Run and Hide Read Free Page A

bed-beaten hair. A few brushstrokes calmed and parted it, leaving an auburn fountain of hair to hug my chin. Who knew cutting off years of life could be so rewarding?
    Bag on my shoulders, first-day outfit on, and phone with GPS loaded in hand, I stepped down the four steps that led to the broken-concrete pathway. The sky poured streams of light through holes in the clouds, tipping the pitcher of rays more every minute. It was 6:25, and it didn’t matter if I was ready to leave. One foot after the other I left everything I owned but a schoolbag, wallet and phone inside a shack on an empty old road in Greensboro, North Carolina.
    The farther I got from the shack, the nicer the town looked again. Roads were covered with hurrying cars and short lines of traffic, but they were quiet. Tree branches jutted into the sidewalk; a middle-aged person or two walked their dogs. I passed the Walgreens from the day before; had I really walked that far?
    Awaiting a sight that resembled Rock Bridge High School, the lifesaving blue line and blinking dot guiding me to Rock Bridge was replaced by three bright-white letters. “Dad” was calling again. Why was he awake? Since when did he care so much about what was going on with me?
    My thumb hesitated over the red “reject” button on the screen. Then I pressed it.
    “Shit,” skipped through my lips. “Talkie Mushrooms.” An old habit from middle school, when I used to feel guilty after cursing. I reached the front gate of the schoolyard: 6:56 a.m.
    Some kids were entering the building, while others embraced the friends they must have missed violently over break. It looked a lot like school back in Georgia, but cleaner. I made my way up the steps to the entrance, and finally into the building. Kids cluttered the first hallway with thin bodies and wide voices. A few noticed me but most didn’t, too busy blushing over seniors or aw -ing at freshmen.
    Thank God I’d looked at it the night before. Yanking out a school map as a new junior was the opposite of blending in . Only one turn, and I reached a door with “209” showing in the window, a few minutes early since class didn’t start until 7:05. As planned, I rushed into the bathroom to try to brush my teeth.
    At the sink a girl washed her hands, and I pretended to check my hair. When she left, I whipped my toothbrush out of the back pocket of my book bag, wet the bristles in the sink and rushed into a stall to brush. I had toothpaste of course, but quickly realized that I needed—and didn’t have—a cup to rinse. I finished brushing, spit the thick paste into the toilet bowl, and flushed. When I left the stall I found a new girl primping in the mirror. I turned my head so she wouldn’t see the paste that slipped through my lips and rested in their corners. I’d passed a water fountain right outside the bathroom on my way in, so I left the bathroom to head out and take a swish to rinse.
    After a final gulp to wet my dry, nervous, anxious, worried, nauseous throat, I hurried into room 209 for Ana’s first day of school.
    A tall, blonde, gorgeous woman of probably twenty-eight stood erect in front of the class. Black-rimmed glasses topped her petite nose and too-big smile. “Welcome, come find your name on the seating chart and please take a seat.”
    As I turned to face the desks, slowly but surely each person in the room made a point to eye down the new girl . I did as the teacher requested, silently.
    One row from the back, in between K. Roberts and T. Strickland, in front of Z. Tyler and behind H. Johnson, was my seat. I walked to it, avoiding any eye contact, and just as I sat the school bell rang four times.
    “Hello, juniors, I am Mrs. Daniels, and I will be your homeroom teacher this year. Welcome to your first day of 11th grade. Now, I know each of you is excited to be here, awake and learning at seven o’clock in the morning, but if for some reason you aren’t, I simply ask that you stay awake long enough for me to