𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒. ᵒᵘᵗᵉʳ ᵇᵃⁿᵏˢ ¹

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 17.

━ 𝗳𝗶𝗴𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁.

     𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 I was going, but I didn't stop.

    With the compass in hand, I ran as fast as I could, in the first direction possible. The wind was blowing through my hair with every movement, the sun blazed down and poured over my skin, causing drips of sweat to slip down my cheeks, and my shoes pounded so hard on the ground that clouds of dust from the gravel followed behind me. I didn't know how I was going so fast.

    When the cop car pulled up, I thought, immediately that we were busted, that my grandparents would be called, and I would inevitably get sent back to New York and never see any of those teenagers again. But as I ran and ran, farther and farther, not looking back, the cop didn't seem to noticed I was even there.

    The farther I got, the heavier my breathing became. I ran away from the lighthouse in a speed I didn't know I had, through the trees, and on long deserted roads. I had no clue where I was, until the big beach houses were visible in the distance over the tops of everything, which gave me a reassurance. By the time my stomach was aching with cramps, I figured it was far enough— my legs paining with exhaustion, and my heart rate dangerously high.

    I immediately found myself on the richer side of the island, or Figure Eight, as John B had said it. My face was as red as a fresh tomato, partially from the running, but mostly in embarrassment from the stares I was getting from the rich people as I walked by myself along the perfectly paved streets. Feeling the burning sensation in my cheeks, along with my body full of sweat and my clothes full of dirt, I looked like a circus clown in their perfect town of sweater vests and expensive cars.

    The older women looked at my rosy face, then to my hair tangled in untameable knots, and finally down to my clothes which cried of pity and my white shoes stained with spots of brown. The teenage girls did the same, but adding quiet snickers when I passed small groups of them. We were wearing the same clothes, our jewelry generally the same, but unlike them, I was covered with dirty spots from sitting on the ground and crawling in the chicken coop.

    The boys my age stared at me weirdly, as if I had three eyes. They were wearing buttoned-up collared shirts— and contrasting from John B who wore his completely open, theirs were fully done with each button, right up to their necks. I was beginning to see the differences— more than what John B had told me on the beach. None of the men were really wearing baseball caps like I see Daryl wearing, unable to because their hair was perfectly slicked back and combed to perfection.

    I was simply walking along the sidewalks, trying to smile at those I passed, and ended up walking for many long minutes, pretending to others and myself that I had a destination. The small boutiques slowly disappeared. I wandered.

    Then suddenly, a sweet voice called out, "Hey, Charlotte!"

    Hearing the name, I turned my head to the side to lay eyes on Kook Princess, pulling her car up to the sidewalk next to me. Her Range Rover stopped smoothly on the side of the road at the same time I stopped walking, her window still rolling down.

    I didn't want to talk to her, or for her to even look at me. I was talking to the richest girl on the island, as John B had said it, and I looked like a fat tomato wearing stained clothing, who was out of breath and panting like a dog.

    "Hi," was all I said, forcing a smile back.

    "What are you doing here," she spoke, as she propped her elbow on the rim of her car window, adjusting the glasses that rested on the top of her head. Her plump lips turned up into a soft smile.