Free Don't Try to Find Me: A Novel by Holly Brown

So I’m his loser.
    When I have thoughts like that, I like to text B. But I can’t, because he took Trish’s cell phone with him. What does he need it for now? He has his real cell phone, the one he couldn’t use with me because I didn’t want his number showing up on the phone bills. If he had left Trish’s phone, I could be texting him right now. But he probably just forgot he had it on him. Still, it’s crazy to think that I have less access to him now than I did when we were thousands of miles apart.
    In my planning stage, I found out that there’s no GPS tracking on that model of phone, and I made sure that her parents hadn’t put a chip in. The Internet’s incredible. It makes it so much easier to disappear.
    My parents must be losing their shit right about now. Well, my mom definitely is. It’s not that my dad wouldn’t care; it’s that I can’t picture him ever freaking out or breaking down or doing anything but EXCELLING at emotional control. That’s his word, “excelling.”
    I’m not the excelling type. They tried to enroll me in every sport, handed me every musical instrument, gave me every advantage academically, and nothing’s really stuck. I can write, but not in a very linear fashion, and I haven’t even been doing much of that except to B. I’m this basically average, somewhat overweight person. Evenbeing a little bit overweight is average. Much of the country is, supposedly. We’re a Fritos nation, haven’t you heard?
    That’s not really true of where I grew up. Everyone’s so fit, it can make you want to throw up. I don’t mean that in the eating-disorder way, just in the sense of its being revolting. Even the moms are all fit and MILF-like. I’m kind of hoping that the people in Durham will be more average.
    I’m pretty sure that my dad’s moving us to the farm was a sign he’d given up on my ever being exceptional. Oh, he can’t make it too obvious. He has to keep asking about my math tests. But I went from a top school system to an average one, which means he’s finally admitted the truth to himself about who I am and where I belong. Plus, Mom and Dad used to encourage me to try every extracurricular activity, but this year, all they’ve said is that maybe I should join the school newspaper. They’ve been content to let me do nothing, and if that’s not giving up, I don’t know what is.
    “It should be easier for you to shine here,” Dad said after the move. As in: Everyone’s more mediocre, so here’s your chance!
    But he’s pretty much my father in name only, as far as I’m concerned, so who cares what he thinks?
    I probably was more comfortable in that high school than I would have been if I’d gone with Trish and Sasha. It’s okay to be mediocre when you’re anonymous; not so much when you’re best friends with the Queen Bee. If we hadn’t moved, I would have felt college pressure from the first day of ninth grade, that place is so achievement-oriented. Every year, their valedictorian gets a full ride to Stanford.
    It’s not like I was actually happy in the land of meager expectations. How could I be happy anywhere but with B.?
    I just need something to do, that’s all. I feel antsy, being so unplugged from everything and everyone. Dr. Michael used to say too much idle time is bad for me, but he doesn’t really know me anymore.
    I’m trying not to think about the bus ride, but it keeps bubbling up. I mean, how did Hellma become Hellma? How does that happen to a person? Someone probably loved her once, and now she’s shooting up between her toes on a bus, calling her daughter’s name. I wonder where they are now, all the other passengers. That couple is probably in some cheap motel, beating the shit out of each other. That military guy, he had so much anger inside him—where will it go? So much desperation and hate, it’s just out there. Or is it inside all of us? Is it in me and I just don’t know it yet?
    See, this is why I’m not supposed to