Runner Girl

Chapter Two

The guy presses down on his key fob, and the sleek black BMW we've been riding in chirps as the locks click down. I roll my eyes; even his car sounds pretentious. Jacob's truck is large enough for all the lacrosse equipment his sons lug around, plus a handful of teammates from any of our teams. Everyone always wants to ride in the truck bed, and even though Jacob usually says no, Miles is a different story. Even if I make friends here, no one can bum a ride home in a two seater. My chest clenches, and I fight down the wave of homesickness that hits me when I think about the car. Turning away from it, I glare around the dark parking garage.

Mr. Emerson studies me like he wants to say something, but abruptly, he turns and begins walking toward the elevator. I follow him, hating the fact that I'm completely helpless and dependent on a total stranger. Maybe in the morning, I'll be able to catch a bus and get away, I think, but then I sigh, dismissing the fantasy. Coach said that the courts had already decided where I was supposed to spend the next two years, and even though I can't think of anything worse than being forced to move to a new place with a complete stranger who says he's my dad, it doesn't look like I have a lot of options.

Instead of pressing the elevator button that will take us to the street, he surprises me by pushing "15", and I look at him for a moment, wondering what's going on.

As if he can read my mind, he tucks his hands casually in the pockets of his suit coat and says, "My place...our place shares an elevator with the parking deck. It's more convenient than walking downtown after dark."

"I always like to run after dark," I say, just to be a bitch. I'm sixteen, not stupid: no way you'd catch me running while female after sunset, but he doesn't need to know that. I'm testing him, pushing against his unreadable façade to see how much I can get away with and how much I'll have to fight for.

He grunts. "You can use my home gym if you want to run at night. There's a treadmill, and a pretty good view of the city."

"No, thanks."

"Then you'll have to change your routine."

And just like that, I hate him even more. It's like I'm not important enough for him to bother making a rule or spelling it out or, God forbid, acting like he'd be worried about me. He just takes it for granted that his word is law, and I dig my fingernails into my palms, wondering what evil guardian angel decided I needed this asshole back in my life.

Before I can come up with something to snark back, the elevator chimes softly and the doors opposite where we got in slide open. Without looking back to make sure I'm following him, my captor strides into a dimly lit hallway that sort of reminds me of a hotel, with the strangely patterned carpet and the totally personality-less paintings hanging on the walls. I glance at one of the doors as we pass, and I stop, dumbfounded.

This is a hotel. My biological father kidnapped me from my family, from the sprawling farmhouse in the country, to drag me to the big city to live in a fucking hotel?

I shake my head in disbelief. Is this seriously what my life has come to?

If he notices anything strange about my expression when he swipes his key card at a door without a number halfway down the hall, he doesn't let on. There's a subtle click, and then the light on the door blinks green once. Mr. Emerson holds the door open for me like some fifteenth-century knight or something, and I can't resist the urge to let my bag accidentally whack his torso as I walk past him. He doesn't react, just inhales sharply, and I resolve to try harder to get a rise out of him. There's no way I'm going to curl up and die now that he's totally disrupted my life. Despite what Coach said before I left, I have a plan.

No matter what, I'm going to make him sorry he took me.

Even though my loser father lives in a hotel, the room I'm standing in almost looks like it belongs in a chic uptown apartment, or at least, it looks almost like I imagine a chic uptown apartment would look. It's not like I've got any point of reference.