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"What happened?"

"Why did you go in the road?"

"Are you hurt?"

The driver of the SUV gets out with the same questions. The soccer ball isn't as lucky.

"You're a hero," the mother says, helping me to my feet and then hugging me. "Thank you so much. You saved her life."

"Um, you're welcome," I say, awkwardly shrugging her off. "It's not a big deal. I have to go to work. I'm glad she's okay, though."

"Wait! What's your name?"

"It's, um, it's Lilah."

"Well, here," the dad says, opening his wallet. "Take this."

He holds out a few twenty-dollar bills.

"Oh, no," I tell him. "I can't take your money. I don't want to take your money. I—"

I almost say something about how I'm late for work, but I stop when I look around and realize that not only is everyone on the street watching, but people have stopped their cars and come out of shops lining the street to watch, too.

And a lot of them are holding up their phones, recording.

Oh, shit.

I panic, my breath coming short as my pulse quickens, and what food I did manage to force down threatens to come back up. "I—I have to go."

Lowering my gaze, I race for the safety of the restaurant—past the family, the onlookers, and Jodie at the front door. I don't stop until I get to the back room, pacing back and forth in front of my locker, my hands shaking.

Fuck. Is this it?

Is it time to go? I've known since I first got here that the day would likely come when I'd need to leave, but I let myself get comfortable and started to think maybe it wouldn't. After all, every year, they'll forget a little bit more. Every year, I'll look a little less like the nineteen-year-old girl in the grainy security camera videos and photographs.

And in this town, where nothing happens, and no one stays for long, they aren't looking for mass murderers.

I try the combo on my padlock twice with shaky hands before I get it right and my locker opens. After tossing my purse inside, I take out my green apron, tying it around my waist.

Jodie leans against the doorframe, watching me slam the locker closed before kicking it. "Are you okay?" she asks.

"I'm fine," I lie.

"You're mad they took your picture?"

"Madisn't the right word."

I brush past her, clocking in before passing through the kitchen and into the dining room. I pretend she isn't following me, waiting for answers, and busy myself wiping down the already-clean countertop.

"No one is going to find you," she says to my back. "You're safe here."

Of course, Jodie believes I'm only hiding from an ex-boyfriend. But I'm hiding from two ex-boyfriends and life in prison.

"You don't know that."

"Well, what would you do? Go back and let the little girl get hit by the car?"

Maybe."No, of course not."