If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel Read Online Free
Author: Kimber S. Dawn
looking so intently at. Because I have a feeling it holds the key to everything that’s about to occur in the next few minutes.
My muscles bunch like little coils around my bones and wait.
“They’ve called in a social worker, it seems. I’m not sure whom, not yet. But the report was enough to warrant a social investigator to visit the school this morning. They want to meet with you today. After your last class. The information I’m allowed to give them is limited. So, I asked that they return when you and your guardian are available. I’ve already contacted Donna. She said she’d leave work on time to be here at three.” He flips his file closed before standing and pausing behind his desk. Patiently waiting for a reaction from me, I assume.
But at this point, I couldn’t really care less what he does. He could go fly a kite straight out of the window for all I care. I’ve heard enough. He said what I needed to hear. I nervously lick my chapped lips and glance at the clock on his desk before clearing my throat. My thoughts are like rampaging bulls, wreaking havoc on the attempt at calmness in my voice when I ask, “And what do they want?” I pick for any and all extra information I can accumulate for myself at this point, while calculating how much time I have and which classes I’ll make it to one last time. “Like, what’s this all about? I didn’t do anything wrong. Did I?”
Okay, I’ve done plenty wrong. But had I not done it, I wouldn’t have the extra money stashed away in Darrell’s shed behind the house that I’m going to need in a few hours, would I?
“Actually, I’m not really sure. I thought Donna would be able to give me an answer to that question as well. But all I know is what the investigator told me, which isn’t much. About the same as what you and Donna know.” He motions for me to leave, but I hesitate.
I wait. Waiting for what, I don’t know. Someone to make all this crap right, I guess. I stand, but stop before leaving his office. And I hate myself for it, but I hesitate again. “But am I in trouble?” I plead for him to answer.
Probably…maybe because I don’t want to leave. Maybe ‘cause I’ve grown fond of the money I’ve been collecting, both by stealing (sometimes) and finding, as well as earning. Maybe it’s Donna. Or maybe I really like the new zebra comforter set she bought for my bed at K-Mart. Maybe it could be a million things, but for a second, I really really don’t want to leave Chicago. I don’t want to leave Mr. Johnson’s office. I don’t want to have to run away.
I’m afraid I won’t be able to find my mom. For the first time in my life, I think I’m old enough to be smart enough to actually think there’s a possibility I won’t. Three-hundred and seventy-eight dollars and seventy-three cents is a lot of money for a thirteen-year-old kid. But not for a kid traveling from Chicago to New York. And that’s based on where my mother was the last time I spoke to her…which was three months ago? Maybe?
So, yeah. I hesitate. Probably for many reasons, I hesitate. But then when the assistant principal of Northwest Middle High just shoos me from his office, I reconcile that this is it. I roll my eyes and resolve for myself that after tonight, for the first time in my life, I’m actually going to be exactly what I proclaimed I was to that boy in the park the day I thought I was getting my mother back.
A vagabond. A freaking homeless.
Great, Eve O’Malley. Just. Great.
***
I waited until after fifth period to skip and leave school. That gave me plenty of time to get into the house, pack my bag then swing by the shed, grab that bag—after digging it up, of course—and then get to the bus station, and hopefully be on a bus by the time three o’clock rolled by and Donna Mitchell pulled up into the school parking lot. And I had an ample amount of time—I made sure of it.
After going through my cash and counting out how many packs of snack
My muscles bunch like little coils around my bones and wait.
“They’ve called in a social worker, it seems. I’m not sure whom, not yet. But the report was enough to warrant a social investigator to visit the school this morning. They want to meet with you today. After your last class. The information I’m allowed to give them is limited. So, I asked that they return when you and your guardian are available. I’ve already contacted Donna. She said she’d leave work on time to be here at three.” He flips his file closed before standing and pausing behind his desk. Patiently waiting for a reaction from me, I assume.
But at this point, I couldn’t really care less what he does. He could go fly a kite straight out of the window for all I care. I’ve heard enough. He said what I needed to hear. I nervously lick my chapped lips and glance at the clock on his desk before clearing my throat. My thoughts are like rampaging bulls, wreaking havoc on the attempt at calmness in my voice when I ask, “And what do they want?” I pick for any and all extra information I can accumulate for myself at this point, while calculating how much time I have and which classes I’ll make it to one last time. “Like, what’s this all about? I didn’t do anything wrong. Did I?”
Okay, I’ve done plenty wrong. But had I not done it, I wouldn’t have the extra money stashed away in Darrell’s shed behind the house that I’m going to need in a few hours, would I?
“Actually, I’m not really sure. I thought Donna would be able to give me an answer to that question as well. But all I know is what the investigator told me, which isn’t much. About the same as what you and Donna know.” He motions for me to leave, but I hesitate.
I wait. Waiting for what, I don’t know. Someone to make all this crap right, I guess. I stand, but stop before leaving his office. And I hate myself for it, but I hesitate again. “But am I in trouble?” I plead for him to answer.
Probably…maybe because I don’t want to leave. Maybe ‘cause I’ve grown fond of the money I’ve been collecting, both by stealing (sometimes) and finding, as well as earning. Maybe it’s Donna. Or maybe I really like the new zebra comforter set she bought for my bed at K-Mart. Maybe it could be a million things, but for a second, I really really don’t want to leave Chicago. I don’t want to leave Mr. Johnson’s office. I don’t want to have to run away.
I’m afraid I won’t be able to find my mom. For the first time in my life, I think I’m old enough to be smart enough to actually think there’s a possibility I won’t. Three-hundred and seventy-eight dollars and seventy-three cents is a lot of money for a thirteen-year-old kid. But not for a kid traveling from Chicago to New York. And that’s based on where my mother was the last time I spoke to her…which was three months ago? Maybe?
So, yeah. I hesitate. Probably for many reasons, I hesitate. But then when the assistant principal of Northwest Middle High just shoos me from his office, I reconcile that this is it. I roll my eyes and resolve for myself that after tonight, for the first time in my life, I’m actually going to be exactly what I proclaimed I was to that boy in the park the day I thought I was getting my mother back.
A vagabond. A freaking homeless.
Great, Eve O’Malley. Just. Great.
***
I waited until after fifth period to skip and leave school. That gave me plenty of time to get into the house, pack my bag then swing by the shed, grab that bag—after digging it up, of course—and then get to the bus station, and hopefully be on a bus by the time three o’clock rolled by and Donna Mitchell pulled up into the school parking lot. And I had an ample amount of time—I made sure of it.
After going through my cash and counting out how many packs of snack
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