Free Anywhere but Here by Tanya Lloyd Kyi

sweat and fruit punch, and my hair is molded into the shape of my hairnet. (Hairnets: absolutely humiliating. Not even James Dean could appear iconic in a hairnet.) It’s only seven o’clock at night, but I’m dead tired. So tired that I fall asleep before we’re halfway back to town.
    â€œHey.” Hannah runs her fingernails lightly up my forearm until I pry my eyes open. “I’ve got something special planned for us, but I can take you home if you’re too tired.”
    Home. Though that sounds tempting, so does the somethingspecial. I sit up a little straighter. I’ve been hanging out with Hannah for more than a month now, with no real action. It’s sort of like having a Porsche in your driveway and never turning the key.
    I consider her lips for a moment. “Home. Um . . . no. Well, yes. How about home first for a shower? That will wake me up, and then we’ll go out.”
    â€œDone.” Her foot slips a bit as she hits the gas pedal, and she giggles. She’s wearing black high-heeled shoes with strings that lace up her calves and a short denim skirt. I don’t know if it would win any fashion awards, but it’s more than enough to keep me awake for the rest of the drive.
    I unlock the basement door and head straight for the shower without even checking to see if Dad’s upstairs. When I come out, feeling less cherry-juice pink, Hannah’s flipping through discs. She picks up The Corporation .
    â€œThat one’s a bit heavy. It’s all about proving that corporations are psycho.”
    She shoves it back on the shelf as if she’s been caught snooping. “I know. I thought I was going to need antidepressants afterward.”
    â€œSeriously? You’ve seen it?”
    She shrugs, blinks, flicks her hair over her shoulder. “You smell nice. You locked the bathroom door, though.”
    â€œUm . . . habit, I guess.”
    â€œBad habit,” she says, nuzzling against me.
    â€œIt will never happen again,” I say. I’m thinking I may have stumbled into my own fantasy, and I’m just deciding whether or not I care that Dad may be upstairs when my phone rings and ruins it all. I make the mistake of glancing at it, and Lauren’s number is lit up on the call display.
    Flashing neon warning sign: Do not answer ex-girlfriend’s call while hot new girl is in the room.
    Apparently, I’m blind to neon. Or maybe two years of dating Lauren have ingrained me with Pavlov’s-dog reflexes. I pick up the phone.
    â€œCole? Can you come over? I need to talk to you.” After Hannah’s low purr, Lauren’s voice sounds young.
    â€œRight now?” I scrub a hand through my hair.
    â€œIt’s important. I need to see you.”
    I can tell she’s upset, which makes me want to see her less. It’s going to be messy.
    I hang up the phone and wince at Hannah, feeling as if I’ve been called into battle.
    â€œLauren’s upset about something. She says I have to stop by.”
    â€œOh. Okay.” Even though she looks disappointed, Hannah doesn’t sound angry. Suddenly, all I want to do is blow off Lauren and hang out with the gorgeous girl standing in front of me, herteeth biting the corner of her lip, her eyebrows crinkled with the strain of thinking. The fact that she’s not creating some big scene even though she had something planned . . .
    â€œI’m sure it won’t take long. I know it’s not a great thing to ask, but you could wait and then we could hang out.”
    â€œSure!” And Hannah’s face is sunny again, as if there’s never been a problem.
    Ten minutes later we’re parked on the street in front of Lauren’s. We still have Hannah’s car because she says she has her “surprise supplies” in the trunk.
    â€œI’ll be back as soon as I possibly can,” I promise.
    â€œNo worries.”
    When I get to