Page 1

Chapter 1

Pink Pompom

TRUIE

Then: seventeen years old

I click my pen closed and shove the brown leather journal back into the tree’s crevice. No one is around to see, no witnesses to our hiding spot. Thank God.

Though I’m not sure how much stock I put in the big guy. I don’t think his services reach this little town.

But we won’t be here much longer.

This shit hole is about to be in my rearview mirror. And my best friend, Winnie, will be in the seat next to me, getting us out of here.

Days. Nothing more than a handful of days stand between us and full, beautiful, blissful freedom.

I push all the air from my lungs and start the walk back to my car. The path is shaded, the trees so thick that it feels more like nighttime as opposed to just barely dusk. Twigs snap under my feet, leaves shuffling and crunching to mark each step as I navigate down the path. On any given day, it’s beautiful here. Peaceful, even. But right now, with the impending darkness, it’s more than a little creepy.

I don’t like it.

Something in the air shifts, and the hair on my arms stands at attention and my skin tingles.

I really don’t like it.

My pace picks up, my simple walk becoming more of a slow jog. Each sound nature makes—every single sigh—takes on an ominous tone. Each innocent shadow lurking behind the trees projects some kind of nefarious intent.

Winnie told me once that she used to sleep out here when things weren’t safe at home. Whether it was her parents fighting, or one of their parties, or because of strangers full of malevolence hanging around her house, the woods have always been her safe place.

It just doesn’t feel that way to me.

Not now. Not as the deep, unnatural dark spreads its tendrils amongst the trees, filling every crevice with nothingness.

At the next turn in the path, the pale evening light shifts through the break in the trees, shining like a beacon. My car is right there.

Fifty yards away.

Thirty.

A relieved sigh rushes past my lips as I breach the canopy of the woods. I can’t help but take a moment to appreciate the simple act of stepping into the light.

Soon, all of this worry, the uncertainty, the fear—it’ll all be behind us.

Soon, Winnie and I will have the chance to start life over, to take our stash of cash from between the pages of the journal and drive away.

Soon, summers spent with my mom will become a permanent thing, and I won’t ever have to see my dad again.

Thank Jesus.

I reach for the handle to pull open the door, and nothing happens. The handle lifts but the mechanism doesn’t engage. It’s locked. There’s no reason for it to be locked. I didn’t bother with it because no one ever comes out here. I’m not even sure anyone even knows this place exists other than me and Winnie.

But sure enough, when I place my hand to the window, shielding the reflection from the last rays of sun, and peer into the cup holder, my keys aren’t there. They’re gone.

My car is locked, and the keys are freaking gone. What kind of psycho stumbles upon a car on the edge of a trail into secluded woods and thinks Oh, I’ll do this person a favor and lock their car for them?

And if that kind of person happens to exist in this tiny little shit town, why would they think taking the keys from that car would be a good idea?

Of all the times Winnie has needed help, not a single one of these assholes considered offering her a hand. No, she had to hope and pray that her secret guardian angel would show up when she needed them. And I can’t seem to make a quick little trip in and out of this tree-infested park without my car being locked up like Fort Knox.