Runaways

NOTE: I'm not encouraging anyone to run away from home like Mave and Drake do. There's a specific reason Mave ran away. A piece of advice: don't do it. Face your problems. If you're abused, tell a friend. Keep faith in God. Everything happens for a reason.
NOTE II: I know it's kind of lengthy for people who don't like a lot of words (but seriously, this is writing.com), but I would really like a review. You don't even have to read the whole thing. At least the end. Thanks.


PART ONE: MAVE

We're inseparable, the two of us. If we're going to survive what we left for, then we need to grow, not just closer but stronger.

My parents didn't understand what I was going through and then my brother had to kill himself. The second we discovered his body in the basement of our house, I packed my backpack with my laptop, charger, water bottle, and other little things. Oh, and a couple blankets. I ran away.

I was gone for a week before I met Drake. He's three years older than me, sixteen, and ran away from his home too. I don't know if God planned it like this, but we grew really, really close. We help each other survive and we travel together through woods and cities, trying to get as far away from our parents as possible. So far, no missing posters.

It's been six months. Drake and I are staying in an abandoned apartment downtown in a busy city temporarily. It's pretty humid and dusty, but we're making it work.

"Mave," Drake whispers in my ear. "Wake up."

"Mm...," I groan.

Drake gently runs his hand along my arm and kisses my forehead. "Wake up, gorgeous."

I know what you're thinking. No, there's nothing romantic between Drake and me as far as I know. We've become close because we're all we have. Oh, and he calls me gorgeous because I've completely convinced myself that I'm hideous and that no one loves me. Of course, to him that's untrue. He thinks I'm beautiful. Sure. Whatever.

"Time to go to work," he says as he rubs my cheek softly with his thumb. I reach out and grasp his arm, trying to see through my pupils which haven't quite adjusted to the light.

"Hi," I mutter, squinting my eyes. Why did he have to be right where the sun shone through the curtains?

"That's it. Come on." Drake helps me sit up. I rub my head. No soft pillows to cushion your head really give you a headache. Never forget it. "How're you feeling?" he asks me as we both stand up warily.

"I think I'm good."

"Good. Okay, brush your teeth, get dressed, and we'll head out."

I usually do what Drake says. I'm letting him take care of me because he seems to want to. We have a very confusing relationship. I know, but let's just say that we love each other, but don't plan on any romance in it. I hope not because that would be weird. I'm thirteen. He's sixteen. I'm short (and I mean REALLY short). He's tall. Difference.

I put on jeans and a tank top. I throw a hoodie on over it. The weather's been weird lately, so we don't know what to expect. But i wear sneakers and throw my backpack over my shoulder.

The weight in the thing has probably evened out because we got Drake a pack, too. he said that he didn't want me to suffer back problem. I have my laptop for a reason, though. I have EVERYTHING in the pack for a reason; I just wish they didn't all weigh so much. I'm just glad Drake doesn't make fun of me because of it.

After I brush my teeth, Drake grabs his guitar in its case by the door along with his backpack. We don't dare leave all our stuff here during the day. What if it's demolished or something? Though, tonight will be our last night here. We are slowly stacking up the money. After this, we will finally be able to afford to go further away from our homes. Perhaps stay somewhere cleaner with running water. Maybe eat something more efficient than something you buy at a gas station. It's all a matter of time, though.

Drake takes my hand like a parent would to a toddler and leads me out of the room, down many flights of steps in the muggy stairwell, and exits through a break in the wall. We hurry to the sidewalk so no one will notice two kids coming from an off-limits place.

"Ready for the day?" Drake asks me brightly.

I nod and squeeze his hand. I don't know why, but being in physical contact with him calms me so I don't remember my brother.

My brother. He was cruel to me. I don't know why it spooked me to see him dead, though. Maybe it was the sight of his blood, the dagger in his chest, the though that he did it to himself.

Drake squeezes my hand this time. "Stop thinking about him," he murmurs softly.

I nod. "It's hard."

We arrive at our usual spot in the busy part of town -right outside a coffee shop. Time to let uptight business people loose. Drake sits on the wide stone steps leading up to the shop's entrance. Luckily, people can still pass without swearing at Drake to move.

I sit a few steps below him and watch all the people walk by. So serious. So focused on what they're doing. Time for the show.

Drake starts to gently strum his guitar with the pick after he pulls it out of its case. For now, I just set up his case to make it look suitable for donations. We need all the money we can get.

A couple people glance our way but keep walking. It usually starts like this. After the last person walks by with actually no proof that he notices our existence, Drake says, "Time to kick it up, girlie."

He starts to play a familiar song with a some-what more upbeat tempo. Not so much, but it works for the morning. Drake and I start to sing together. That draws people's attentions.

