Run for Your Life

Run for Your Life - A Novel

Prologue

I heard the first gunshot at 11:42 on a Monday morning.

Eight Years Earlier

I was sitting on the back steps watching Warren and Mason play football. They would never let me play, no matter how much I begged and stomped my feet at them. They only ever wanted me to be the cheerleader.
"Girls are supposed to cheer the boys on while they win the game, Tessa," Mason would say.
Well, I didn't want to be the cheerleader. I wanted to run and play and fall and tackle my brother and his best friend. I would rather sit by myself, casting dagger glances at the boys any chance I got so that they knew I wouldn't sit around and look pretty. I even stuck my tongue out.
I wanted to get dirty, too, but I was a girl and Mason said girls weren't supposed to get dirty. That they were supposed to stand on the sidelines and look pretty. Why would he ever think that? Boys are stupid. Especially Mason. Why my brother would ever choose him as a best friend, I would never know. Although, I guess he didn't really have a choice.
Mason Westbrook and his family had been our neighbors since before I was born. When I made my appearance, he and Warren had entered their terrible twos and were already wreaking havoc on all who crossed their paths. Not much had changed in seven years.
"Hey!" I shouted from my stoop, grabbing the first thing I saw -  which happened to be a broken piece of cement block - and chucked it at the boys' heads. Mason looked up and jumped out of the way before it could hit its target. Shoot. At least he missed the catch Warren had just launched his way.
I narrowed my eyelids towards my brother and his best friend as I descended the steps and didn't stop until I was right under Mason's nose with a finger in his chest. I looked up at him with my toughest face, and then I almost lost my thoughts because I noticed that his eyelashes were much too long for his eyes.
Maybe that's why he always seemed to have shadows under his eyes; his eyelashes cast them.
Shaking the thought away, I snarled, "You are going to let me play. I don't care if you think girls are meant to be cheerleaders or if they are meant to stay clean and look pretty." And if that didn't get my point across, I added, poking my finger into his chest, with each word a harder poke, "I'm. Going. To. Play."  Taking in my declamation, he meant to look mean, I know he did, but I saw the edges of his mouth twitch and I knew he thought it was a joke.
That made me want to punch him in the stomach and stomp on his toes with my pretty white shoes.
He just wanted to have Warren to himself. Well, too bad. I knew he was going to laugh at me, right there, in my face with my ballet slipper pink dress and white shoes that my mother always insisted I wear on Sundays. It didn't help my case, but I stood my ground.
With a few more seconds of deliberation, Mason scoffed and said, "Okay, Tessy," calling me by my pet nickname my parents gave me, "let's ask your brother if we should let you play." He cast a smug glance at Warren, who honestly looked like he'd rather be watching snails crawl across wet pavement than get caught in the middle of his best friend and sister's war. "What do you think, Warren... should we let her play?" Mason picked up the football from where he missed the catch and tossed it back and forth between his hands, making it spin in between each catch.
With both of us staring at him with all the purpose in the world that a seven and nine-year-old could possess, Warren finally caved, stopped kicking his feet in the dirt, and looked up at us to answer the question that would ultimately change the day's mood entirely.
"Let's just let her play this once, Mason, okay? My mom and dad are going to nag me either way. I'd rather her get to play and get dirty than hear another speech on how I need to include my sister and have to hear it from Tess for the rest of my forever." My brother cast a glance at me then with a crooked smile that let me know he'd always back me up, even if he had to act like it was an inconvenience for Mason. I beamed a smile at him and then slowly slid my gaze to the boy in front of me, taking in his dark features and long lashes. They were as black as his shaggy hair. Almost blue because of his pale skin. He was a stark contrast to my brother, who seemed like sunshine in a boy's body. Where Mason was sharp edges and gloomy blue, Warren was soft and gentle, with blonde hair and beautiful brown eyes that everyone in our family and teachers and everybody else in the world seemed to adore.
"Fine. Let her play, but when she gets hurt, which she will, I'm not going to baby her like everybody else."
Happy, I snatched the ball from Mason, mid-toss, and spun around on my heels to follow Warren as he showed me what to do. I could hear Mason sigh behind me, and then his footsteps stomped after us. I smiled to myself, proud of my accomplishment. Whether it was being allowed to play or annoying Mason, I wasn't quite sure.
"Okay, Tess, you stand here and when I toss you the ball I need you to run as fast as you can to that end of the yard. And whatever you do, don't let Mason catch you. Got that?" He looked at me with a questioning expression that led me to believe he wasn't sure that I got it. Even if I didn't, I wasn't going to let them know.
"Yes, I got it! Let's go!" I said, jumping up and down on my feet in excitement. I was ready to play. I was ready to show Mason, more than my brother, that I could be just as tough as they were; just as big.
Mason stood a few feet in front of me, crouching down so that he could launch himself at me fast enough to get the ball out of my hands once I had it; if I had it. I doubt he'd actually tackle me, but I'm sure he'd make a show of proving me wrong, that I couldn't play like them.
Warren ran down the yard, turned around, and shouted, "3...2...1...GO!" He launched the football into the air and towards me. I watched the ball sail and spin through the air until it started to fall... straight for my face. I froze, but only for a moment before I remembered Mason was waiting for me to fail. I threw my hands up just in time for the ball to land perfectly between my fingers. I was stunned, but then I looked up and Mason was already heading toward me when I began running. I ran and I ran, hearing Warren scream and shout from the other side of the yard. Mason launched himself at me, trying to snatch the ball - or my hair -, but I wasn't going to let him win that easily.
I spun around, dress rippling around me and white shoes slipping in the mud, but I got around him. I heard Warren cheer, but then I heard Mason laugh, so I looked back to see what was so funny. That was a mistake, though, because as soon as I did, my pretty white shoes slipped in the mud, twisting my body around until I was off my feet and headed towards the ground, which would have been fine if it had just been mud. But no, it had to be that stupid piece of broken cement block I threw at Mason earlier. I didn't realize this, though, until after I fell.
I guess I didn't get up right away because the next thing I knew Mason was holding my head in his lap and saying my name over and over again. My ears were ringing, but I could hear him calling me, begging me to respond.
"Tessa? Tessa, wake up. Open your eyes. Open your eyes, Tessy. Please, Tessy."
Finally, I willed my eyelids to flutter open, just in time to see Mason's face. His eyes were so big - scared. All I could notice were how his lashes brushed the tops of his cheeks when he blinked... away tears?
"Hey, Tessy, you're okay. You're okay," Warren repeated, looking down at me and trying his best to smile.
"What happened?" I groaned, trying to get up. Mason gently pushed me back down, back into the crook of his arm.
"You wiped out, Tess. Big time," Mason said. I knew I had. I could tell by the way my head was aching now.
The rock. Right.
Preparing myself to defend my ability to play, Mason beat me to it.
"You did pretty well... for a girl." He smirked, poking me in the dimple on my left cheek. He and Warren always did this to annoy me. But it never made my heart flutter until now, even with a headache. I almost laughed, but from the way the shadows under his eyes seemed to grow a shade darker, I wondered whether or not he was the one hurting and not me. Before I could be positive, I heard Warren screaming for my mom and dad. What seemed like half a second later, I felt my dad's arms scoop me up from the ground, from Mason's lap, and carry me away, shouting something at my mom about starting the car.
Dangling from my dad's arms, I let my head fall back to look at Mason one more time, still on his knees in the dirt, wondering if I did see him wipe his eyes with a bloody sleeve.