Run Away: The Outcasts, #1

By Anne Social

Being broken doesn't make you useless. Sometimes, your shards are the perfect fit for someone else's fractured edges.

 

One runaway is looking for love in all the wrong places (specifically, Colorado).

 

One has the weight of the world on his shoulders (but makes room for his raven).

 

One is running from the sole thing she can never escape (herself).

 

When Kyro chances on one of these outcasts, his plans are thrown out. He knows he deserves a death sentence, but he can't ignore his new friend's desperation.

See, while Kyro played a part in a gut-wrenching crime, he's still a goofball with a bleeding heart. There's a good chance that joining his new friend—and two other eccentric runaways—on a cross-country road trip is the only way he'll save her life. All he has to do is lie low until he can carry out his suicide. It's not that complicated, right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anne Social
• Release date: Dec 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798230395805

Book preview

image-placeholder

Copyright © 2024 by Anne Social

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious.

Edited by Eliza Dee

Cover design by Andy Bridge

First edition 2024

For Mom, without you, this book wouldn't exist.

And neither would we.

Contents

Walmart, Suicide, Ice Cream (But Not in That Order)

Red

When Ice Cream Doesn’t Taste Good

Faster Transportation

In Which I Eat a Rotisserie Chicken While Running for My Life

Problems All Have the Same Face

McDonald’s at Midnight

Stranger in the McDonald’s PlayPlace

Pickup Truck, Nunchucks, and Upchuck

Alarm Clock

Breaking Down and Beating Up

Backflash

ABBA in the Forest

Do or Pie

Waffle Roadkill

Thrifty Business

Hotdog Queen Coming Through

Almost Enjoyed Myself

Fairly Alone and Festivally Fearful

Playground Campground

Pet Greyhound

Forced Fun

Break for It

Staying Behind

Alien Allies

Going to Arizona for Reals This Time

If Only It Were Mummies

Motorcycle Gang

Unconventional Race Carts

Betrayal Nut Muffins

False Identity

Detested Guest

Party Time

You Think You Know Someone!

Sink or Swim

Gotta Gotta Gotta

Wet Feathers

Having an Opinion

Yuki Can’t Fly

Obstinate Friends Are Better Than No Friends

Two Deaths and a Lie

Never Been Better, Never Felt Worse

Contradicting Facts and Feelings

Green Jell-O, Group Hugs, Silly Geese

Missed You

New Message

The Only Option

Living, McDonald’s, Ice Cream (In That Exact Order)

Afterword

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Walmart, Suicide, Ice Cream (But Not in That Order)

Kyro

How did I end up locked inside a Walmart eating ice cream straight out of the container at two in the morning? Good question. Actually, no, that’s a boring question. A better question would be, what flavor of ice cream was it? Birthday cake. I don’t even like birthday cake. But that’s why I picked it. It’s my punishment.

I wouldn’t say it fits the crime though.

Back to the Walmart. The reason I was there was because I wanted to be, and because it was easy to squat inside the ball cage until it was closing time. Was I worried that an employee would check the cage for wayward customers? No. Not even a little. Have you met Walmart employees? Those poor chucks have enough to worry about.

I felt nauseous from all the ice cream, so I set the pint down and wiped my hands on my pants. As I slipped on my extremely cool and not at all ratty gloves, I noticed that the rest of my outfit was looking a little shabby. I ran to the men’s section.

Have you ever gone sprinting through a store after it’s closed? Probably not. That was a stupid question from me this time. Sorry.

It’s awesome. Dark, but light enough to see where you’re going without tackling a Coke display. Quiet enough to hear your shoes squeak on the speckled floors. Nobody’s around to look at you funny. Best of all, it’s so alien that your thoughts don’t have time to get stuck on abstract concepts like guilt!

I did a cartwheel down the slick aisles in my new pants and shirt but stopped at the frozen food section. I’d spied the ice cream and remembered I was queasy.

I scanned my reflection in the fogged-up glass. I’d been told my sense of style was unique. Fine. I lied. I’d been told it was awful. Terrible, even. Like, really, really, really bad. I’m paraphrasing here because my classmates could be seriously mean.

