" I'm not done with you!" He said.
"What the hell do you mean? 'You're not done with me'?! Who the hell do you think you are? Who I am? I'm not going to be the next in line, Adam. Screw it." My voice lowered. The whole time, I'm packing up. "I'm not your puppet. Never have been." I zip up both of my bags, and sling one across each shoulder. I turn to look at him. "I won't start now." And I walk off.
I didn't bother walking back through the woods. I didn't look back at the house I had spent the last 3 years in. For all of about 5 minutes, I thought about not going back to McDonalds. I knew places where I could go. Where I've been. Where I've wanted to go. But I couldn't stay alone and travel and survive. I needed my team. I ended up at McDonalds in about 30 minutes. I walked in to people huddled together and talking quietly. From what little I did hear, it sounded like they were trying to figure out what to do next. The door shut. Everybody had heard it, and stopped talking to look up at me. They didn't keep eye contact with me for more than 2 seconds before looking at the floor and turning around, glancing at Alex, and staring at the table. I get to the table and I put down my bags, and turn to Alex. She looks up at me with the saddest expression I will ever see on her face. I questionably looked at her. She didn't say anything, she didn't communicate with me in that moment at all. She just got up, walked to the back, and walked out the back door. She took a couple of steps and leaned against the wall of the building next to the ladder used for roof access. She's staring at the ground and playing with her feet. Not at all wanting to tell me what's going on. So I started.
"What's going on? Why is everyone like this? Why are YOU like this?"
She lifts her head up. Her eyes look like she's about to cry.
"Do you remember 'Chior?"
Of course I remember 'Chior. I had met him in 9th grade and a month after that, he was one of the very few people I felt I could TALK to. He was extremely quiet, and offered just about no feedback, but you could tell he was three-quarters-of-the-way TRYING to listen if he wasn't in his own little world. His world of skateboarding.
"Yeah. Why? What happened?" I said, almost choking in fear.
"He. H-h-he. Um. He. He's in rough shape. He was in Jacksonville ripping it up for a few days. But, yesterday, when you had your trip-down-memory-lane, and I don't blame you for it, I know we all have to have them sometimes, he crawled through the door. Beaten, bruised, scratched, cut, you name it. His ankle was broke. The whole upper right side of his face was swollen, both of his eyes were black, and his lip was busted. It didn't seem like his head was in one place. He was going on and on about someone named Ethan. He said Ethan was a sponsor who was looking for his friend. I couldn't get much else before he passed out."
Damn. Not what I saw coming at all. But she was keeping something from me. She put a lot of effort into stretching that out, and she was WAY too detailed. She hardly EVER remembered all the details. She had started walking.
"What are you not telling me?"
She looked up at me and turned around at the same time. She paused, and then the bomb fell:
"He asked for you."
