Quarter Miles (Runaway, #3)

by Devney Perry

“Why would I talk about it?” She whirled on me, her face flushed and her eyes blazing. “Why would I talk about how my mother hated me? Why would I talk about living in the dirt for two years because sleeping in a trash heap, in a makeshift hovel with tarps and metal sheets and mice, was better than the alternative?” “I’m—” “Sorry?” She went to the suitcase, slamming it closed and zipping it tight. Then she turned to me, her hands planted on her hips. “I can’t talk about that time. I don’t want to relive those memories. Sure, we all pretend that living in the junkyard was this magical fairy tale. But it was scary. We were scared. You have no idea what it’s like shivering yourself to sleep on cold nights and wishing you had just one more blanket. You don’t know how it feels to wake up so hungry you can’t see straight because all you had to eat the day before was half a peanut butter and honey sandwich on stale bread.”