15

Chapter 1

I wake up to a bright light. Squinting, I can faintly make out a window. I brush the frizzy dark brown hair out of my eyes and groggily pull back the bed covers.

I hear movement in the next room and instantly I'm awake. I leap out of bed and spot my boots and backpack lined up neatly next to the door. I creep toward the door, grab the handle, and slowly push it open.

"It's about time you're awake!"

I jump back screaming.

"Shhhh! You wanna bring back the cops?"

A tall figure emerges in the doorway. It's a boy, probably 18 or 19. His hazel eyes stand out against his dark skin, and I can't help but notice his muscular build.

He notices my wandering eyes and chuckles as he steps forward.

I jerk back to reality and am instantly on defense.

"Who are you?" I ask, backing up.

"Why don't we start with who you are," the boy says, moving closer. My legs hit the bed and I fall backwards onto it, scrambling to regain myself. "After all, you are a guest in my home."

"My name is..." I trail off, wondering if I should be cautious and give him a fake name. I am, after all, a criminal now, according to the law.

"Don't bother coming up with a fake name," he interrupts, as if he's read my thoughts. "We'll find out sooner or later."

"We?" I ask, glancing around him into the empty hallway. How many others are here? And what do they want with me?

He snaps in my face. "Haven't got all day, sweetheart," he says impatiently.

"Ava," I say. "My name is Ava."

He crosses his arms and continues to stare down at me, obviously not satisfied with my short response. I clear my throat and continue.

"I'm 17. I have a younger sister, I ran away from home and have no intentions of going back, and, uh, I'm an orphan." My voice cracks on the last word and I look down at my lap. I dig my thumb nail into my palm. Don't cry, Ava. Don't show weakness.

The boy extends a calloused hand to help me to my feet. I turn my head away from him. If he sees the tears in my eyes, he doesn't make any indication.

"I'm Ben," he says. "I know you have some questions, but--"

I scoff. "Yeah, that's an understatement."

"But," he continues, ignoring my remarks. "The less you know right now, the better."

I stand up quickly in outrage, ready to fight this mysterious guy who, friendly reminder, is keeping me captive in the middle of the city. But my blood rushes from my head and my knees buckle. Ben catches me with an outstretched arm and lets me lean on him as he guides me out of the bedroom and toward a small kitchen and dining area at the end of the hallway.

"When's the last time you ate?" he asks. I wearily shrug and rest my head in my palm, examining the outdated kitchen. The appliances have to be at least 20 years old. There are no pictures or decorations on the walls. I count the number of cereal boxes stacked in an open cabinet and conclude that either Ben eats ten times his body weight, or there are about a dozen other people living here.

I watch Ben open the fridge, rummage around inside, and pull out a bottle of Gatorade. He sets it down in front of me and says, "drink this. Not too quickly, though. I'm really not in the mood to clean up vomit today."

I murmur my thanks as Ben slides me a sleeve of saltine crackers and takes a seat across from me. I tear open the pack and stack the crackers in my mouth as he begins to question me.

"So... why were the cops after you?" he asks, folding his hands in front of him like this is some sort of interrogation.

"I don't want to talk about it," I mumble through a mouthful of crackers.

"Okay," he sighs. "Tell me about your family."

I'm too exhausted to protest this blatant intrusion of privacy, so I give in. "Well, I told you I have a sister-- her name is Gemma-- and she's eleven," I begin. "We're-- we were-- living with my mom and step-dad. About a year ago, we went on vacation for their honeymoon. My mom had never left my sister and me alone, so she insisted we come with them. They both went on a cruise on our last night there, but only my step-dad came back alive. When I asked for answers, I got muddled, incomplete ones. My step-dad started drinking and going out more until it felt like I was raising my sister by myself. The police ruled that my mom was too drunk and fell off the boat, but..."

"But you don't buy it," Ben says softly.

I look up and force myself to meet his intense stare.

"Ava, I know you don't want to talk about this, but I need to know how you got here. What led you to this place," he says gently, leaning forward.

"What do you mean?" I ask, setting down my empty Gatorade bottle. "What do you mean, found this place? I was just running down random streets, and--"

"And you just happened to stumble upon a safe haven in the middle of a city? C'mon, Ava, that shit only happens in movies."

I sit back and fold my arms across my chest. "I guess it is a little unusual..." I trail off.

Ben takes a deep breath. "Ava, you need to tell me why you're here."