The Runaway House

Twenty-four . Second Chances

   The next weeks blur into police visits and prying questions. I stay in my grandparents' spare room, hiding from my parents.

But every day is worse and worse. Trudging through increased calls from my family, my grandparents passing concerned looks when they assume I'm distracted.

And still, Travis doesn't show. But how would he know I'd escaped to another place?

I pace my bedroom in a sweaty tank top. Grandpa is refusing to turn on the air conditioning—saying the temperature is perfect.

Old people.

But I can't complain. They're better than my parents. At least they won't use me—and it'll be easier to slip out of here. But will I be able to find the Runaway House?

I have to try.

So I shove a change of clothes into a bag, along with whatever else looks useful.

And then I sit and wait.

. . . .

When night comes, I slip away.

The darkness envelops me, but there's no fear in my bones. The last time I left this little town, it was in flight. But now, I head out to my family—my home.

I'll be forever a runaway, forever nonexistent. This Runaway House, this refuge of love and safety—that will be my one and only home.

I was given a home when I was lost. And with my all, I ache to be back there. And I ache to bring other lost souls in—into my home.

So I make my way through town, passing by the alley with a shiver. I can follow the way Jeff drove for as long as I can remember—and I'll just have to hope that it'll overlap with the path I took with Travis.

And that I'll recognize it.

My footsteps are light on the empty sidewalk. The cold is beginning to set in, but I just wrap my jacket around my shoulder tighter.

I slow as a silhouetted figure slips out of a white van and into a convenience store.

"No time to be scared, Jubilee," I mutter to myself. So I quicken my pace and keep my head down. Hood up.

The light jingle of the bells attached to the door cause me to walk even faster. But heavier footsteps sound behind me—gaining on me.

I clench my fists in anticipation.

But the touch on my arm is soft as he pulls me back.

"Found you," Travis murmurs, pulling me closer and pushing my hood back.

"Wha—" My gaze connects with his.

"You didn't make it easy."

I blush. "I've been staying with my grandparents."

"Why?"

"I'm my parent's ticket to attention. The girl who ran from the murderer, who they thought was a kidnapper. It's all such a mess."

He kisses my forehead. "It's over now. We can go home."

The door opens again, and out walks Jeff.

"Found her, dad."

I furrow my eyebrows. Dad? Since when does Travis call Jeff that?

"Good." Jeff grins at me, hands stuffed in his trench coat. "Then let's go home. Penelope is waiting up."