When we first realized that we have voices, we decided to make use of it. So here we are, street performers to save our lives. To make it even better, Drake can harmonize, him being the lead in choir at his old high school.

We put on smiles to convince our growing audience that we enjoy what we do. They don't know we're runaways, so we'll just leave it at that.

I glance back at Drake. He smiles warmly at me as he continues to play his guitar and sing.

People from the coffee shop come out, notice us, and join the increasing crowd. Of course, this happens all in the three-and-a-half-minute song. I love the expressions we get when kids my age walk by, their parents pulling on their arms.

Honestly, I've noticed that every kid thinks they can sing. If you can sing, you're cool, according to the law-of-extreme-coolness. I think it's a gift. A gift from God. Thank you, Lord.

We end the song with a sweet long note we hold out for four beats. The audience claps and tosses money into Drake's guitar case. We glance at each other again, grinning real big.



So we sing for the entire day until six P.M. We pack up and head back to our temporary shelter. We sit across from each other on the moldy floor and Drake pours the money out onto the floor. I count the change, he counts the bills. About ten minutes later, we're finally done.

"Six hundred forty-eight," Drake says, tossing the last five dollar bill on the uneven pile.

"Thirty dollars and twenty-six cents," I say, moving a penny around in circles with my pinky.

Drake smiles. "So that's six hundred seventy-eight dollars and twenty-six cents. That's the best we've ever done!"

I crawl over to Drake and hug him. He wraps his arms around my small body in an embrace.

yes, I'm actually really small for my age. Drake says I'll shoot up when I'm about his age or so. I'm glad I'm small, though. I am such a cry baby when I need Drake to hold me. I'm about as tall as a fifth grader and as skinny as a third. I have problems, no doubt. maybe it's the lack of food. We're doing better, though. We haven't bought anything for the past three days.

"How much does it add up to?" I ask.

Drake stacks the money up in four neat piles and stuffs them in the bottom of his backpack. He's responsible for all the money. Once he gets the change in, he replies, "One thousand eight hundred forty-four dollars and six cents."

Way to go Math Wizard.

I jump excitedly. "Yay! What're we gonna do now?"

"Let's eat. Then we can watch something on Disney on your laptop if you want." Of course, Disney's the only thing he lets me watch. I'm fine with that.

I nod vigorously. Drake pulls out the food I so desperately want, and we dig in. Nothing like bagged chips and warm water bottles with weird chemicals in them. We'll eat healthier, but this is all we have for now.

We eat and watch random TV shows from Disney Channel. Drake is wonderful at finding Internet. He's almost a computer ninja. I plan to charge my computer at the next shop with an outlet. We might just head to the airport and hang out there for a while.

This is how little I am. Drake picks me up under my arms and sets me in his lap. I seriously feel like a toddler when I'm really a teenager, but he knows every little detail about me. My personal problems, my main issue for running away, my ticklish spot (in which we never speak), my personality, and whatever I tend to do a lot.

A few minutes seem to pass by when I realize that I've fallen asleep. Drake had already shut down my laptop and is tucking me into my two blankets.

"I'm cold," I murmur.

Drake smiles softly. He reaches a few feet away to where a random pile of his stuff lay. "Here."

He shows me his hoodie, made for tall people with real muscles and real bones. I sit up anyone and let Drake slip it over my head. Giggling tiredly, I try to find my head. Giggling tiredly, I try to find my hands in the long sleeves. Drake smoothes out the back before I lay down again.

We've wedged our way into a weird spot to sleep in in that abandoned room. Old boxes, bins, and random stuff is piled to the roof on the entire left side of the room. So Drake and I sleep in the midst of all those, curled up close together. It provides a hiding place from anyone who intrudes.

"Go to sleep, Mave. We'll leave tomorrow when we're both awake," he says gently.

"Wake me up when you make up," I insist, brushing my hair out of my face.

Drake chuckles and kisses my cheek. "You need sleep. Don't worry about it."

It's easy for me to fall asleep after that. Drake stays up late. I have no clue what he's doing, but he seems intrigued and very busy.



I wake crying -no, screaming. Images flashed through my mind as I slept. Ones of my brother killing himself, my parents shouting at me, crying in the girls' bathroom at school, hiding in my room, under tables, in closets.

As if it's instinct, Drake picks me up as I'm trembling and letting tears stream down my face. His rough, yet gentle hands stroke my face, my hair, my arms covered by the huge hoodie. He holds me in his lap, pulling the blankets up around us. "Shh...," he whispers in my ear.

