Walking to Ethan's house, my grip tightened around the plastic bag containing only a shoebox. Inside, $5000 in cash—earnings from several summers—was all I had left in the world. This money was my last lifeline, my token of independence after the explosive fight with my dad that led me here. I had promised him I'd take nothing they bought, ensuring they could have their "perfect" family with just Matt and themselves.
It's not like I would be missed.
As I reached Ethan's driveway, I spotted his dad, busy under the hood of a car. He straightened up as I approached, wiping his hands on a rag, his eyes quickly taking in my disheveled appearance.
"Did ya run away? Why're ya lookin' so scruffy?" he asked, his voice filled with concern but not judgment.
"No, running away is for kids," I replied, trying to inject some confidence into my tone, but it fell flat, even to my own ears. I sounded scared and I couldn't hide it.
