Runaway Home: Chapter 5

Chapter 5

         Kristen awoke with a start to the sound of the basement door opening, the light coming on and footsteps on the stairs. Rolling over, she peered through one sleepy eye to see her mother standing at the foot of the steps, her hands on her hips.

         "Tsk...Kristen? What are you doing down here?" her mother asked.

         Kristen stretched and yawned.

         "I was down here listening to the stereo and I guess I fell asleep. What time is it?"

         "It's 12:45. I thought you headed up to your room last night," her mother said suspiciously.

         "I did. But I couldn't sleep, so I came back down here. Shoot! I've got soccer practice at 2 o'clock! I guess I need to get up," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the daybed.

         Her mother turned and without another word, went back upstairs. Kristen let out a sigh of relief. Had she known beyond a doubt that she'd been out all night, she definitely would've said something. As it was, she could tell her mother was suspicious, but apparently didn't know anything for sure. Now she could relax. At least about that, anyway. As soon as she left the basement, Kristen's thoughts immediately returned to Troy. And North Carolina. And leaving.

         She made up her mind to spend a little more time out on I-480, at least until it was finished. Maybe he would pass that way again. He had mentioned that he used it as a shortcut.

         She got up and retrieved her pants, shoes and coat from the corner of the room. She threw on her pants and ran all the way upstairs to her bedroom. Slamming the door shut, she began to get changed for practice. She looked over at her alarm clock, still that brilliant, digital clarity, but seeming less mocking in the daylight now. She knew it would take her about a half an hour to ride her bike to practice. The soccer fields were on the far west side of North Olmsted, not too far from the turnpike interchange where it met Rt. 10, or Lorain Rd. She found this to be an interesting thought. One that she would have to revisit in a little while.

         Looking out the window, she wondered how cold it was outside, then donned a pair of shorts and an extra sweatshirt. She knew that no matter how cool it was, she'd be sweating in no time anyway.

         Bounding back down the stairs and into the kitchen, she went to the pantry and pulled out a bottle of soda. Her mother immediately started in on her, as usual.

         "Do you really need that?" she asked.

         "I'm thirsty Mom," Kristen replied, rolling her eyes.

         "I swigger, you're going to be as big as a house if you keep eating the way you do."

         "No I won't Mom. I'm too active."

         "Why don't you just drink water?"

         "Because I don't like water," she said, feeling the familiar hurt and anger beginning to rise.

         Trying her best to ignore her mother, she filled her sport bottle with ice and soda, and headed out the door to the garage. She grabbed her sport bag, which held her cleats, shin guards and a towel, jumped on her bike and took off out the driveway. Her dad had finished cleaning out the garage and was now across the street talking to Mr. Edwards. She waved as she pedaled by, her mind returning to the thought of how close the soccer fields were to the turnpike.

         She estimated that it might be another three or four miles to the turnpike tollbooth, and the I-480 overpass where she'd last seen Troy was just this side of it. She wondered if she'd be able to ride down there and hang around for a few minutes, and still get home in time to not raise questions.

         'What the heck,' she thought to herself, 'They don't care anyway.'

         20 minutes later, she had reached the fields and was stretching with her best friend, Lisa Mullis. Lisa's mother was their coach, and all the girls just loved her to death. She was one of those 'cool' moms; the kind that listened and never passed judgment. Kristen had even taken to calling her 'Mom', since she spent so much time with them. They lived on the other side of North Olmsted, out past the mall, and Kristen was a permanent fixture there.

         "So run this by me again. You spent all night last night, out on I-480, with some guy you didn't know... who even kissed you... and your mom and dad don't suspect a thing?"

         "Yep, that's about it," Kristen replied with a sly grin.

         "And you're planning on leaving here and going three or four miles in the wrong direction, just in case there's a one in a million chance he's out there walking around. Right?"

         "You catch on quick," Kristen teased.

         "And you are nuts. You think your parents might notice this time when you don't show up for dinner?"

         Kristen waved her off.

         "Ahhh... I'll be home before dinner. Besides, I can usually come up with some story anyway."

         Lisa just shook her head, and started off in the direction of her mother, who was blowing her whistle in an attempt to get practice started. An hour later, they were all exhausted and sweaty, but as usual, Kristen was disappointed. She absolutely loved playing soccer, and the end of practice meant that she had to return home; the last place she wanted to be.

         She waited until everyone else had gone, and then headed in the opposite direction from home. Riding her bike made a big difference and she had reached the turnpike in no time at all. She followed it back to the east a little ways, to the I-480 overpass, and pushed her bike up the embankment. She sat on the wall above the turnpike, as she'd done so many times before, watching the big trucks passing underneath and waving at the occasional toot from an air horn. She kept an eye out though, just in case. She knew the chances of seeing Troy out here again were slim, but never the less, she grew anxious as time passed.

         She estimated that maybe forty-five minutes had passed and figured she had better hurry home. She decided to take the same route home that she'd taken early that morning. It was the most direct and therefore, the quickest. Her ride home, again, was uneventful and as she'd figured, her parents did not question her. Apparently, they assumed she'd been at practice the entire time. She was both relieved and hurt at the same time. It only re-enforced in her mind that they really didn't care.