I'm finally doing it. I'm finally getting on a plane and getting out of here. I literally have waited for this day since I turned 16, two weeks after I lost my dad. I left a note saying I didn't want any contact. That I was creating a no-contact situation because I couldn't handle it anymore. I couldn't handle the mental strain of dealing with the loss of my dad plus the extremely quick move my mom made in getting with my stepdad. I've basically been on my own since I was 16. All their money goes to the two young kids that he brought with him. The kids that set me up and make me seem like a complete and utter failure even though I know I'm not. Getting through security had been a lot easier than expected, I guess years of dancing through pain helps you fake when you need to pass off as healthy. After boarding my flight, I flag down a flight attendant just wondering if there's any ice I could get for my shoulder. The super sweet lady hands me an ice pack as well as a packet of Tylenol, explaining that her daughter had chronic shoulder pain as well and she understands.

I fall asleep on the plane, waking up to the beverage and snack cart. She hands me some pretzels and water and I gratefully drink it. I fall back asleep until the plane lands. LA. I have no way out of the airport, so I grab my backpack and my carry on and walk to the entrance. Catching a ride in a random taxi, I ask them to bring me to the one place in LA that I know. The Orpheum. My dad and my aunt both used to work there. Maybe with some luck, someone will be there who will recognize my dad's name.

The taxi arrives, and I pay him with a $2 tip. I shouldn't be throwing money around, but I feel bad not helping him out. He has to make a living too. I chicken out going into the building. I end up out in the back of it, sitting against the wall, snacking on what's left of my pretzels and my water. I'm surprised when a kid in a pink sweatshirt walks out the back door of The Orpheum, singing some song about horses and homes, and I'm confused.

"Interesting song choice there dude." I mumble, not meaning for him to hear me.

"Yo, this lifer is talking to herself." He laughs, and I'm really confused.

"Dude. Pink sweatshirt. Blonde hair. Are you on drugs or something?"

"That's impossible, you shouldn't be able to see me!" He freezes, eyes wide and mouth frozen in an "OH" shape.

"Well, I can." I roll my eyes, slowly getting to my feet babying my arm, and leaving both bags on the ground.

"But... but.... but... you're a... a... lifer!" He stumbles through his words.

"Well, I'm not a death eater if that's what you're wondering!" I roll my eyes. He looks super duper confused.

"A death eater?" He shakes his head like he doesn't get it.

"Harry Potter?" I prompt. He shakes his head in confusion. "What, do you live under a rock?"

He looks conflicted.

"Well, technically I lived in this black room for 25 years of crying after dying from eating a bad hot dog with my bandmates, but yeah, a rock works too."

I look at him like he has three heads.

" Say what now?"

"Yeah! See, Luke and Reggie and I all ate bad hot dogs in this exact alleyway in '95 and we got food poisoning and it killed us, but then our friend Julie brought us back by playing our music and now we're a band, and I don't know how you can see me, because only people connected to Julie can see me, and you don't look like you know her, so I'm not sure what's happening anymore."

"I mean, I have a cousin named Julie but I don't think it's the same, Julie..." I say, trying to understand a word of the rambling that just came out of this dudes mouth.

"Oh, my Julie's last name is Molina."

"Shut up. You're lying." I freeze.

"Hang on, I can prove it! Do you have a phone?"

"Uhhh, yeah, but it's at like 20% battery," I mumble. I had left the phone they bought me and took the cheap razor I had bought with my own money. It wasn't ideal, but they also can't track me or claim I stole their phone.

"Here." He types a number into it, and hits call, handing the phone back to me.

"Hello?" A voice comes through the other side of the line.

"Hi? Julie?" I ask, hoping, but not getting my hopes up.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"It's Emmie. I'm here with some kid in a pink sweatshirt who claims to know you?"
"Emmie! Wait, how are you with Alex right now?"
"I flew into LA to escape, and he walked past me mumbling about lifers. Long story."

"Girl! Have him bring you to my house, he knows how to get here! Where are you?"

"Where do you think?"
"The Orpheum?"

"Of course."

"Ok. Tell Alex my house. And tell him to bring you here as fast as possible and no Willie distractions."

"Whose Willie?" I ask.

She hangs up before I get an answer. I turn around and face Alex again.

"Bring me to her house."

"Right this way." He grabs my bag, surprisingly with ease, and I ease my backpack back on.

"By the way, why are you holding your arm so weird?" He asks.

"Cause it's broken." I say with no emotion. He looks like he's about to throw up.

And with that, the wide-eyed Alex leads me back towards the street.