What exactly were they going on about? I couldn’t tell you. I’d picked out a swampy green shirt that matched my eye color. That’s good, right? I hear people compliment other people with the whole that shirt brings out your eyes thing all the time.

I matched the shirt with cargo pants, which had pockets aplenty. I don’t have to specify that because it’s implied in the name though, huh? I kept my old socks. They weren’t lucky or anything, I just liked ’em. They were neon-striped and stuck out of my grimy sneakers.

Maybe it was the fingerless gloves? My brother looked pretty great in them, and I thought they weren’t half bad on me either.

Was it my haircut? It was shaggy. Shaggy blond, minus the side I’d shaved off. I was going to buzz it all off, but I’d run out of time because—well, you don’t need to know about that. Besides, people told me my style was weird before I had a half-shaved head.

My reflection shrugged, and I took that as a cue to wander away and find a spot to sleep before any more thoughts could roll in.

Cleeve. No. It’s Saturday, remember? No school, dude. I rolled over and shoved his hand away. Then I rolled off the bed. Except it wasn’t a bed. It was paper towel packs stacked into a mattress. And the person shaking my shoulder wasn’t my brother. It was a Walmart employee. I’d forgotten I was camping there. I’d forgotten that Cleeve was…

I smacked my hands to my face, forcing the fingerless gloves to bring me back to reality city.

The employee huffed. How did you get in here? I’m calling the cops.

I didn’t listen to anything after the mention of cops. I snagged my backpack and bolted out of the store. Nobody followed. Nobody bothered. It was an imaginary chase through empty parks and even emptier streets. The sky flushed gold, probably cringing at me running like a maniac from nothing. It felt epic, even though I could probably only run half as fast as a car.

I draped myself over a park bench, watching baby clouds and storing up enough energy to start running again. I couldn’t stay in one place for too long. Not just because I hated holding still, but because I’d die before I had a run-in with the fuzz. Which—not to get ahead of myself—is kind of the plan.

You want to know what I did? Why I was on the run like a bandito? Would you lie for me? To protect me? Of course not. You’re a total stranger, and I’ve got blood on my hands. But I’ll tell you what I did, even though you’d totally turn me in if you had the chance.

It started with Dad bleeding on the floor. People say stuff like, It all happened so fast, I didn’t know what I was doing. And it always sounded like a whole bunch of garbage. Until it happened to me. Then I realized how hard it was to explain what it was like. Watching someone dying.

Dying on your living room floor.

No, that isn’t the hard part. The hard part is knowing why they’re dying. Knowing who’s guilty.

Next, it was Mom screaming at the door. She was on the phone. Calling an ambulance. Calling for help. I left her alone. I tripped through the house to the back door, leaving shining handprints on the couch, the curtains, the doorjamb. What else could I do? Cross my legs at the ankles and lean back on the couch? Wave at the EMS with my hand still dripping? Smile at Mom?

Explaining wasn’t an option. I still had something I needed to do.

I ran to our favorite spot, the creek behind the suburbs. That’s where Cleeve was. Bam. Gone the same way as Dad. No time for a hello, which means a goodbye was never even on the table. I wouldn’t have asked for one. A killer doesn’t deserve a goodbye.

Everything is simple now. All I have to do is lie low until my face isn’t on the news and my family isn’t in the papers. Then I can let things be finished for good.

Easy as squeezing lemons.

Red

Yuki

This is all my fault.

I covered the mic of my phone and retched into the trash can under my desk. Words rippled in my ears. Repeating and disappearing. Losing their meaning as they faded.

I dropped my phone and blazed downstairs, ripping the front door off its hinges. I ran down the street. Inky’s shadow followed. Colors whipped together as I hurtled to our spot. The sun bled the rain clouds red.

It had to be red.

The scene blurred as the ambulance drove off. Caution tape scribbled across the sidewalk and cut me apart. All I could see was my reflection in the newly formed rain puddles.

The day before that was like all the others.

Hollow.

See you tonight.

