Page 14 of Princess Seeks Dragon

Hi Mom and Ronnie,

Going to tour two campuses, one in the morning, one at two. Don’t let me interfere with your plans for dinner. I’ll text you, but my signal’s been spotty on the subway.

Love,

Angela

What would I take to go to two college campuses and be out all day in the city? My purse, my designer backpack, and maybe my laptop in its hard-shell case.

That’s good, because that’s enough to carry a couple changes of clothes, my wallet, my birth control pills, and allergy meds, which are always in my purse when I travel anyway, and some toiletries, but not enough to make it obvious I’m leaving.

They’re going to panic. They’re going to think you got killed. Kidnapped.

But if I tell them the truth, am I going to be hunted down and forced into marriage? If they knew where I was, would my parents be getting threats to talk and reveal my location?

No, no. It’s better to get away, then find a way to contact them.

“Okay, keys, phone, wallet...” I take the SIM card out of my older model phone, one that I refused to upgrade. I’m happy now, because later, I’ll just pop that baby into my new phone—once I get one. I’ll be passing a hundred corner shops and sketchy stands where I can buy a cheap pay-as-you-go phone. My phone is going to get “dropped” on a southbound subway train. My credit cards will stop pinging. My debit card...

Sigh. I’m glad Ronnie insisted on giving me an “allowance,” even though I never touched it. Every time I left the house for the past three years, he’s handed me anything from a few twenties to a wad of cash and said, “Have a good time, here’s money for gas.” He gave me California spoiled brat money, and since my idea of a splurge was a convenience store soda, a new novel from the bookstore, and a full tank of gas, I still have most of it.

How can such a kind man be involved in something so brutal as the mob? They move drugs and guns. They might even move people. I shudder.

No, I’m running. I grew up poor, I can go back to it. They can try to catch me, but I’m going to keep moving until they do.

I survey what’s left in my hotel room. Most of my clothes. Most everything. It looks like I’m coming back, and that’s the goal.

I remember when my mom grabbed me out of my bed in the middle of the night because my father had some “friends” over who wanted their money back. She scooped me up and put me in the car with a blanket and my sneakers.

“You can cry when we get to a safe place,” she whispered, driving away from my dad and the raised voices and thrown punches.

“I’ll cry when I get to a safe place,” I repeat her words and grab only what I need.

***

MY PHONE GOES ON Asouthbound subway while my debit card hits ATMs at six different locations, one in each direction. I’m not chasing my tail, I’m leaving a trail in case they decide to follow it.

Would they call the police?

No. I’m counting on the fact that mafiacapos(a word I looked up at the New York Public Library this morning) do not want the police to get involved in their business. Once they start digging, there wouldn’t be a way to stop them.

At four in the afternoon, I finally board a northbound regional rail train. I don’t know where I’m going. Somewhere cheap. I paid for my ticket in cash, and I can get off wherever I want.

My new phone is the kind they market to seniors, with big numbers and a tiny screen that doesn’t connect to the internet. It’s not going to be any help in researching where I’m going.

They’ll expect you to go somewhere you’re familiar with. California. Back to New Jersey.

Far away.

They’ll never expect you to stay in New York.

I take a seat up front, near a surly-looking man in a regional rail uniform, who glares at me and dares me to speak.

I dare. “You’re familiar with all the stops on this line, right?”

“Fourteen years on this line. What’s wrong?” he demands.

“If you wanted to recommend a cheap town with safe neighborhoods, where would you recommend?”

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