-runaway Love - Alexis Love- Veronique Vega- Lindsey Meadows- Kis- -

“Get back here or I’m calling the cops! You know you’re not allowed to leave the property!”

Veronique froze for a half-second. Her hand went to the pocket of her hoodie, where she had a crumpled letter from her little brother—the only family she had left, who Meadows had forbidden her from calling. The memory of that cruelty solidified her spine.

The "Runaway Love" wasn't a romance. It wasn't a boy with a fast car or a promise of forever. It was the fierce, desperate, unspoken love of survival. It was the way Veronique saved the last apple for Kis. It was the way Alexis taught Veronique how to hot-wire a hairpin lock. It was the way Kis threw herself in front of a swinging fist meant for Alexis.

The rain was a thin, cold curtain over the Greyhound station. Alexis Love clutched the strap of her duffel bag, her knuckles white. Beside her, Veronique Vega adjusted the brim of her stolen baseball cap, scanning the flickering neon signs of the all-night diner across the street. “Get back here or I’m calling the cops

The Nevada sunrise painted the mountains in shades of orange and pink. The bus crested a hill, and below them lay a valley with a rambling, honest-to-goodness ranch. A sign read: Second Chance Stables – Help Wanted.

“Found a guy,” Kis said, her voice a low rasp. “Works at a ranch. Needs help with horses. Room, board, cash under the table.”

The runaway was over. The living was about to begin. The memory of that cruelty solidified her spine

The bus doors closed with a pneumatic sigh. The engine growled to life.

She wasn’t being dramatic. The group home on Mulholland Drive had been a gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless. Alexis had aged out of the foster system six months ago, only to find herself shuffled into a “transitional living” facility run by a woman named Meadows. Lindsey Meadows had the smile of a televangelist and the cold, calculating eyes of a loan shark. She took their government checks, skimmed their meager paychecks from the warehouse jobs she forced them to take, and called it “life skills training.”

As they climbed the stairs, a high-pitched voice cut through the rain. It was the fierce, desperate, unspoken love of survival

Through the rain-streaked window, Alexis watched Lindsey Meadows shrink into a furious, pink speck. The bus pulled out of the station, past the strip malls and the pawn shops, toward the dark, open highway.

It was the love of girls who had no one, and so became everything for each other.

Alexis looked at Veronique. Veronique looked at Kis. And for the first time in a very long time, all three of them smiled.

Kis was last. She turned her head, just enough for Meadows to see the hard set of her jaw. Then she dropped a single, folded piece of paper onto the wet pavement. It was a list of every violation, every skimmed dollar, every “accidental” lock-in of the basement. A copy was already in an envelope addressed to the state licensing board, sitting in a mailbox two blocks away.