Free Perfect Escape by Jennifer Brown

part of him that I didn’t know. I resolved to ask him about it at some point while we were on the road. I was guessing there’d be plenty of time for talk.
    I wiggled the beef jerky bag again. He frowned and pushed it away; it fell out of my hand, the meat spilling out onto the floor at his feet. “I don’t want beef jerky. Kendra, what is going on?”
    “Hey, I was eating that!” I said.
    “I asked what’s going on.”
    “I said I was eating that. Pick it up.”
    “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
    “Fine,” I said. “If you must know, you’re running away.”
    He squinted behind his glasses, as though he’d heard what I’d said but the words didn’t compute. “What are you talking about?”
    “You said you wanted to run away from your OCD. So you are. I’m helping you. Simple.”
    He let out an exasperated laugh—just one little breath of air, really—and looked forward, cocking his head to one side. I leaned over and grabbed for the bag of jerky, but had to sit up quickly as the hum of the car veering onto the shoulder jarred me.
    “Stop the car,” Grayson said, a little too calmly.
    “No,” I said. “Give me the jerky.” I even sounded stupid to myself, fighting so hard for a bag of stale gas-station beef jerky. I don’t know what came over me, but all of a suddeneverything I believed in, everything I wanted, was wrapped up in that bag. And I wasn’t going to let it go. “I said give it to me!”
    “Pull over,” Grayson said, his measured voice slipping, his left hand reaching for the steering wheel.
    “No! Stop it! You want to kill us? Just give me the beef jerky!”
    “Stop! The! Car!” he shouted. He yanked the steering wheel and we crossed over into the shoulder, bumping into a little ditch on the other side. I screamed, pulling the steering wheel to get Hunka back under control, and stomped on the brake. We came to a stop, halfway on and halfway off the shoulder of the road.
    For the briefest moment, there was nothing but silence. No other cars on the road. Nothing but fields around us. And in that silence, I heard my heart pounding.
Ka-thunk-
ka-thunk-ka-thunk.
I tasted the jerky, salty in the corners of my mouth. I heard my brother’s breathing, quick and angry.
    And then the moment broke around us, as if we’d been suspended in a filmy, iridescent soap bubble and it had given, spilling us out into reality.
    “You could’ve killed us!” I screamed, and pounded my fist into Grayson’s shoulder. “You could’ve wrecked us out in the middle of freaking nowhere!” I pounded his shoulder again, but when I reared back to hit him a third time, he yanked his door open and launched himself out into the black fields. “Get back here!” I yelled, but he kept walkingas though he hadn’t heard me. “Dammit,” I cursed under my breath. I checked my side mirror—no headlights, of course—and jumped out of the car, then raced across the field after him.
    “Grayson!” I shouted. “Grayson, stop!”
    He walked for a few more feet and then stopped, allowing me to catch up to him. He turned abruptly and faced me. “I can’t believe you’re this stupid. Running away? You really think I meant you should drive me out all the way to a Kansas soy field?”
    “You said you wanted to run away from it,” I argued, trying to catch my breath. “You said you wanted to run away from the OCD.”
    “You really think coming out here is what I meant?” he asked, his eyes bright, his voice breaking. “Are you really that stupid?”
    “Stop calling me stupid,” I said. “I’m helping you.”
    “No, you’re not!” he yelled, his face furious. “And we’re not going another five feet. Turn the car around and take us home.”
    He turned and walked back toward the car. I stood where I was and watched him go. He was so angry, he ended on an odd number of steps, but got into the car anyway. But I noticed, once he shut the door, that his fingers crooked in front of him and his