Grandpa stayed stuck to his chair, reading like a fly had buzzed past. The grandson he wanted didn’t exist. Ignoring me was the best thing I could ask for.

I left. The second I stepped out the door, Inky was on my shoulder. He flapped in anticipation of his morning treat. A burst of onyx feathers twisted toward the ground. At the sight of the berry, he quieted, fixed his soft blue eyes on me, and performed his self-taught trick.

See you, he croaked.

I cringed and held the berry out. Not only were Inky’s eyes the same color as mine, but his feathers matched my hair and he could mimic my voice well enough to turn my face red. Hearing my voice filtered through a bird was the most I could tolerate. Fortunately, the similarities ended there.

Inky perched himself on our porch and gobbled the berry.

I continued the walk to school, one foot in front of the other.

Yuki! Davy jumped in front of me, a grin stretching his face. How you doin’, Yuki?

I crouched to his level. How are you, Davy?

He flapped his hands, his voice petering out as he talked. Yesterday I went to the park, and found a soccer ball, and a frog, and lost the soccer ball, and Dad still hasn’t come home.

I bit my cheek and placed a hand on his shoulder. My fingers were used to the action—they didn’t hesitate. Behind their confidence, my voice shook. Your mother needs you. You’ve got to stay strong. You’re the man of the house, which means you’re responsible for your siblings. Keep your head high, and don’t let it get to you. I pulled a piece of candy out of my pocket. It’s gonna be all right.

Davy took the candy but stayed quiet.

Why did I even try? The only thing I ever accomplished was making my friends’ problems worse, dragging them into the sun and choking everyone with the stench. Of course, that wasn’t a new revelation for me. That was life.

I walked off, a metallic taste in my mouth. The sun was waking the hospital-blue apartments behind me, changing them to a polar white.

Davy was still on my mind when my feet led me up Mrs. Irvine’s driveway. I meant to visit her, but I didn’t realize where I was standing till she answered the door.

Come in, Yuki. Her hair and scent were like an Easter lily, her smile a dried flower. Pleasant fresh, but not worth the work.

It’s good to see you this morning, Mrs. Irvine.

She communicated everything to me with a simple look. Gentle creases formed around her withered smile as she led me to the kitchen. Two cups, one brown and one white, steamed on the table.

She took her cup and froze her smile in place. A mask for her thoughts. He still hasn’t called.

I brought my cup to my lips and set it back down. He’s at that age. Don’t fret. Someday he’ll realize what you’ve done for him. It took me a long time to realize that with my own mother.

She couldn’t keep that paper smile. It started to tear. It’s been four years. It feels like I lost him. Yuki, you’re the only one who visits. Soon I’ll be in a home with the rest of them…

Just a little more time, that’s all. He’ll wake up. I know it. Why did it always have to be a lie?

None of my hollow words penetrated her, but to soothe me, she smoothed a smile and whispered, Thank you.

The tree outside shuddered as we sipped in silence. Halfway through my cup, she said, Tell me about your morning.

I told her about breakfast, news, and the weather. Her frown told me I should say more. But my problems were my problems. Leaving her with any burden I’d gathered would defeat the purpose of coming. So I continued with the same tarnished taste in my mouth, one foot in front of the next.

The school was another block away. I could hear the neighbor’s dog rampaging as an innocent skateboarder rolled past. I walked up to the gate. The dog’s scream choked into a whimper at the sight of me.

Hey, Kitty.

The padlock jingled as Kitty pressed his nose against the fence.

I pushed my hand through a gap in the boards and scratched his patchy ear. Kitty panted and leaned into my hand, spreading caterpillar goo from his sores. When I stopped, he stood and nudged a satellite dish at his feet.

I pulled a mini carton of milk from my bag and dumped it into the dish. Kitty lapped it up, just like a cat. He was happy for a minute, but when I saw him tomorrow he’d have new marks. My visit did nothing.

I passed the school’s steely fence, mixing with the morning crowd. I had to rise earlier than the other students to be on time. A fissure formed in the crowd as I walked into the building. No one said anything. No one looked at me. No one even bothered to make a joke. They let me pass over them like a shadow, because that would keep my bad luck away.

