April 24th came after what seemed like an age. The moment Claudette got home from school, she wasted no time grabbing the red drawstring bag containing a few belongings and sprinting into the backyard. There was no red truck parked across the street.
Crap. I hope I haven't missed it, Claudette thought as she uncertainly made her way to a thick tree on her side of the road. Leaning against the trunk, she slung her drawstring around her side and rummaged through the contents.
Some dishes, a few crumpled clothes, a coil of rope and a sheet with a small bare pillow shoved into the bottom. Should I have packed more?
Her question was answered when the red truck turned the corner into her back street at a leisurely speed and pulled up to the house across the street from Claudette. Wasting no time, she hopped into the back of the truck as soon as the driver had gone inside with some boxes.
That's when Claudette started to second-guess herself. This is an idiotic plan, she scolded herself as the April afternoon sun drew out a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. You shouldn't do this, you idiot. What do you have to run from?
It was true. Claudette's life at home wasn't exactly great, but it was bearable. She just had to keep to herself, take care of her own problems and rely on her friends at school to get by. Even so, it seemed like and endless miserable cycle of keeping to the corners and looking up homework online in order to pass every class. And Claudette was getting tired of it.
Before she could talk herself out of her adventure any more, the truck driver emerged from the house and loaded a few boxes in front of Claudette's hiding place before getting into the driver's seat and pulling onto the street.
Crap, Claudette thought the moment she lost sight if her house. This is a bad idea. I'm an idiot.
But inside she was grinning a reckless grin at the chilly wind that whipped her hair around the top of her head as the countryside flashed by. Without knowing it, Claudette had just hitched a ride on the most important journey of her young life.
And she barely even knew where she was going.
YOU ARE READING
The Bouncehouse Chronicles
HumorSome call me Claudette, others call me River. Many know me as the girl who ran away, and a few know me as the girl who found her way home. Everyone knows my face. No one knows my story.
