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Rumours – Fleetwood Mac

I woke up to the soft whoop whoop of a police car, and sat bolt upright in bed, my heart thundering in my chest. Had the cops caught up with me already?

After a split second I remembered we were in a motel off the interstate, and the police probably drove through here on a regular basis.

There was really no reason for me to panic, especially so early in the morning.

I pressed the heel of my hand against my breastbone and forced myself to take a deep breath.

I glanced over at Brooke, who was sleeping soundly on the bed next to mine, curled up and facing away from the window.

The motel room had two narrow, lumpy beds and a threadbare carpet – far from modern, but it was clean, and I wasn’t going to argue about the quality when it had been so cheap.

Brooke had taken care of paying for the room and collecting the keys last night, and we’d driven around the back of the building to hide her car in a dark corner of the parking lot before taking all our bags into the room.

Brooke had gone back to put the top up on the Mustang, while I tried not to worry about everything that had happened.

I didn’t want to go to sleep right away, but Brooke looked exhausted, so I didn’t shower before I got into bed like I usually did.

She’d fallen asleep only minutes after crawling under the covers and I hadn’t.

I’d laid on my back for a couple of hours, staring at the ceiling and listening to Brooke snore.

Asleep, I had no control over what memories my subconscious flashed at me.

It was easier to stay in control while I was awake.

Brooke’s exhaustion had made me even more curious about what she was running away from, but I wasn’t going to ask. Not when I knew she would only ask me the same question back.

While I’d been lying awake, I’d been able to hear the cars outside racing up and down the highway.

That hadn’t bothered me, though. It was nowhere near as bad as some of the apartments I’d lived in with my mom, where I could hear babies crying and adults arguing through the paper-thin walls at all times of day.

I guess the sound of the traffic must have eventually lulled me to sleep.

Now, looking over at the thick curtain covering the window, my curiosity got the better of me and I quietly slid out of bed to see what was going on outside.

Two police cars were in the parking lot, their red and blue lights flashing, and I watched a female officer get out of the second car and go around the corner to the motel reception.

Oh no.

I’d been here before – well, not here , but I knew exactly how this scene played out – and the last thing I wanted was to be directed into the back of a police car to be returned to my mom.

I guessed there were two cars because there were two of us, one car each for me and Brooke, and both would be carrying a stony-faced police officer accompanied by a fake-smiling child protection social worker.

They always sent the female officers after teenage girl runaways.

I wasn’t going back. Not this time.

‘Brooke,’ I said, stumbling across the room to urgently shake her awake. ‘We have to go. Get up.’

‘What the hell?’ she grumbled.

‘The police are outside.’

‘Police?’ She sounded more alert now.

‘Yeah. We have to go. Right now.’

‘Shit,’ she groaned.

She sat up quickly then, and I pulled on a sweater and my sneakers while shoving everything else into my backpack. I was shaking and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. It took three attempts for me to tie my shoelaces. My fingers kept slipping.

‘Where’s the room key?’ I asked in a panic.

I turned around and noticed Brooke had put her jeans on over the top of her pajama shorts.

‘Just leave it.’

‘Leave it here?’

‘Yeah, housekeeping will find it when they come by later,’ she replied.

Not having to check out with the front desk would cut down on how long it would take to get out of here, which was fine by me. I swung my backpack onto my shoulder and took a few quick steps toward the door.

‘You’re sure they’re here for us, Mouse?’ she asked, and I nodded frantically.

‘There are two cars, both with police officers and what look like child protection social workers. We have to leave now , unless you want a police escort home.’ I forced myself to unclench my jaw. ‘But I might be wrong. Do you want to hang around and find out?’

She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head. ‘Let’s go.’

We left the room as quietly as possible and tried to act casual, like regular people who had decided, Hey, let’s get up super early and leave, rather than waiting for the free breakfast buffet .

‘There’s a back staircase. I noticed it last night,’ Brooke said. ‘It goes straight down to the parking lot.’

‘Let’s do that,’ I said, my words coming out more blunt than I intended. I just wanted to be out of here, away from the two police cars that were such a threat.

It would take a moment, I was sure, for the officers to get the information they needed from the front desk and then find our room.

What I was more worried about was Brooke’s incredibly ostentatious car.

If someone decided to go poking around the parking lot, it wouldn’t take them long to find it.

