They All Fall Down by Roxanne St. Claire EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Roxanne St. Claire
- Language: English
- Genre: Teen & Young Adult Fiction about Friendship
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I run away from home in a downpour.
Guilt wends its way through my belly, knotting things up before
catapulting into my throat, making it impossible to swallow or
breathe. But I have to breathe. I have to exhale the taste of those
words my mother and I just slung at each other.
You can’t go, Kenzie. It’s dangerous! You could die.
It’s a freaking bus to Philadelphia, Mom, not a rocket to the moon!
Buses crash! There are no seat belts! What if the driver is drinking?
You’re suocating me! I hate you! Hate!
My parting word had cracked like a gunshot, punctuated by the
slam of the front door behind me. But she’d followed, calling my
name in breathless desperation—Mackenzie Grace Summerall! Don’t
you dare drive in this weather!
I ignored the order, the rain drowning out her last whimper as I
vaulted into the front seat. Even then, I refused to turn to get a
glimpse of her.
I don’t really hate my mother. But I loathe that haunted, sad,
scared, pained look that turns Libby Summerall’s gray eyes into two
burned-out pieces of charcoal. What I hate is her fear. I don’t want
to fear life—I want to live it.
The echoes of the ght ll the car and I don’t try to erase them
with music, letting the pounding rain on the roof do the job. I never
yell back at her—tonight was an exception. Usually I just simmer
under the pressure of her protection, understanding it enough to
accept the weight of it, only throwing o the heavy blanket
whenever I have to escape.
I squeeze the steering wheel and work my way through the
darkened streets of my western Pennsylvania neighborhood until I
can turn onto Route 1, grateful for the lights of a strip mall and a
few trac signals to guide me through the blinding rain. Not many
cars, though. Not on a night like this.
I press the accelerator and barrel into the left lane, that lane of
peril my mother wouldn’t let me venture into for the year I had my
learner’s permit. But I have a license and freedom now, and a car I
bought with tutoring money and some help from Dad. Now I pretty
much live in the left lane.
I pick up a little speed despite the rain, the tires sloshing through
puddles and potholes, the eleven-year-old Accord feeling all of her
140,000 miles. The light ahead is green, so I give it some gas,
hydroplaning for a split second, enough to send a ash of panic
through me.
That’s not calming me down. I need happy, soothing thoughts. I
need something I understand, something absolute to relax me.
Between the swipes of my windshield wipers, I go to that more
comfortable side of my brain, away from guilt and worry and
arguments I can’t win. I decline the Latin word for “strong.”
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