceable excitement welling in me.

15 minutes. Be ready.  - Warren