Free Run by Kody Keplinger Page A

it only took about five minutes to get there.
    We parked half a mile or so from the party. Bo said too many cars in front of Dana’s house would draw a lot of attention and the cops might come. I hadn’t even thought about that, the idea that the cops might come. The thought made me nervous.
    And maybe a little bit excited.
    “Let’s go,” Bo said, urging me out the door. I slid from the truck, unfolded my cane, and started following her down the dirt road.
    “Hey,” Colt called after us. I heard the truck door slam and keys jangle. “I can’t even get a thank-you?”
    “Thanks,” Bo hollered over her shoulder, but neither of us stopped walking.
    There was the sound of quick feet behind me, and then Colt was at my side, laughing in a way that was almost musical. “What’re you gonna do when I’m gone and can’t drive you to parties no more?”
    “I’ll find someone better to drive me.”
    “Where are you going?” I asked him.
    “Nowhere special.”
    “He’s being modest,” Bo said. “Colt’s leaving town in a couple months. He’s got a welding job lined up in Louisville.”
    “It ain’t in Louisville,” Colt said. “It’s about forty-five minutes from the city. It’s nothing special, like I said.”
    “Sounds special to me,” I told him. “You’re getting out of Mursey. That’s pretty special.”
    “You think so?” Colt asked.
    “Definitely.”
    “Which means it’ll be up to me to carry on the Dickinson legacy in this town,” Bo said. “Now I gotta get in enough trouble for the both of us.”
    “I don’t think that’ll be too hard,” Colt said. “Whatever you don’t do, the town will say you did anyhow.”
    “Ain’t that the truth.”
    I shifted, readjusting my grip on the cane. I wasn’t sure how to respond to any of that. I’d grown up believing all the stories I’d heard about the Dickinsons. Believing they were trash. And I knew at least some of the stories were true. Meeting Bo’s mama had proved that. But the way Bo and Colt talked, not every story should be believed. I wondered how much had been made up and how much was real. And had I been part of spreading any of the lies myself? The thought turned my stomach.
    We were getting close to the party now, though, and we all stopped talking as the sound of voices and country music grew louder. Bo looped her right arm through my left and led me around the side of the small house; Colt was a few paces behind us. I couldn’t see much as we rounded the corner, into the yard, but the smell of smoke filled my senses, and a few minutes later, I saw the bright glow of the bonfire.
    “I’m gonna grab a beer,” Colt said. “Agnes, you want one?”
    “Uh … no,” I said, shaking my head. “Thank you, though.”
    “You sure?” Colt asked.
    I wasn’t. But I was too embarrassed to say so.
    I nodded.
    “All right,” he said. I thought he’d ask Bo if she wanted one next, but he didn’t. Instead, he just added, “I’ll catch up with y’all in a bit.”
    “Take your time.” Bo took hold of my arm again and pulled me away, toward the bonfire. “Here’s a chair,” she said, guiding me into a half-broken lawn chair. “Can you see at all?”
    “A little bit,” I said, folding my cane up and putting it in my lap. “The light from the fire helps some.”
    Bo flopped down on the grass at my feet. “Can you see me?”
    “Sort of. Mostly just your outline. It’s too dark for me to see your face. Oh, and I can see your hair.”
    Bo laughed. “Even a blind girl can see Dickinson hair.”
    I smiled. “It’s true. That’s how I recognize you most of the time. Your hair and your voice.”
    “You know my voice?” She sounded excited by this.
    My face felt warm all of a sudden, and I didn’t think it had much to do with the fire. “Yeah,” I said. “I mean, it’s how I recognize most people. I have to spend a little time with them before I can really remember it, but—”
    “Agnes?”
    It took me a second to