At least Brooke had insisted on parking at the back of the motel, out of sight of the road. That would buy us a few more minutes.

We scrambled down the narrow staircase and then fell into step alongside each other as we crossed the lot to the car. I didn’t dare say anything as Brooke got into the driver’s side and turned the engine on. I slid into the seat next to her and fixed my eyes firmly on the windshield.

‘Can you see anyone?’ she asked.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to look around. ‘No. We’re good.’

‘You better be fucking sure about this,’ she muttered, and followed the signs for the exit.

There was a single officer left in one of the police cars – the others must have joined the first at the front desk – and she barely looked up as we pulled around the building and onto the highway.

I looked down at my hands, surprised to see that they were still shaking, then flicked my eyes to the rearview mirror, watching for when the police cars would surely appear. Meanwhile, Brooke put distance between us and the motel.

I was breathing too hard, but I couldn’t slow down my rapid-fire heartbeat. I wasn’t going to get away with this. Someone was going to catch me, and then I’d go on trial for murder, and, worst of all, I was dragging Brooke into all of this too.

Brooke reached across me and fumbled for the glove box.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

‘I need another cassette,’ Brooke said. ‘I hate driving in silence. It stresses me out.’

‘Jesus, it’s not the time, Brooke! Just drive!’ I said, my voice rising with panic.

‘I’ll drive better if we’re not sitting here in silence.’

‘Fine! I’ll do it,’ I said, slapping her hand away. ‘You just … watch the road.’

‘I’m watching it,’ she grumbled.

I picked a cassette at random, pushing the button to eject Born to Run and replacing it in its case. It was good to have a task to focus on. Something to distract me.

‘This is Fleetwood Mac,’ I said, sliding the cassette into the slot.

‘A classic.’

‘You have eclectic taste in music, Brooke Summer,’ I said, trying to lighten the mood.

She shrugged one shoulder. ‘I like good music. You must, too, if you’re in the choir.’

‘Eh. I’m only in the choir because –’

‘Because?’ she prompted.

‘Never mind.’

I didn’t want to go into all the excuses I had for not coming home straight after school.

I could sense she was curious, but I wasn’t going to tell her anything.

Not at six in the morning, anyway. My ear was still throbbing from what had happened yesterday, the pain right there if I wanted to tune into it. I did my best to tune out again.

‘Where do you even find cassette tapes?’ I asked, changing the subject.

Brooke didn’t take her eyes off the road, but I could see her quick smile. ‘Thrift stores, mostly,’ she said. ‘There’s rules, though.’

‘Rules? Tell me.’

I was distracting both of us now, and Brooke seemed to realize that.

‘They have to be original albums, not recordings,’ she said. ‘You can find lots of mixtapes at Goodwill, but most of them totally suck, recorded off the radio or whatever. Or the start of the song is cut off because the person recording it didn’t know what they were doing.’

‘Okay.’

‘And you can’t pay more than five bucks per album.’

‘How much do they cost?’ I asked.

‘It depends,’ she said. ‘Some places you can pick them up really cheap, like a dollar or less. But there’s some music stores in Seattle where people are betting that cassette tapes will make a comeback like vinyl did, and then people will want the originals.

So the Goodwill on Rainier Avenue is starting to hike up their prices.

You have to be careful where you buy them from, otherwise you’ll get ripped off. ’

‘Does it matter who the artist is?’

‘Yes,’ she said emphatically. ‘I’m not playing terrible music in my car, Mouse.’

The way she said it made me laugh, but I wished she wouldn’t call me Mouse. I hadn’t figured out how to ask her not to. After all, it’s what everyone called me, whether I liked it or not.

‘No eBay, either,’ she said, and it took me a moment to catch up with her.

‘Huh?’

‘The tapes. You can’t get them on eBay. That’s cheating.’

This was the longest conversation I’d ever had with Brooke – a conversation that wasn’t about running away, at least – and I realized I was only just starting to scratch the surface of getting to know her.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘Do you have a list of albums you want? Or do you buy whatever you find and like?’

‘Bit of both. I’m still trying to find Paul Simon’s Graceland .’

I glanced in the rearview mirror again, and this time Brooke caught me.

‘Mouse?’ she asked.

‘I can’t see anyone,’ I said quietly.