The Pretender

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“Sixteen-year-old Jordan Wayde, wanted for suspicions of criminal activity, escaped authorities in New York City and is on the loose. . . “

“. . .  shoulder-length dark brown hair, gray eyes, slightly tanned skin—was last seen wearing red Converse sneakers, blue jeans, and a navy blue hoodie . . .”

“If you have any information leading to Ms. Wayde, please call . . .”

On every radio station, it’s all I’ve been hearing. After three hours of listening to this hoopla, I was sick enough to hurl.

 I shut the radio off and let the heavy angry silence settle.

They seriously think I’m a criminal? I’m sorry—what? Uh, no. No, no, no. If I were a criminal, I wouldn’t be driving a near-death 1990 Honda Civic. I’ve got my name and face on every news channel in America with a reward for my capture all because they think that I am . . . a criminal? That’s a load of crap. It’s incredible how they can conjure up such a downright demented lie like that just so they have an excuse to chase a clueless sixteen-year-old girl around. And people actually believed this.  They believed it like brainwashed zombies. And that’s where I lose the battle. What chance do I have against the entire country?

I was so infuriated and afraid that I didn’t even notice how much time had passed—and how many miles I’ve traveled. I feel like I’ve been driving in endless circles on the interstate, solely powered by my fury. Carmen would have at least been kind enough to give me the slightest hint as to where I had to go.

“Go away as far as you can.”

Well that’s not vague at all. How was her equivocal directions supposed to tell me anything? Heck, I don’t even know where I was. The road just stretched on infinitely and I just drove on out of frustration and misery. Who knows? I might end up in Rome.

It’s so hopeless.

I’m hundreds of miles from home and I can’t go back. There were so many missing pieces that I can’t make any sense out of anything. My mind filled with nothing but questions. What am I supposed to do? What did I ever do? Of all the other people in the world who could be infinitely more dangerous than a pathetic teenager like me, why was I the one treated like a renegade? Why—?

Stop. This was all too much for my puny brain.                                             

I didn’t realize that I’ve gripped the steering wheel so tightly until I saw my knuckles turn deathly white. Sweat beaded my forehead and my arms were shaking—maybe from fatigue, maybe from fear. My heart was pounding madly and for a moment I thought I might snap.

I hate long drives. It gives me too much time to think.

I pulled up my hood, shut my eyes for a split second, and breathed.

I needed time to think. I needed answers.

I didn’t know how much longer I drove. All I know is, the sun had risen into the piercing cloudless blue sky and was now painstakingly making its way back into the horizon. The interstate sliced through shifting scenery—sometimes through urban cityscapes, sometimes through thick golden red and orange forests. 

Frankly, I didn’t know where I was going. Town after town, city after city, state to state. With my will and adrenaline running thin, I was getting somewhat bored, actually.

I’d driven for nearly six hours straight by the time I approached Louisville. The sun had set, the moon had taken over, and the star-spotted black sky of the night replaced the day’s cloudless blue one. The interstate lit up with hundreds of moving red and yellow headlights, making the long strip of road gleam and radiate with brightness as far as the eye can see through the pitch black valley it sliced through.