My hands were clammy, and I wrung them together, still shaking my head. “I don’t even know if I got in.”
“You’ll get in. If not this semester, then next, and you know it.”
“What if he kidnaps me?!” I whisper-yelled.
At that, Tammy paused, like she’d just realized she was stuffing me into a car with a stranger. Her eyes shot up to the door before finding mine again. “Look, I know it’s a little crazy. It’s a little scary. In fact, I think this is why I never had kids because encouraging you to do this isn’t very motherly or whatever. But, Cooper, remember what I said this morning?” Her eyes lit up again. “I could feel it. I knew something big was going to happen, and this is it.”
“Me getting kidnapped by a strange boy was the good feeling you had?”
“You’re not getting kidnapped, you’re getting a free ride to a new life. Give me your phone.”
I couldn’t do anything in that moment but stare at her.
“Phone.” She said with a snap of her fingers. She snatched the device from my hands as soon as I numbly pulled it from my pocket, and then she was tapping around on the screen. “There. I shared your location with both me and Lily. I’ll keep an eye on you the whole time. And you call me every morning and every night to check in, okay?”
“What about Wyatt? I can’t just leave him short-staffed.”
“Don’t worry about this place.” She waved her hand. “We’ll manage.”
“And my parents—“
“Are awful people who have always treated you like a mistake and a regret instead of a human.”
My throat was tight with the air I couldn’t inhale fully, heart like a war drum under my ribs. “I can’t… I can’t do this. I—“
“Yes, you can. He has a car. He’s gorgeous, in case you didn’t notice. And he’s a free ticket to the place you’ve always wanted to go. Cooper,” she said my name to call my attention back to her, hands on my arms again as she leveled her face with mine. “You are dying in this town. Not your body, but your soul.” Her eyes pleaded with mine like she knew from experience. “Life isn’t supposed to be safe,” she added with a laugh. “If it was, they wouldn’t call it living. They’d just call it existing. And you’ve existed long enough, baby girl. It’s time to live.”
My eyes darted back and forth between hers, brain warring with my soul.
Be safe.
Take a chance.
This is crazy.
This could be fun.
You could die.
You could finally live.
You don’t even know him.
You want to.
Leaving Alabama is scary.
Leaving Alabama is what you’ve always wanted.
Tammy leaned in even closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Your worthless parents are going to suck you dry if you stay. Don’t let them. This is it, Cooper. This is life calling.” She shrugged. “Are you going to answer, or just let it ring?”
I think I went blind in those next few moments, because I hardly recall rounding the edge of the bar. I barely remember the feel of my heart in my throat and the sun on my face as I pushed through the front door just as he started backing out of the spot where he’d parked his convertible.
“Wait!” I called, the sound of my own voice breaking through the haze.
He stopped, sunglasses reflecting the front of the diner I never thought I’d leave as I struggled to catch my breath.
“I just need to grab my stuff.”
This is insane. This is insane. This is insane.
Those three words were on repeat in my head as I hastily shoved clothes and personal belongings into the one and only duffle bag I owned.
Kalo hopped around my ankles as I flew through my tiny bedroom, tossing items over my shoulder and onto the bed next to my open bag. She licked my face when I got close enough, turning in circles with the same excitement she got as soon as I said, “Wanna go outside?”
“We’re going on a trip, Kalo,” I said to her, scruffing up the soft fur on her head with one hand. She was an Australian shepherd mix, no more than twenty-five pounds with eyes that slightly crossed, which only made me love her more. “With a man. Who I just met.” I paused, swimsuit clutched in my hand. “Whose name I don’t even know.”
Kalo cocked her head to the side, watching me, and I laughed, ditching the swim suit and rushing to my tiny bathroom to rummage through the necessities.
All my life, I’d dreamed of leaving Alabama. I’d dreamed of crossing the country, starting a new life, leaving my past behind. Now that the moment was here, I realized the first thing I should have done all those years ago was make a packing list.
Because nothing I was packing made any sense.
Yoga pants, three of my favorite paperbacks, including my very worn copy of Catcher in the Rye, jeans, the framed picture of Tammy and me on my eighteenth birthday, a dozen or so shirts and tank tops, hair ties, hair brush, razor, three random dog toys, and my eReader. I only owned two sweaters and one pair of boots, and I threw them in the bag, too, followed immediately by my extra liner and socks for my prosthetic leg.
I could still remember the day I could finally afford the extra supplies for my leg, after saving and saving on my own, insurance only covering one set of each once I was in my final leg. I’d gone through several growing up, but now that I was done growing, I had my permanent leg. I was lucky my dad even managed to have insurance at all, and I was pretty sure the only reason he did was because his place of employment took it out of his check before he could even see it.
I added a pair of athletic shorts, ones I only ever wore when I was alone and I figured would stay buried in my bag until we reached Seattle. My tiny Thai Buddha statue Tammy had purchased for me at a flea market was staring at me from the corner of my desk, begging me to bring him along, so I tucked him in the side pocket of my bag.
Then I stood in the middle of my room, looking around at the faded yellow walls, once white, tainted by cigarette smoke from my parents no matter how I’d tried to keep it out.
My room was small. The same twin bed I’d slept on since I was eight was sunken down in the middle, shoved against the far wall right under my enlightenment poster. The springs creaked and groaned each time I applied even the slightest bit of pressure. The desk that sat next to it was old and tattered, too, the warped wood nicked in several places. Kalo’s dog bed rested under the old box TV I’d watched cartoons on as a child and barely turned on at all as a teenager, and not a single movie sat on the shelf below that TV, the space occupied with books, instead.
My eyes caught on my copy of Emerson’s prose and poetry, and I threw that in my bag, too.
The carpet was light brown and stained all over, the sheer curtain covering my window littered with moth bites. Standing in the middle of it all, hands on my hips, I knew I wouldn’t miss a single thing, no matter what I left behind.
So, I zipped up my duffle bag without adding another single thing, slinging it over my shoulder before grabbing Kalo’s bed under one arm and my yoga mat under the other. I took one last look at the room, the place that never felt like home, the prison, and then I turned my back on it forever.
“Cindy,” I said louder than necessary, tapping my mother’s shoulder where she lay on the couch. Sweat matted her ashy blonde hair to her forehead and she squinted, swatting her hand in the air to tell me to go away. “Cindy, I’m leaving.”