Sweet Dandelion

“Mhmm.” I feel him hum it more than I hear it. “You okay, Meadows? This doesn’t seem like you.”

I spin around in his arms, linking mine around his neck. “I’m great. Letting loose. Having fun. Being a normal teenager.”

The way he looks at me I know he’s completely sober and analyzing everything I say. He brushes the backs of his fingers over my cheek, his teeth digging lightly into his bottom lip.

“Let’s get some water in you.”

He tries to pull me away from the others dancing, but I hold on tight, digging the heels of my feet into the floor. “No, no, no. I want to dance.”

“I’m getting you water.” This time he untangles my arms from his body so easily I know he wasn’t trying hard enough before.

I frown at his retreating figure.

No longer in the mood to dance now I head upstairs, looking for a bathroom. I spot one at the end of the hall with only a couple of people waiting, thank God, I might pee myself otherwise.

Waiting my turn, I all but cry out in relief when I finally make it to the toilet. I’m in the middle of peeing when I hear a bunch of screaming and cries of, “Get out! Go!”

My heart rate accelerates and I stand up, yanking my jeans up.

Feet pound against the floor, bodies racing for an exit.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

“Cops!” I hear someone else yell.

More screams. It sounds like a stampede. I look at the locked bathroom door, panic setting in. My breaths leave me in short small pants.

I have to get out.

There’s a window in the bathroom, not a large one, but I should be able to climb out of it—possibly landing face first on the ground in the process, but it’s better than being shot at.

Opening the window, I climb up on the closed toilet seat lid so I can get enough height to climb out the narrow space. Sure enough, I fall on the ground, rolling my body so my right side takes the brunt of it and not my face.

Picking myself up quickly, I walk as fast as I can with my limp. I feel like a sitting duck because I can’t run anymore.

All I have on me is my stupid plastic knife that won’t do any good for anyone that might want to shoot at me.

So, I keep going. Each step is one away from the house.

Other kids are running to cars, but I head for the woods. I don’t have a car and Ansel’s is too far. I have to hide.

God, I have to hide.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins and the only thing on my mi

nd is survival. It’s pure and simple, I have to put space between me and the house, finding somewhere to hide until…

Until, what?

Don’t think about that right now. Get away. You have to get away.

Tears streak my face, the cold air stinging them as I move. I make it into the woods and keep going. My leg is tired, barely moving forward. Sheer willpower is the only thing moving me at this point. I feel completely sober at this point, even though logically I know I’m not.

Through glimpses between the trees I see the reflection of red and blue lights, sirens blaring.

Who’s dead?

I push that thought from my brain, because I can’t dwell on it now. All that matters is making it to safety.