Glass Stars

Spaghetti and Bread It Is

My life changed with a phone call.

One eventless day, I was lazing around my mother's office when the phone rang. I let it ring three times before picking up.

"Hello?"

"Alright, enough chitchat, let's put our cards on the table. No, I've never swiped right before. No, none of those pictures are of me. Yes, I have been on the lamb since 2012."

"Excuse me?" I said uncertainly, convinced this had to be a wrong number call.

"I need to know if I can trust you."

By now, I could hear that it was a man talking. Probably not too much older than myself - eighteen or nineteen, maybe? It was hard to tell.

"I don't know you." I say slowly.

"You're confused. That's not good. Confused was what I was when I walked into that bank brandishing my dad's smith and wesson at the ripe old age of twelve. The world doesn't forgive. It's a cold, hard bitch."

"Who are you, and what are you talking about?" My voice is sharp, and I'm on the verge of hanging up. Calls like this are especially dangerous, considering where my mom works.

"Three things. One, can you provide asylum? Two, can you cook? I don't cook, ever. Never have, never will. Plus, I'm lactose intolerant. Three, are you up for this?"

"Up to what?"

"Listen, I took a gamble on you." His voice is deep, husky. "I need you to pull through or this could mean the end of the road for me. Let's see, do you know Morse code? What am I saying, of course you do." He pauses. "Also, you're going to need an alias. How about Brookfield?"

"Brookfield sounds good." I say slowly, twirling the phone cord around my finger.

"I go by the Salamander. I'm pretty tall, with blonde hair and tan skin. I will be wearing a disguise when we first meet, so look for the signal. I will"-

"What signal? What are you talking about?" I interrupt, confused.

"I will sneeze three times, you will pretend to take a call." Salamander continues. "I will then leave, you will follow at a reasonable distance. Reasonable. Is this understood, Brookfield?"

At this point, I was certain more than just the world was a cold, hard bitch. "Understood, Salamander," I say, my voice full of sarcasm.

"Excellent." He says breezily, ignoring my backtalk. "Our rendezvous will be at this time tomorrow. We will need to be out of the country by sundown. Can you drive stick?"

I guess I'd have to tell this Salamander guy I was fifteen, my sixteenth birthday approaching. As in, I didn't even have my license yet at all.

"Well, I don't have my license, and I have even less experience than you might think, but I'm sure I could learn." I explain.

He sighs. "Well, this really throws a wrench in our plans, Brookfield."

"What plans?" I exclaim.

"Don't worry, I'll drive." He continues. "But we should probably switch seats in the unlikely event that we are pulled over by law enforcement. Oh, side note. Food should be prepared when we get back to your quarters, before we leave. What are you making? I will remind you, I'm lactose intolerant."

"Hold on, what do you mean?" I say, My quarters? Who is this guy?

"It means I'm allergic to dairy products. Please don't use any while preparing the meal." He says condescendingly.

"I know what lactose intolerant means. But what are the plans? What's happening in general?" I try to force information from him.

"It's up to you. I'll eat anything as long as there isn't dairy in it."