Free Compromised by Heidi Ayarbe Page A

a picture of me—except for my school pictures. Dad’s not the video-cam-toting kind of dad. He has other priorities. And let’s face it, I don’t have lots of cool moments to film, anyway.
    When I return, Nicole is sitting on her duffel smoking. In a weird way, she looks relaxed. Her eyes actually have some light.
    I toss her a coat. “I thought you could use it.”
    â€œI don’t need your fucking charity.”
    â€œI don’t need your company—minus the expletive.”
    â€œGod, you’re such a geek,” Nicole says.
    We walk in silence.
    â€œWhere to?” she asks.
    â€œI go my way; you go yours.”
    â€œAnd if your way is my way?”
    â€œI doubt that.”
    She takes out her cell phone.
    â€œI need to work some things out.” I eye her phone. I highly doubt she has Kids Place on speed dial. She probably doesn’t even have any minutes.
    â€œSo?”
    â€œI don’t even know where I’m going.”
    â€œWherever I’m going,” she says.
    â€œI don’t have any money, Nicole. It’s not like this is going to be a first-class trip. So why don’t you just go back to Kids Place?”
    â€œWith your clothes,” She looks me up and down. “You expect me to believe that you don’t have any money?”
    I pull out the crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “That’s all I’ve got.”
    â€œYeah, right.” Nicole shakes her head.
    â€œOh yeah. I forgot. I have a million buried underneath the neighbor’s award-winning rosebushes.” I roll my eyes and walk past her, trying to get as much distance between us as I can. Plus I’m not going to fork out the cash to pay for another bus ride, now that the important stuff is taken care of.
    â€œYou going to California or something?”
    I shake my head. “Downtown. I need to sort some things out.”
    Nicole laughs. “Turn around then. Downtown is that way.”
    I look down the street and back toward where Nicole is pointing. “Oh. Yeah.”
    She whistles. “You’re ass-backwards at directions, huh?”
    I shake my head. “Just tired.” I walk past her.
    Nicole follows. We walk in silence for over an hour, the soles of our shoes slapping the cold pavement. My feet ache and toes feel numb. I wiggle them in my shoes to get some warmth going. Another flaw in my experiment: running away in Rocket Dogs. God, I hate the fact this is a one-time kind of experiment. I know already I’d be a much better runaway the second go.
    I look at Nicole’s shoes. They aren’t any better. I guess she didn’t learn from her earlier experiments on the streets.
    I tighten the straps on my backpack. It feels like the shoe box of Mom’s stuff—her memories and who-knows-what-else Dad has kept of her—weighs me down even more. God, I hope I don’t find a lock of hair or something creepy like that.
    I stop when we reach a neighborhood park and sit on the damp swings. The sun has crept from behind themountains, though its light brings no warmth. They must know I’m gone. And Nicole. And they’ll be looking for us.
    The fact that there are two of us now irritates me. Nicole’s dead weight. Not planned. Not part of my materials list. I sigh.
    She sits next to me on the swings. The cracked plastic seat creaks. For once, she’s quiet. Maybe her mouth doesn’t work until the sun is high in the sky. I laugh to myself thinking of the “solar mouth” concept. That would suck during summer up in Alaska.
    I pull out the box and sift through the contents. I wipe a layer of dust off a picture of Dad, Mom, and me. I was probably two years old. We look happy in the picture. We look like a family.
    There are other pictures, some letters, paycheck stubs, papers, and shoved at the bottom of the box, a locket on a chain. I open the locket and stare at the faded photo. Two girls hug each other. You