Through the halls, I kept my head up till I slipped into my plastic seat. Before long, the lecture began and so ended the first interesting part of my day.

Finals tomorrow. If I need to remind you to study, you’re probably going to fail. Mr. Barlow moaned the words as if he had a mouth full of fresh cat litter.

I started to close my books, but a neon voice interrupted, "Mr. Barlow, I cannot sit next to Yuki for finals. If I get one more F I’ll have to retake this class!"

Mr. Barlow’s blink slowed.

I insist that Jeff switch seats with him. Isabelle threw her arms down and Mr. Barlow wiped his face.

Jeff, will you switch seats with—

No way, I plan on going to college. I can’t sit in his seat. Jeff tossed his bag over his shoulder and made for the exit.

Do they always act like this or did you get into something?

It doesn’t matter, I mumbled. The school year is almost over.

Mr. Barlow nodded. There’s no such thing as luck, Isabelle. Good or bad. The reason you’re failing is because you don’t study. Had you spent less time gossiping, there might have been space for success. You will stick with your seat until the year is over. With that, he strolled off.

I cited my other reason for being a social outcast, I’d be willing to help. I’ve got straight A’s.

Isabelle whirled around. You and your half-Asian grades! It’s your fault I’ve had bad grades this entire year, and it’s your fault no one will date me! I’ve dealt with your bad luck this entire time, and now you want to spend more time together? I’d rather peel a flattened bird off the road and kiss it. She spun on her heels and stomped out the door.

Her accusations were ridiculous. Still, it wouldn’t be surprising if Inky pecking at the window did distract her from getting good grades. My bad luck was contagious.

I gathered my things and left. Inky led the way home. If I ever zoned out I could follow his shadow and be going in the right direction. Head numb, I put my feet in his shadow, one after the other. The almost overcast sky tinged the sidewalk blue, dirt and dandelions masking the cracks in between.

If Inky’s shadow hadn’t disappeared, I would have smacked straight into our abandoned meetup spot, an old warehouse. I slinked around the side and stepped through the cold frame with no door.

Yellow rays cut through the broken windows like shining blades. The concrete building was big enough to hold an echo, but its size was diminished by the square pillars that stretched to the ceiling. My hands slid into the rust-free grooves on the ladder, my shoes thunking against each rung. It went up several stories before it connected to a decorative ledge on the side of the building.

I took a breath at the sight of the city buttered in sunlight. Some spots were bruised by cloud patches, others burned by sharp rays. No piece of the city seemed even. It was rough all over.

I sat against the wall and dangled my feet over the ledge. I kept my voice low so Lina didn’t fly off the side. Hey.

She stiffened, then gasped quietly. Yuki?

How are you? I crossed my legs and flicked concrete flakes off the edge.

Lina’s face seemed to age at the question. Fox-colored strands fell over her eyes as she grabbed her shoulders. I can’t do it.

Something speared me. Fast and sharp. I tried to hold the sensation back. What good are tears when you’re trying to console someone? Hold on a little longer—

I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take it. He’s gonna put me in a home. He told me yesterday. Look. She pulled back the sleeve of her cherry-red hoodie, revealing an even redder cut.

I bit my cheek. Another white scar for Lina’s patchwork arm.

She tucked her face in her sleeves and kept her voice level. You’re the only one who believes me. I tell them what happens and he just points to my face. He says I never cut it because I’m vain. He only cuts me in spots I can reach, and they believe him. She cracked like crushed leaves and the tears fell. He says the next time I try something, I’m going to a psych ward, and I can tell by the way they look at me it’s true. A few muffled sobs escaped as she tried to clean her face.

I could’ve fixed this sooner. I knew the signs and I’d let them slip. Remember the plan. All we have to do is catch him in the act a single time and—

He’ll kill you. Lina buried her face deeper. Nobody will hear the gunshots where we live, and Dad practically uses his shotgun as a hat rack.

Lina, wait—

She cut me off again, her voice almost level. Don’t worry. I’ll just run when I’m old enough. You’ve got enough of your own problems to deal with anyway.

