“We’re in a park. We’re in public. What the heck do you think is going to happen?”
I look down at my big sister. Unlike her, I haven’t been able to sit down. As the minutes passed at work, my thoughts returned countless times to this meeting. Choosing my clothes was so freaking difficult, and even now, I’m not sure I made the right decision.
Autumn huffs.
“Anyway,” I go on, interlocking my fingers as if that will help me fight against the anxiety. “We haven’t got any weapons. What are you going to do?”
“He could be anybody,” Autumn says.
I swallow, harsh emotion tearing through me as I accept the cold reality of her words. That’s the one thing that has stopped my excitement from rising to a breaking point, stopped my insides from twisting into knots.
Maybe he’s a liar. Maybe he’s a creep.
The sun is still shining, but it’s dimmer. The park isn’t as busy as I thought it would be.
“I wonder why he asked me out,” I murmur. “If he is the real him, I mean.”
Autumn looks up at me. Eyes narrowed, lips soft. It’s the same way she looked when she told me about our parents when she stumbled into the hallway, her T-shirt all red, and her eyes bloodshot from crying.
“If it’s the real him, he saw your picture, and he thinks you’re hot. Because, newsflash, sis, you are hot.”
I roll my eyes. “He shouldn’t be much longer. We said on the hour.”
“That gives us seven minutes.”
Groaning, I bite down, my hands curling into fists.
“What was that?”
I turn at the voice and see a man standing on the grass a few feet from our bench. He’s tall, wide, and strong-looking.
If it wasn’t for his stained and muddy clothes, I’d think he was a college football player.
But his hair is greasy, and his eyes have a flinty look. When he grins, it’s shaky, and I’m certain he’s been drinking.
“What did you say?” he snaps, pointing at me.
“I didn’t… I don’t know. Lots of things.” I shift from foot to foot. “Nothing about you.”
“Wait, what?” he takes a step, glaring at me. “Who said anything about me? You been talking about me?”
Autumn is on her feet now. She walks over to me, standing with her shoulder just in front of mine, always protective even if she’s probably half my weight.
“We were having a private conversation,” Autumn says. “It has nothing to do with you.”
In typical Autumn fashion, her response comes out with a layer of sarcasm and that just-her brand of irony. The tone makes her seem meaner than she really is like she’s trying to be cruel when I know better.
I can hear the note of fear making her voice shiver.
It seems the other park-goers have suddenly decided to disappear because it’s just me and Autumn in our little corner, with the man leering, his eyes becoming a weird shade of anger and confusion.
It’s like he thinks he’s been insulted, and he’s pissed about it. But he can’t quite figure out how.
“I was walking by here,” he says, gesturing as though he’s addressing an imaginary jury. “And I was minding my own business. Then it seemed to me, you little ladies, you naughty girls, you fucking fiending freaks, that you started laughing at me and making jokes about me.”
Autumn and I exchange a look, neither of us sure how to handle this man. He’s pacing in a circle, and the circle brings him closer with each passing.
It’s like he’s slowly inching his way over to us.
There’s an unhinged air about him. I get the sense he might have an outburst, and then I feel guilty, like who the heck am I to judge. But the thing is, I have to judge in these circumstances.
He might do something drastic.
Tugging on Autumn’s arm, I lead her away. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“Such a cliché, that line,” the man says, grinning now, his manic energy seeming to increase. “And yet nobody ever makes the necessary effort to rephrase the typical. Let’s all live in a cut-and-paste world. You little fucking bitch, I heard you insult me. You were laughing at me.”
The look he gives us is so bone-chilling, as though he’s been looking for the people who ruined his life. And now he’s decided that we’re those people.
He lurches forward, lashing his hand through the air. I scream, and Autumn yells. The most tragic part is I can hear her trying to suppress her fear, pushing it down beneath her so-called toughness. I often wonder if everybody else can hear that part of her.
“That’s enough of that,” Autumn snaps. “You’re acting like a complete jerk. I don’t know if you’re drunk or what the fuck is the matter with you, but we’re not putting up with it.”
“Call the cops,” the man laughs coldly. “See how long it takes them to find two sluts like you in these parts.”