I squeeze my eyes shut and cry, loud at first, getting all my anger and depression out, but then it becomes almost silent. I sniff every now and again to clear my nose so I can breathe. Drake holds me close to his chest, his arms never loosening around me. Softly, he hums to calm me down. My quick heart suddenly slows to a steady beat.

"I hate my life," I mutter.

"Don't say that," Drake murmurs soothingly. "You're free from all your worries. I'm the only one holding you back."

"You barely doing that!" I exclaim. "I just hate seeing my past. I was so alone. I still am."

"Well," Drake says quickly, "we know that isn't true. I'm not here because I feel I have to be. I'm here because I love and need you."

I gaze up at him with big, wet eyes. "Then why do I always feel like this? At school, I was everyone's 'number two' for everything. I was replaced as a best friend multiple times. I've felt stupid when I didn't understand what everyone was talking about. I'd never had a boyfriend and I'm too small to even be in middle school!"

Drake's eyes are soft as he listens to me rant on about lonely life. Finally, he says, "So it isn't just about your brother?"

I shake my head slowly and wipe my eyes with my palms. "It was also my parents. They never listen to me, give me the attention I need, or care if I get hurt. When I'm bad, they slap me on my face, cut my hands with a sharp knife, or starve me for three days."



DRAKE

I can't believe what I'm hearing. She waits until now to tell me this?

Honestly, I felt horribly guilty about running away. I had always been taught that it's wrong no matter how much you think you need it. This, though, is different for my Mave. Does she even realize how much her parents disobeyed the law?

Her small body is practically enclosed in my arms. I feel way overprotective now, never wanting to let go. There's just always that one little thing that I can never help her with no matter how much I hold her comfortingly.

Okay, confession time.

The very first time I saw Mave, I fell for her. Yes, she's three years younger than me. No, I don't care. I still have that tiny little romantic love for her, but I know she doesn't for me. I treat her like the little sister I've always wanted. I don't feel like she is, though. Stupidity. That's all I feel when I think about her. I shouldn't like her that way. We just have a strong friendship. I look out for her. She doesn't know it, but she's looking out for me, too.

Suddenly, pounding footsteps up the stairwell jolts us into alert-mode. Mave crawls out of my lap and towards the most shadowed part of our tiny sleeping area. I follow her quietly but swiftly. As we listen, Mave clutches onto my arm, trying her hardest to stay silent.

Voices float to our ears.

"This is perfect," says a deep, gravelly voice.

"I know. Police will never know. Perfect back entrance, too."

I enclose my hand around Mave's smaller one. She's so little . . . almost half my height.

"What do we have here?" one guy said in a sly tone.

The backpacks. Wow, I'm an idiot.

"Laptop, food, water --nothing. What about that one?"

"This looks like a thousand bucks!" cried one ecstatically.

I'm getting edgy. That's our money. Our stuff.

"We're even more rich than we already are now!" the man with the deep voice said.

That's it.

After telling Mave to stay put, I dive out from the boxes and bins. There are three of them. Greasy, ugly, and BIG. Obviously drug dealers who smoke nonstop. The stench almost has me wretching.

"Who're you?" the one holding my backpack asks with a really dumb expression on his face.

I don't reply as I swipe my backpack forcefully from the idiot and shove him away. "Did you not know where stealing puts you?"

The three just stare at me, wide-eyed. Idiots.

"Lake of Fire."

"Who are you?" the biggest of them barks.

"Nobody. Just get out of here," I snap. I'm definitely not going to let them take our only shelter for the night. Mave deserves better than a street box.

"You're just a stupid kid. You do as we say," says the one who appears the dumbest.

"Not today," I growl, hoping this sounds cool to Mave. I quickly look back to see her peeking around the corner of the boxes. Her beautiful brown eyes blink at me. I can see the fright in her eyes. I'm even a little scared... for her.

All of a sudden, all three men pull guns on me. One even has a dagger in addition. Mave screams accidentally.

"What was that?" the stupid --well, they're all pretty stupid-- one growls. He stomps to where the noise came from.

No.

"Let go of me!" Mave cries.

"Don't touch her!" I scream, stomping on the guy's foot and yanking his arms from around her. Don't touch my Mave or your hands are coming off! I take Mave in my arms and hid her behind me. "Just leave us alone," I say on the verge tears. i just want to live another day with Mave. My Mave. I wonder how long I'll have to make this clear?

"Chill out, freak," chuckles the biggest guy. "We're not gonna hurt your girlfriend."

As much as I like the sound of it, I snarl at him. "Just LEAVE US ALONE!" I scream.

All the reasons I ran away from home is partly because of jerks like these. I am SO over it.

"Then get out!" one yells cruelly.