"No. You can’t live like this."

The last thing I want is your stain outside my bedroom door. Please, just let it— She broke at her own words, falling all to pieces.

Lina, it’s gonna be okay.

Inky flapped onto my head. Gonna be okay. He croaked over and over, Be okay. Be okay—

I swatted at him. Inky! Not right now.

Lina was laughing. Her smile was a sun shower. Bright, warm, and contradictory. But only visible on account of the rain. He’s got your voice spot-on!

I sighed and let Inky cling to my shoulder.

Lina rocked back and set her chin in her hands. At least I don’t have a bird screeching all my secrets to the world. Maybe you should hire Inky out as a spy.

I smiled sadly. Yeah, politicians would love him.

Inky’s obsidian beak gleamed. He seemed to puff up at my words.

Lina’s cheeks were as pink as the sunset. She tipped her head toward me and said, You know, I still have no idea how you ended up with Inky…

And it’s gonna stay that way. The shock on her face almost pulled the story out of me. Until I realized what telling it would do.

I stretched, waved over my shoulder, and left.

As the door shut, it screeched like a rusted metal playground. I stepped inside. A sound like dust covered the room. It was the ever-present murmur of the television and the occasional grunt from Grandpa.

He heard me and kept pretending to watch TV.

I slinked behind his chair, stepping into the kitchen. Since Grandpa didn’t cook, I had an A− in home economics. But cooking skills are useless when everything you eat tastes like mud and you only cook for yourself.

I shoved a bowl of leftover soup in the microwave, tapping my foot as the seconds ticked. There was so much to do. I couldn’t finish in time. My plot with Lina surfaced. A small recorder would do the trick. I’d already bought one. If I could convince her to use it, we could catch him and it would all be over. But she wouldn’t take it. She was too paranoid about getting caught.

I jumped as the microwave went off. Bowl in hand, I sped upstairs. Inky squawked at my window. I pulled it open and he flew inside.

My soup was lukewarm. I ran my hands through my hair and left them stuck to my forehead as I rehashed old schemes. I had to do something before it was too late. Lina was at her breaking point. I should’ve been able to get her out of this by now. I picked up a paintbrush and rolled it between my fingers. A new scheme would take too long.

My phone rang, a sound I wasn’t used to. It had to be a scam call. No one called me but scammers. That was how my luck worked.

I picked up the phone.

Lina.

Yuki, don’t worry about me anymore.

An avalanche of words fell out of my mouth before I heard the tone. She wasn’t allowed to have a cell phone. If she called me, she either used her home phone or a pay phone, and there was only one reason she’d try. Any feelings I had slipped out of my feet and into my shadow. I went numb. I started to run. I didn’t think where.

I could stop her if I ran fast enough. Assuming the abandoned building was where she was headed. Uncertainty made me faster. I sped through back alleys and forgotten roads. If I fell or cut in front of traffic, I didn’t notice. There was only one image in my head. Finding it a reality would be much worse than a scraped knee.

Down a couple blocks, a small crowd was shuddering at our chronic meetup spot. They parted when I staggered up. They must have sensed I was connected. That or my disheveled appearance scared them off.

I stared down. A long minute passed. The sight of the fresh stain on the pavement didn’t make me cry or scream. Instead, something ticked.

I turned and

Reviews for Run Away

[sarahdreadon · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Four teens end up on a journey together while their lives are breaking apart. But together maybe they can learn to heal. Maybe?

This story is a beautiful ya novel that looks at the hard parts of life but also isn't weighed down by them. It's the perfect mix of heart break and then taping it back up for you.

The characters are all real and complex. I quickly fell in love with them, even while they were annoying me. All four of them are amazing, each time I read a new chapter with a different narrator I decided that was my favourite character, only to read the next chapter and change my mind again.

Definitely coming back for a reread and any new stories that Anne Social writes.

(Also, once you read this you have to join her newsletter so you can read the prequel short story Soiled Shoes. If the book doesn't make you cry Soiled Shoes definitely will).