Runaway 1

I skidded into the garage, panting, and finally came to a stop behind an old station wagon.

The boy under the hood poked his head out and stared at me. I stared back-- it would've been polite to say something, but that would take breathing.

"You don't go to this shop class." The boy pointed out, a little crease forming between his eyebrows. The crease deepened. "You don't go to this school."

"I-- Uh-- How do you know?" I floundered.

"You're wearing a uniform from the boys' academy." The rest of the boy emerged from his place half-inside the car engine. His bare arms were wiry and streaked with grease. "... And a beanie-- no, wait, a ski mask."

"I can explain that." I whipped it off. "Don't tell anyone I'm here."

"It's not even black." He scoffed. "It's green. And orange. Is that... is that a ninja turtle ski mask?"

"It was part of a Hallowe'en costume. I want to make it very clear that, aside from some minor truancy issues, I didn't break any laws."

"Right. That's why you were wearing a ski mask. Because of all the not-law breaking you were doing during school hours. How'd you get here?"

"A lot of running." I shrugged. "I mean, we started out in a car. And I can't go back to my school. It's a long story."

"A long story you said you could explain." He reminded me. "Which you might want to do before Mr. Gallagher comes back with the rest of the class."

"How come you're not with them?"

"Because they're the regular class. I'm the advanced class." He settled onto the concrete floor next to me, narrowly avoiding a pool of oil. "Tell me about your wild afternoon of truancy."

"It started with journalism class. I don't know if you've ever taken a journalism class, but they are boring. So I got tired of writing about the football team, which is pretty much the staple of high school journalism. The closest thing to interesting reporting would be the occasional updates on the resident school vandals."

"Of whom you are one? Are there four of you? Do you each get to be a different turtle?"

"No!" I scowled. "I'm not one. Or, I wasn't. I mean, I'm not, but I maybe kind of... I maybe kind of thought it would be interesting if the school paper had, you know, an actual... an actual undercover reporting story. I was operating under the assumption that a bunch of rich kids writing dirty words on the school gym lockers were not going to be dangerous."

"I've yet to meet a dangerous rich kid." The boy said flatly. "You're the most exciting criminal teenager from the right side of the tracks I've ever come into contact with, and you appear to be what happens when the Hardy Boys meets the Ninja Turtles."

"Do you come into criminal teenagers from the wrong side of the tracks?" I asked. I wasn't actually sure if there were tracks.

"No." The boy said.

"Anyway, the school grounds vandalism was, like, nothing. The school-skipping, also, I thought, nothing. The stealing-daddy's-handgun-to-buy-drugs-and-knock-over-convenience-stores-for-thrills thing was not so much nothing. I mean, these kids, their parents know my parents! I was not prepared for real crime to occur. I booked it."

"I don't blame you." He blinked, but that was about as much expression as I got out of him.

"Are you always this... um..."

"Inscrutable?" Another slow blink.

"Maybe?"

"Most of the time. So you're on the run from bored, wealthy adrenaline junkies?"

"They're very jaded. And as it turns out, hopped up on stuff. And they kind of know I'm not a legitimate badass. My name's Reed." I held out a hand.

"Lee." He shook his head, holding up a grease-stained palm. "So your plan was...?"

"Part A was to hide. I found myself near a different school, I thought maybe I could blend in."

"Maybe, if you ditch the tie and the turtle mask. And any lingering sense of entitlement you might have."

I ripped the tie off and tossed it to him. "I don't have a lingering sense of entitlement. Part B of my plan was to not go back to school. Part C is where it gets fuzzy, because it wouldn't actually be difficult for these kids to find out where I live, and one of them has lawyers for parents, so running into the long, strong arms of the law might not actually do me any good."

"So, what, then?"

"Running away, I guess."

"You could live in the sewers. Maybe you'll find the other turtles."

"You can stop making fun of the mask, you know." I said. "And don't even try to tell me  you didn't have a favorite turtle."

"I was always Splinter." Lee shrugged.

"You must have been the saddest kid on the playground."

"I don't know about that. I was the kid who knew the most koans."

"Saddest kid on the playground." I repeated.

Beyond the far door, the one that must have connected the garage to the attached classroom, there was a mass shuffling of feet and a mess of voices.

"The beginners' class." Lee's attention snapped back towards the noise. He was on his feet so fast I didn't actually see it happened, just saw him sitting and then saw him standing. "I need to get back to work. You need to get out of here. Hang out behind the gym until school's out, then mill around with the rest of the kids. Bus forty-three will get you closer to the hills than any of the others, after that I don't know how you'll get home or what you'll do."

"Thanks." I stood, feeling awkward. "I mean it."

I slipped out of the garage before the rest of the class came in-- heard the opening of the classroom door behind me, and the chattering voices, but I wasn't caught.

I found the gym after some furtive wandering. There was a pile of cigarette butts by the dumpster out behind, a bench with peeling paint, and a view of about half the soccer field. It wasn't a great place to wait out the end of the day, but it was a place where no one would question me about why I didn't seem to be enrolled there, and I only had about an hour left to go.

I don't know how close to home this bus forty-three is actually going to take me. I don't know if home is the smartest place to go, if I should promise to keep my mouth shut or go to the police. Either way I guess I have to take my chances and hope for the best, but what? I mean, I hate to be the slimy weasel buying his way out of an asskicking with his silence, but I also hate to be the dumb bastard who puts his trust in blind justice and watches money walk away with the verdict.

I'd go somewhere else, but there's nowhere else to go.