Not A Runaway

Nicole

Nicole

I woke to a scream. NICOLE! I ran to my bedroom not realizing I was only in my boxers. One look at me and she looked like she had seen a ghost.

 “It’s me, Trevor. We met last night. You had a few to many beers, well three, and you passed out.” I said as quickly as I could before she felt the urge to scream again.

“Where am I? Who gave me the beers? Why did I accept them?” she bombarded the questions at me.

“You’re in my apartment. The guys at the bar gave you the beers, and I don’t know why you took them. How old are you?” She looked intrigued as if she was impressed with herself.

“Why was I at a bar? I’m seventeen, eighteen in June. Did you take me to the bar?” Okay so she is underage good to know. She was pointing an accusing finger at me. Right ‘cause it’s my fault she got drunk.

“You came with me ‘cause I was on my way there and I said I would bring you here to crash for a while afterwards. Why did you drink if you knew you were underage?” She starred at me vacantly for a moment and then as if she had all the power and confidence in the world.

“How old are you?” In that moment I knew this girl was used to manipulating and getting the upper hand, and she was good at it. Even if she was slightly hung-over.

“I’m seventeen, eighteen in the first week of February.” I steadied my words so they came out evenly and precise. She smirked and shot me a glare.

“Then don’t be questioning my underage drinking.” I wasn’t one to be outwitted, at least not so quickly.

“So you’re a runaway.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. One I was hoping would throw her off a bit.

“Not a runaway, not when you’re running to something.” She liked being witty and arguing with me. It was clear she enjoyed winning arguments, not this time.

“And what are you running to exactly” Her answer came short and patient for my response.

 “A life, discovering my ancestry, an adventure” Was that an answer? This girl had a way with words that could convince a mime to become a talk show host.

 “What ancestry do you have here in Killarney, Ireland?” She seemed surprised that I cared. I didn’t, except that I wanted to keep talking to her, she was intriguing, and what did she mean by wanting a life.

“My maternal grandparents are from here.” So Nicole was a runaway looking for her grandparents?

“Then how come you aren’t staying with them?” She looked at me as if I should already know.

“That defeats the purpose of running away. Just to be brought back by the police?” She’s right I should have known that.

“How about you, where are your parents? If you’re seventeen like you say?” I looked down. I never really spoke to anyone about growing up in the foster home.

“I’m an orphan.” She looked saddened as if she had hurt me by asking the question. The truth was it felt good to talk to someone about the foster home.

“I was never adopted. I never knew my parents. They said they were killed in a car accident. I hadn’t been with them; therefore they brought me to a foster home. They were young, no need for a will.” She looked down when I looked up as if she felt she was intruding on something personal.