Ride - Book cover

Ride

Bryn Winchester

One-Horse Town

RILEY

It was dark by the time my Uber arrived at the Greyhound bus station.

I could have driven my own car, but I couldn’t risk being tracked down.

Or the temptation to drive back if I chickened out.

No. I was getting a one-way ticket to wherever appealed at this moment.

But first, I was going to empty my current account.

Some of the money was earned through the waitressing gig I had held down in Lafayette.

But to be honest, most of my money was from an allowance that I had been given by Dad once he’d found out I was living off tip money.

I know, I know. It’s pathetic that a twenty-two-year-old would be living off of her dad’s allowance.

But he insisted he didn’t want me “compromising my university career” to keep afloat.

He guilted me into quitting the waitressing job. He said it was beneath me.

Ironically, the stability and routine of bussing tables at Eugine’s Italian kept me sane at college.

I guess I’m glad for his money now, I thought as I stuck my card into the ATM.

Not everyone fleeing injustice gets to start their journey with a couple grand unless they’ve just robbed someone.

My blood ran cold as a red alert flashed up on the screen.

This account has been blocked.

Uh oh.

See, part of the allowance thing meant giving Dad access to my account.

If I wanted to buy stuff without him knowing, I used tips or took the money out and paid in cash. But he’d just beaten me at my own game.

But I still had about 150 bucks in my wallet, and there was no way I was turning back.

I went to the ticket booth, where a bored-looking cashier was playing a game on her phone.

“How far can I get with this?” I asked, putting all my money in the cash tray.

She barely raised an eyebrow as she checked her monitor. It made me wonder how many times a day someone made that kind of request.

“Chicago for fifty?” she offered.

I looked outside at the howling November winds.

Chicago sounds even colder.

She must have sensed my unease. “Or there’s one heading to Houston in an hour, for 105 bucks. Gives you some change for snacks.”

Houston, Texas.

I’d never been, but I’d heard it was a land of sunshine and tacos.

Plus, it was far away.

“That will do just fine,” I said, pushing my cash under the glass screen. She put the money in the register.

“You know you can book online next time. We take credit cards and everything now,” she said with a wry smile.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied as I took my change and ticket.

I’d never even been to this station before. My family weren’t exactly bus takers.

It was kind of a sad place. I got the sense that people hung out here all night, just to keep warm.

I suddenly felt scared. I was so sheltered, and now I was stepping into a world that was honestly unfamiliar to me.

I clutched my backpack tightly as I paced around the cavernous building.

After pacing for forty-five minutes, I found my bus and climbed on board. It was sparsely dotted with people looking vacantly out the window or sleeping.

I found two seats for myself and propped my pillow against the icy window. My stomach lurched from hunger and the adrenaline of what I was doing.

I was leaving home—with no money and no plan.

And objectively, whatever way I look at it, it seems the most sensible thing I could do, I thought.

I took a few deep breaths as I pressed my head against the pillow, willing myself to give into exhaustion.

***

The fitful sleep I fell into didn’t last long.

Turns out Greyhound buses stop.

A lot.

And every time they stop, they turn on the goddamned lights.

I was woken up every hour or so by the shuffling of new passengers.

I prayed that no one would sit next to me, spreading myself out over the two seats, ignoring people’s stares.

I eventually moved for an old lady with a velvet bucket hat. As much as I wanted space, she looked like someone I could stand sleeping next to.

By the time it was late morning, the land was becoming more lush, with rolling, forested hills.

The sun was beaming through the windows, making the bus warm enough for me to slip off my hoodie and enjoy the feeling of it on my skin.

We drove all goddamned day, through the Appalachian Mountains and their small, rickety towns.

We drove past strip malls and featureless suburbs. We drove until the sun started to sink into the red sky.

We stopped briefly at a McDonald’s, and I stole a half-eaten, abandoned meal from a booth. I inhaled my dinner, feeling so grateful for the lucky find.

I guess this is my life now.

Then it was back on the bus for another evening of terrible sleep that bent my neck out of shape.

Turns out Houston is a hell of a long way away.

It wasn’t until the next morning that we had the chance for another break. I was grateful, since I was pretty sure my muscles might atrophy if I didn’t get out of the bus soon.

“Gotta refuel,” the driver explained as we all piled out, blinking in the bright sun. “Y’all might as well get some breakfast.”

The place we stopped in was a tiny town with an old-fashioned main street and a Little House on the Prairie vibe.

I was trying to be careful with my money, so I bought a one-dollar hot dog from a convenience store. It was amazingly disgusting—like meat-flavored cardboard.

I checked my phone to see where we were, only to find it was dead, and I’d left my power bank at home.

I felt a sudden wave of anxiety.

Sure I wasn’t famous. But I was known.