I take my guitar and backpack and hand Mave hers. Forget the stupid blankets. We have money now. Tons of it.

We run down the stairwell and out through the break in the wall. I take Mave's hand, warmed by her sweet presence. "Let's go to the airport," I say. I think it's time we get out of Nebraska and head somewhere by air. We'll get more money performing in better places. I'm thinking . . . . "How's Washington D. C. sound?" I ask.

Mave nods tiredly. She clutches on the sleave of the hoodie she wears. Why does she always look beautiful in everything?



We arrive at the airport by taking a random bus. So we ordered our tickets from Delta. Great. Our flight takes off in seventeen hours. Six P.M. tomorrow. And now we only have one thousand sixty-four dollars and ten cents. We still have a lot to last a while.

Our voices are really getting us somewhere. i've always dreamt of performing for a huge audience. My new dream just has Mave added in it. her voice is just so sweet and flowing that it's what convinced me to like her.

I tell Mave that we're going to sleep in the airport tonight. We'll perform tomorrow until our flight. Then we can get a hotel room in D. C. so we don't have to sleep like rats. Mave brightly acknowledges my idea.

There's a huge window where if you look outside, you can watch planes land and take off. We take seats facing the window. Mave bends her legs up on the seat and leans against me. I put my arm around her and sigh. "I'm proud of you, Mave. I know that it's scary being out here all by ourselves, but you're tough." My stomach flutters as I kiss her cheek.

I completely did not expect her to kiss me back. She got to her knees, put one hand on my shoulder, and touched her soft lips to my cheek. To hide my face turning red, I pull her into an embrace so her head rests against my chest. "Just go to sleep," I whisper.



"Drake," Mave says, shaking me awake.

"Hm? What? I'm awake!" I say, sitting up straight.

Mave sits back in her seat and giggles. "You certainly are. It's seven-thirty."

"Oh, yeah. Right, we need to keep raising money. Did you eat?"

"No," she responds quietly.

I smile. "Let's go find something and then good place to set up."



So, yeah, we found something to eat in a small shop, and now we're setting up in the perfect spot.

Right in front of a huge fountain where everyone passes from baggage check to their gates. Mave sits next to me on the fountain ledge, her feet not even BARELY touching the ground. The guitar case is wide open. We always put a few dollars in to show people what the thing's even for.

I don't know if this is legal or not, but as soon as I play and Mave's clear, gorgeous voice comes out, people glance our way. When I harmonize with her, it draws even more attention. She smiles at me, making my heart thud in my chest.

The funny thing about this is that Mave's laptop is charging right below her feet. In the fountain wall is an inconspicuous outlet. Weird, I know.

The usual crowd gathers. People toss money in my case. It's filled by noon.

Mave and I take a short break to add up the money and store it away, leaving a few out. And by twelve-forty-five, we're singing happily again.

It's crazy what people give you for having an interesting talent. I've found fifty dollar bills before. Knowing this makes me even more excited for D. C. All the places we can perform . . . we're going to become the richest runaways in the world. I'm sure we already are. Seriously, who has over a thousand dollars when they escape their household?



It's half an hour till six. Mave and I pack our things. We had already done baggage check. I must say, the security guards were surprised to see all that money. I had to explain that Mave and I perform together. Of course, we had to prove it. Even the guard gave us five bucks.

We walk together to our gate: fourteen. As soon as we sit down, two girls my age prance over. "You're that guy with the guitar!" the blonde one says. She has a pretty face, but it doens't beat Mave's. The girl flips her hair over her shoulder flirtatiously. "And you're pretty cute. When you're all famous and stuff, can I be your totally awesome, long-distance girlfriend?"

I try not to laugh. "Uh, no, sorry. I already have everything planned out." I gaze at Mave briefly, but she's on her laptop, completely clueless.

"Oh," she says.

"Well," the red-haird girl speaks up for once, "I'm sure that you'll at least consider us . . . mostly me."

The blonde's jaw drops. "Nuh-uh! He's mine, you hog!"

"Whoa!" I chime in. "Look, I've already got someone."

She's still on her computer. I continue. "If it makes you feel better, I'll 'remember' you two as 'fans' I met."

"Okay!" they say excitedly.

As they hurry off, a groan rises in my throat. "Oh, boy."




THERE IS MORE. IF YOU WANT IT, PLEASE REVIEW AND TELL ME. I'M AFRAID I'LL MAKE THE STORY TOO LONG FOR A "SHORT STORY" CATEGORY. THANKS! (OH, AND I WOULD ALSO LIKE ANY KIND REVIEWS. IF IT'S BAD, JUST TELL ME THAT IT'S BAD. I DON'T NEED ANYTHING ELSE)