Runaways

Headquarters is Just a Field Behind Wendy's

With the all the force in my entire being, I shoved a handful of underwear into my backpack. The bag's fabric was stretched  and the teeth of the zipper was being pulled tightly across the top. Frantically I scanned my bedroom for useful tools or important keepsakes, just in case something happened to us. I have said goodbye over and over to this room before, my peace had been made, but it was a strange feeling imagining my bedroom void of life. I stopped when I faced myself in the mirror; my soft eyes suddenly seemed to be piercing, and I could not  recognize the expression I wore. My long, two-toned hair had been pulled back into a tight knot on the top of my head. I thought for a moment of unpacking my belongings and creeping back into bed for a lazy day of average life, but at this point, it was now or never - I learned a long time ago that you have to grab life by it's precious throat and make it give you what you want before it's too late. So tonight was the night that I was to tie back the demons and test my limits. I threw my backpack on my shoulders, wrapped my shoelaces tight, and wearing a sleek black hoodie hopefully concealing my face. I took a step back from my reflection, felt a heavy weight on my heart, then ran straight out the back door of the home I'd lived in my whole life without stopping. I took back alleys and passageways for extra caution, although I'm sure that no one would have taken a notice to me anyway. I knew these streets like the rats knew the sewers, blindly and with confidence. My heart was swollen and hammering harder than any day I could  remember. Time was moving faster than my brain could comprehend and before I knew it, I was at the headquarters. HQ was really just a field covered tightly by trees and bushes, but it was in such an obscure place between a Wendy's and a neighborhood that it held our meetings in confidence. I was the last one there because my window for escape was the slimmest; my parents are hermits that rarely leave the house and ask too many questions of my whereabouts. The crew all looked relieved to see me arrive through the gap in the bushes finally. Everyone looked like I did, wearing dark, plain clothing, with a nervous but excited look in their eyes.

Bodie, with a wild look in his eyes, clutched a flyer in his hands. He was the newest edition to our crew but had quickly proved his belonging to our family. In his hands was not merely a piece of paper, it was the Holy Bible of our kind, a calling to our Mecca, words of affirmation to the sinner's ears.  On the middle of the page were the words printed on the page: SAN ANTONIO SPRING MUSIC FEST,  APRIL 18-22. 

The four of us, all young teens with ambitious souls, took turns turning our gazes from one to another, sizing up the probability of someone chickening out or otherwise becoming an issue. We all looked scared but the energy around us was euphoric; we were in on a secret that no one knew, yet everyone soon would be talking about. Today the question our parents might murmur to each other over casserole dinner or an inappropriately strong bottle of liquor could be: What shade should I dye my hair? or Do you think I could sweet-talk the pharmacist into another prescription? But tomorrow the question they will be asking to themselves, the neighbors, God, the police is: Where did our kids go?

We gathered around in anticipation, all entranced by the thrill and fear that motivated us. Right as one of the twins opened his mouth to speak, a melodic voice erupted behind him and broke the trance. "YOU CAN'T FORGET MEEEE," and I saw a flow of long dark hair, then the rest of the feminine yet bold figure erected through the bushes.

"Dear God," gasped Lilly, the littler twin, flinching.

"Hell no," said Alex decidedly, as if rearing himself for war, and standing in front of his sister protectively.

Bodie and I exchanged looks through the corner of our eyes.

"There's no fucking way she can come with us."