What if I’ve been reported missing?

What if someone recognizes me?

I still had some money left. My eyes landed on a pharmacy across the street, and a light bulb went off in my head.

I slipped inside the store. It seemed like it hadn’t been restocked since the 1990s, but I managed to find a dusty bottle of hair dye and a pair of kids’ craft scissors.

Time for a speedy makeover.

I know it sounds extreme, but if it was the difference between being free or being sent to some “clinic,” then it was worth it.

Plus, I was long overdue for a change of look. I was sick of my dirty blonde locks. I was sick of the person I had been with this haircut.

I needed a style befitting a badass on the run.

I found a public bathroom in the strip mall and applied the dye over the sink.

I felt kinda giddy as I was doing it. I’d always been blonde. Everyone in my family was, by nature or bleach.

I glanced at my wet, dark locks. I didn’t recognize myself.

Now for the real artistry. I grabbed the scissors. They were pretty blunt. ~It will all add to the look~, I told myself, trying to bury my nerves.

I had to do it. I needed a fresh start. But my hair was my security blanket.

I tied my hair into a high ponytail and simply hacked it off.

My stomach lurched with regret, but I tried to push it down.

Maybe some bangs will help.

I pulled some strands over my face and hacked away.

While they were definitely not even, the long bangs pulled my messy bob together.

They made me more mysterious and hard to place.

I felt like a postapocalyptic flapper girl.

I could get used to this.

I’m going to have to.

I stepped out of the bathroom, willing myself to feel like the renegade I needed to be.

Houston, you better get ready.

CASEY

I felt terrible. Sure, Riley and I had grown apart.

But I should have stuck up for her.

I should have told Dad to lay off.

But I knew he wouldn’t listen, and I didn’t have the guts to rock the boat.

I am a coward.

I let her fight every battle alone.

Saturday evening I had dinner with Digby. I brought up the situation with Riley, of course. He didn’t have a lot of sympathy.

“She looked pretty into him at the party,” he said smugly.

The careless way he spoke about it made me feel weirdly hollow.

I crashed at his place that night and spent Sunday with him too. He’d been trying to get me to move in for the last two years, but I always found an excuse.

On Monday, I went back home for a meeting with Dad.

“Riley okay?” I asked while leaning casually against the kitchen island. “She hasn’t been down. Probably still sleeping it all off.”

For a whole weekend?

“Have you checked on her?”

“No. Better to let her stew.”

But when I went up to the first floor to use the bathroom, I couldn’t help but put my ear to Riley’s door for signs of life.

Or at least the sound of Netflix.

Nothing.

I knocked tentatively.

Still nothing.

I opened the door and stepped in.

No Riley.

She must be out, I thought.

Her room was your average arty girl’s room, but on a giant scale. Drifting around, it was like I was piecing together clues as to who my sister had become.

The high walls were plastered in posters for movies I hadn’t seen, and her bed was framed by fairy lights.

Above the messy desk was a big corkboard covered in pictures and tickets and postcards.

Road trips and concerts and spring break ragers.

Mementos of a life I’d stopped asking her about long ago.

I noticed the window was open and frowned as I went to close it.

I guess she climbed out of it, the way she used to in high school.

I drifted to the bed and took a seat. It was neatly made, but a pillow was missing.

That’s weird.

My eyes landed on the bedside table and my heart skipped a beat. There was a note.

I picked it up, blood draining from my face.

“I’m leaving. Don’t come looking for me.”

My heart started pounding. As distant as we had been recently, I loved my sister.

She was an adult now, but she was incredibly sheltered. I was too.

We’d grown up with silver spoons shoved into our mouths and a safety net laid out under us.

I wasn’t sure she’d survive in the real world.

But then, with Dad threatening to institutionalize her, maybe she thought it was worth the risk of being broke and alone.

Would I ever see her again?

Should I tell my parents? The police? Neither had been particularly great to Riley over the last forty-eight hours…

No, I thought. ~Don’t overreact.~

She’s probably cooling off at a friend’s.

I’m sure she has friends somewhere.

She’ll be back in no time.

RILEY

I stepped out of the bathroom, feeling like a new woman—ready to conquer.

I strutted toward the place the bus had parked.

I looked around, confused.

Where the hell is my bus?

Panic rushed through my veins. My thoughts started racing.

But he said we had time for breakfast?

I checked my phone, forgetting it was dead.

I hadn’t been that long.

Don’t they do a head count or something?

What do I do now?

I started to panic. They had taken my duffel bag. And my pillow.

All I had was my backpack, which contained the last of my cash, a spare sweater, a toothbrush, a dead phone, a USB cable, and half a bag of stale chips.

I didn’t know where the hell I was.

I’m screwed.

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