I could ask him where he was going and see if I could catch a ride.
But I’d heard stories of what happened to girls who hitched. My luck might not hold the second time around.
I reached into the pocket of my shorts and felt my folded wad of money. One hundred and eighteen dollars, plus a few quarters. It wouldn’t last very long. But I was running out of options.
I moved over to the payphone outside the mini-mart and reached for the heavy Yellow Pages directory dangling by a thick metal cord. I flipped to the Ts and saw ads for several taxicab companies. I slid one of my quarters into the slot and dialed the number to order the taxi. When the dispatcher asked for my address, I had to run inside the mini-mart again to get it from the cashier.
I felt like I was attracting too much attention. The duffle bag, the shell-shocked look I’d seen myself wearing in the mirror, my repeated questions … But by now the cashier was flipping through a Star magazine, and she barely looked up when she recited the address.
Once the taxi arrived and I slid into the back seat, some of the weight crushing my chest lightened.
I gave the driver my destination, then curled up and rested my head on the duffle bag on my lap. A deep wave of exhaustion rolled through me. I’d been awake for more than twenty-four hours straight, and the adrenaline fueling me was finally ebbing.
The driver seemed to pull into the Greyhound station moments after we left the gas station. I must’ve nodded off, even though I don’t recall sleeping.
I paid him with one of my precious twenties, and he gave me back a ten and two singles in change. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to tip him. I’d only seen people take cabs in movies and on TV. I’d never actually ridden in one before. The wrong decision could make me stand out in his mind. If police traced me to the Exxon station and tracked down the driver, they could question him about the teenage girl with long, dark hair he’d picked up. Finally, I handed him back the two singles. When he casually thanked me, I felt like I’d done the right thing.
Several buses were parked outside the New Castle station, but I couldn’t tell which one was going to depart first. When I went inside, I saw a few people in line at the ticket booth. There was a sign that read Schedules with an arrow pointing to a stack of flyers on a shelf, so I walked over and took one. The departure times were printed in a column of tiny numbers beside the destinations, but by now I’d tucked Coach’s watch into my duffle bag and had no idea what time it was. I looked around and spotted a wall clock. I couldn’t believe it was not even eight yet, or that yesterday at this hour I’d been walking through the front door of my school, alternately dreading the history quiz I was about to take and dreaming about James.
The next bus out was heading to Pittsburgh, about seventy minutes away. It would bring me closer to home. But the one after that would take me farther away in the other direction, to Cleveland. I got in line, and just as it was my turn to buy a ticket from the teller, I remembered something.
Once Timmy and I had been playing hide-and-seek in our yard, and after I searched for him for nearly ten minutes, I gave up and yelled Ollie-ollie-in-come-free. My little brother stepped out from his hiding place beneath a shrub a few feet from where I’d counted with my hands over my eyes before going to look for him.
Were you there the whole time? I’d asked.
He’d shaken his head, beaming, and said, I came back after you started looking for me.
I told the teller I wanted a ticket to Pittsburgh.
If someone came looking for me, they might not expect me to double back to Pennsylvania.
And part of me liked staying in a state I’d been to before, instead of a completely unfamiliar place.
When the teller asked if it was round trip, I swallowed hard and said no, one way.
I paid the twelve dollars, then accepted the ticket slip and my change and walked out to the line of buses. Their destinations were displayed in white blocky letters over the front windshields. I climbed aboard the first bus in line, gave my ticket to the driver, then slipped into a seat in the very last row. The bus was almost empty, and I prayed it would stay that way.
A few minutes after I boarded, the driver closed the doors and the bus lurched forward with a groan that sounded almost human.
I was safe, I told myself. I’d gotten a ride from a trucker who believed my name was Beth, I’d taken a taxicab, and now I was aboard a bus. No one would be able to find me.
My thumb twisted the topaz ring I wore on my right ring finger around and around. My father had given it to me for my sixteenth birthday. My mother had signed the card, too, but I knew it was my father who’d picked out the ring and wrapped its box in paper covered with bright red flowers.
A sob swelled up in my throat, but I forced it down.
Across the aisle, a woman with a dirty face and unlaced sneakers was muttering to herself and swaying back and forth. I figured she must be on drugs, but I didn’t know what kind would make someone act that way. I’d never seen anyone smoke anything stronger than weed at a party. I averted my gaze and wished I was invisible.
After a while, the steady thrum of the bus’s engine soothed me and my eyes grew heavy again. Just as I was nodding off, a shrieking sound erupted, jerking me awake. A police car was coming up behind us fast. I sank lower in my seat, breathing hard. The bus driver moved into the far-right lane and slowed down.
Nausea rose in my throat as I waited for the bus to pull over and for the officer to come on board. Instead, the police car shot past us, its red and blue lights twirling. A moment later, an ambulance followed, its siren drawn-out and mournful sounding.
A mile or so later, we passed the scene of an accident. Traffic was stop-and-go by then, and as we eased forward, I glimpsed two crumpled cars on the side of the road. A man was leaning against the guardrail, his head in his hands.
He’d probably been driving to work, his mind filled with the list of all the ordinary things he needed to do that day. Now he was caught in a vortex.
It wasn’t until we’d passed him that I realized my hand had risen so my palm pressed against my glass window. The devastated stranger was the only person in the world I felt connected to at this moment.
I stayed wide awake for the rest of the ride.
When the bus arrived in Pittsburgh, I was the last one to get off. I felt like I’d put enough space and miles between me and James and the horrible crime we’d committed. But I had no idea where to go next. I’d have to sleep at some point, but I couldn’t afford a hotel. Plus I didn’t have any ID or a credit card to rent a room.
I looked around at all the people passing by: men and women walking rapidly with briefcases or BlackBerrys in their hands, a group of construction workers jackhammering up a section of the road, and a guy with a backpack slung over one shoulder jaywalking while a car horn bleated at him.
I began to walk, too.
I must’ve roamed the streets for a couple of hours before I passed a pretzel vendor. The yeasty aroma of bread made my stomach rumble. I was suddenly ravenous. I searched through my duffle until I found the red apple and devoured it, crunching all the way down to the core.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and wondered if I could splurge on a pretzel. Then I mentally tallied what I’d already spent on the taxi and bus and kept walking.
I finally stopped when I came to a grand, gray building with arched windows and columns. Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh, the sign out front read.