Runaway Read Online Free PDF

prepared everything for us.”
    Back to Mr. Coolidge. “And tonight we’re the most thankful to You for bringing Dakota Brown into our home. Help us to be what she needs. We know she’s what we need. Amen.”
    Murmurs of “amen” flicker around the table. Then chairs squeak and laughter and conversation flow over everything.
    I try to act normal, but I’m not sure I’ve ever been prayed for, and I know I’ve never been prayed for at dinner.
    During dinner, I get the feeling Wes is watching me. I think I do okay, answering questions and making small talk. But when dinner is over, Wes carries his dishes to the kitchen, makes a turn to come up behind me, and whispers, “How long you staying?”
    “What?” I ask.
    He leans in so nobody else can hear. “You’re planning on taking off first chance you get, right?”
    “That’s crazy.” I try to laugh, but he’s not buying it.
    “I know the signs,” he says. “Don’t worry. I won’t be sticking around here much longer either.” He calls to Kat. “Your turn to wash.”
    And just like that, the moment passes. But I feel more pressure than ever to make a run for it. What’s to keep Wes from telling them what he knows?
    Hank comes back to clear the table. “Soon as they’re out of the kitchen, I can show you how to get online, if you want. Dad said you were asking about the computer.”
    “Great,” I answer, trying not to sound too anxious. But I am anxious. Neil is my best hope of running away. He’ll be waiting for my e-mail.
    * * *
    It takes an hour to clean up after dinner. There’s no dishwasher, so I grab a towel and help Wes dry.
    “They’re the only white people in the state who don’t have a real dishwasher,” Wes complains, loud enough for the Coolidges to hear. They’re bustling around the kitchen, still putting away food and cleaning counters. “Popeye refuses to get a dishwasher because he calls this ‘quality family time.’”
    “Popeye?” I repeat. I’ve been calling Mr. Coolidge “Popeye” in my head since the first time I met him. But I’d never say it to his face.
    “Isn’t that cute?” Annie Coolidge says, hugging her husband from behind while he struggles to put two bowls into the open fridge. “Wes has always called Chester ‘Popeye.’”
    “What about you, Dakota?” Mr. Coolidge asks. “You can’t go on calling me ‘Mr. Coolidge.’ How does Popeye sound?”
    This is too weird. “I don’t know.”
    “Or ‘Dad,’” Kat offers. She sets the last bowl in the drying rack.
    “Popeye works,” I say quickly.
    Nobody’s clearing out of the kitchen, so I walk outside and sit on the edge of the porch. The sun’s down, but night hasn’t taken over yet. A breeze carries the scent of flowers and grass.
    Hank comes out and sits beside me. For a minute, neither of us says anything. Then he motions toward the barn. “Tomorrow I’ll show you the horses.”
    I don’t say anything. The only horses I’ve been around were plastic toys in one of the homes or pictures in books.
    “Must be tough to land here for the first time,” Hank says.
    I shrug. “I’ve moved around a lot.”
    “Do you remember much about your family?”
    Without thinking, I rattle off the story I tell everybody. “My brother was a lot older than me. He joined the army to help support the family. When he got killed, my mother couldn’t take it. She died that same year, when I was five. Dad stuck it out until I was nine, but he never got over losing my mother.”
    “I’m sorry, Dakota,” Hank says.
    I ache inside, almost as if what I’ve just recounted is true. I’ve told the story so often, it feels like the truth. I can’t really remember my brother, but he was killed in a gang fight. My mom had already run away by then because my dad beat her. I don’t remember her at all. I was nine when my dad died of a liver disease you get from drinking too much.
    “Could we check the computer now?” I ask.
    “Sure.” Hank gets up, and I