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𝐖e stopped in a near-perfect line when a pair of bright headlights flickered on. My heart jumped to my throat. Oh, how I wanted this to be a dream.

The four of us took off running, in which the car chased us. Exchanging a fearful glance, we parted ways. The car stopped abruptly, followed by the door opening and shutting rather loudly. His flashlight came on. He was ready to catch us. Alan, Peter, and I fell to our knees behind a tree. I'm not sure where Red was, but then again, I didn't really care.

"Ya'll done runnin'?" The cop called, shining the light through the maze of trees. Alan kneeled before me and Peter, placing the bag in front of him. My breath was hitched and shallow. I was scared. No, terrified.

"Run," he said, "Get to the boat." Peter looked up at him. From my position, I could see the fear in his eyes. I could hear the heavy footsteps of the cop, crunching leaves. Alan nodded to us before standing up. And then he bolted it in the opposite direction.

"Don't you run!" The officer yelled, beginning to chase after Alan. I ducked behind Peter, my trembling hands on his shoulders. I could feel little flicks of hair brush my thumbs as he turned his head, watching. His breath was heavy. I let out a small whimper; I felt like I was about to cry.

The footsteps of Alan and the police officer trailed off into the distance. We could hardly hear them anymore. This was our chance. Peter shifted, slowly standing up. He reached down and gently took my hands, hoisting me to my feet. And them we took off.

We saw Red along the way. He was fast. Too fast. His feet were throwing sand in the air before we even made it out from the wooded area. Red jumped into the boat.

"Red!" Peter called. He didn't move. He said nothing. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt off of my head as he yanked the starter cable countless times. The motor finally rumbled to life.

"Red!" He called again. This time, he looked up. He saw us. But still, he said nothing. We stood in silence as the boat got smaller and eventually disappeared into the night. Peters arms fell to his sides, and he dropped his pillowcase. We heard no further footsteps. Either Alan got caught, or we were just too far away. I brought my hands up to my eyes.

"Hey, hey," he said, taking a step toward me. "Don't cry." Of course I was going to cry. I was frustrated and scared. I'm sure he knew that. Peter took my wrists and pulled my hands away from my face. I felt his fingers drag across my cheeks and wipe my tears.

"Let's go. I'm sure there's something over here," he assured. I nodded, sniffling once more. I stood still as he lifted the pillowcase over his shoulder. Before we started walking, he took my hand.

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We stumbled upon a small group of tents. A few guys were sitting at a makeshift table playing cards. As soon as we were in earshot, everyone looked up. An awkward moment passes before anybody does anything. Peter let go of my hand and reached into the pillowcase, pulling out the cigar box, holding it out to whoever.

One of the guys, a tall, mean looking one, took a cigar and sniffed it before looking at Peter and I. 

"A box of these for a ride," Peter said, nodding towards the large white boat chained to a tree. The guy gave it a long thought.

"Yeah."

Peter handed the box to the man and took a step forward. The people at the table sighed and stacked their cards back up and stood, walking over to the boat. Peter and I followed. The ride back was long and tense.

We arrived at the pier, in which both of us shuffled off the boat. The guys all waved at us before taking off once more. Me and Peter stood at the end of the pier for a while before either of us spoke.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" He asked me. I shook my head. My mom might be home, and the two of us looked like we'd definitely been out and doing something dangerous. I looked down at my dirt stained knees. The ends of my jeans were damp.

"Alright. I'll see you later," he said. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and gave me a light squeeze before trailing off with his near-empty pillow case slung over his shoulder. I laughed to myself. He looked like a runaway.

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 "𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮"

He seemed angry, but who could blame him? I was angry myself.

"Bye, Peter," I said, but the coastal breeze stole my words.

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My shoes squeaked on the hardwood of my entrance. Mom was at work; I'd seen her through the window when I passed it on my way here. Thank God she hadn't seen me. I called for my cat and shook the food bin, but he didn't come. Mom must have let him out again. I went upstairs.

The cabinet mirror in the bathroom was on by only one hinge. Nobody bothered to fix it. Which was fine. It wasn't like we used it anyway. I slipped off my clothes, covered in dirt and sand, and sweat from my adventure. Soon, steam and the smell of Irish Spring filled my nose. I ran a washcloth over my face and body. This shower was much needed.

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As I was changing, there was a knock on the bathroom door. Mom was home. I hummed, waiting for her to badger me with angry questions. Instead, she was calm.

"Y/n? Where were you last night? " she asked. I could lie easily; she couldn't see me. I slipped on a sports bra.

"I was at Peter's," I told her. "I meant to call you, but their phone wasn't working," I continued. "Sorry, Mom."

"That's okay. As long as you're back."

She started to walk away. I finished dressing myself and laid my towel around my shoulders to catch water dripping from my hair.

"Have you seen Milo?" I asked. Her footsteps stopped.

"I saw him outside yesterday. Maybe he's sleeping somewhere." She continued walking into her room and shut the door.

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