Journey Home

Chapter Four

I freeze. You know how, when you're trying to be quiet, your breathing sounds really loud? Well, my breathing sounds like a nuclear explosion to me.

Okay, Zoey. Calm down, I tell myself. Be absolutely silent. Don't freak out. Don't-

Another creak. I nearly scream, but instead I clamp my mouth shut and slowly swivel my head, looking for a weapon. I am NOT going back to the orphanage, and I most definitely am not going without a fight.

I can't see anything heavy enough, other than possibly my backpack, and that would make too much noise from any of my food, and I guess I just mostly have clothes in there. I wanted light for travel. Sweating, I decide to rely on the old fists.

Before I can make myself stand up, someone peeks over the front desk, humming. Before I can get a good look or hit them, they duck out of my sight.

I stand up and look over. Immediately I get a blow to the face with a bag. I hold my nose and try not to fall over. That is one heavy bag!

"Oh. Heck," a voice mumbles. "A girl. Cra-a-a-ap."

Holding my nose, I squint at the person in front of me. It's a boy. A tall and rather skinny boy, with dark hair and green eyes. He grins apologetically at me, then races around the desk and grabs my bag, then runs out the door.

"Hey!" I yell, letting go of my nose and running after him. "What's the big idea?!" I demand, grabbing one of the straps to my backpack. "You can't just steal people's stuff right in front of them! I'll call the cops! Drop it!"

I take a deep breath and glare at him.

He glares back, defensively. Then he takes on a cocky look. "Girls running away from the cops don't call the cops."

"What?" I ask, disconcerted.

"Young women don't usually make a habit of sleeping in gas stations," he points out.

I yank on the backpack, jerking it away and resisting the urge to clout him over the head. "Well, jerk, this is my abandoned gas station. Get your own."

The boy rolls his eyes, but makes no move to take my bag again. He races in front of me and into the gas station. "Thieves don't take orders from jerks. Or anyone. Or-crap!" He rolls his eyes again and picked up his bag.

"Well, I'm not leaving," he says, stretching out. "Least, not for a while. Got any good stories?"

I can't believe his audacity! I walk in, go behind the front desk, and don't say a word to him, picking up a book but not really reading.

"Okay, first of all, do not say sorry because I'm a girl, because now I hate you. Second of all, why would I tell you any stories?" I ask, getting rather annoyed at his attitude.

"Oh sorry, I forgot girls have feeling," the boy says, rolling his eyes.

"How 'bout you shut up," I shoot back, trying really hard not to sock him in the face.

"Umm....how bout no." he answers going back to rea- staring at his book which I rip out of his hand.

He looks at me, but he has a smug look on his face. "Someone needs manners, don't they?" he says, which I return by slapping him across the face. "OW!" he said, looking at me rather annoyedly.

"Zoey," I say giving a curtsy.

"Austin," he says, rubbing the red mark I left on his face.

"Nice to meet you," I say.

And then I began to tell him my story.