I am driving a 2005 Lexus across the country with the smell of bleach burning into my eyeballs. A part of me yearns to open the windows and feel the fresh breeze on my face as the wind blows away the fumes. A weaker man would give in to those desires. Not me. At least not anymore. I cringe at the memory of my naive self—a delicate boy who had been burned by his own trusting nature. 

“Ha,” a laugh bubbles up from inside my lungs. “Fool me once.” I look into my reflection and see a much less fragile man with a sterner face, soon-to-be blonde hair under a black beanie, and bright red, watery eyes that are still stinging from the bleach. Maybe I should open a window. I decide to stop for lunch and to rinse out my bleach, so I pull into the next gas station I pass. There are people inside the store. Too many people. Maybe it will be fine. 

“Or maybe they want you to think that,” Carl squeaks. It’s been 12 years since I last saw Carl in person, but I still instinctively look to where the voice is coming from. Today, it seems the Carl in my head is sitting in the backseat. Ever since that fateful day in 5th grade, Carl still haunts me—a warning of what happens when you trust too easily. His voice is always in the back of my mind, and a version of Carl still lives in my brain. 

“Smart,” I reply, “Maybe I should go to another gas station.”

“No, the others will be just as crowded,” Brain-Carl counters, “You should go in through the back entrance.” I sigh. It’s not like I always want to be listening to Brain-Carl’s ideas, but once again, he’s right, and I'm wrong. I feel the smug grin of satisfaction across his 11-year-old face as I exit the vehicle and head around to the back of the store. There's an employee entrance against the back wall of the gas station. It’s locked, but I’m no amateur; I pick the lock and slip inside the store. There are aisles of food arranged throughout the store going up to the height of my collarbones, with people crowding in the 2nd and 4th aisles. Easy. I drop to the ground and begin crawling my way down the first aisle–none of those idiots thinking to look down–and grab any necessary supplies from the bottom two shelves. I stuff my pockets full of meat sticks and Twinkies and continue to creep down the aisle to the bathroom. I picture myself as a snake slithering through the grass, avoiding the notice of all the other animals. I reach the bathroom, subtly make my way to my feet, and open the door.

“Hey! I'm in here!” I slam the door and drop to the ground, prepared to bolt, but when I turn around, there is a girl at the end of the aisle. No! I didn’t check my surroundings. How could I be so stupid? I calm myself and begin to assess the threat. Looking at the girl, I thought she couldn’t be more than eight years old, but appearances can be deceiving. I stare at her face and try to see what tricks are hiding behind her villainous blue eyes. She starts walking towards me, her blonde pigtails swinging as she does, and I back up against the wall. She has me cornered. 

“I’m Claire Johnson-Smith! What’s your name?”

Panic floods through my system as I struggle to catch my breath. I certainly can’t tell her the name that I used back in New York or the name I used in Nashville. Why didn’t I think of a name!? How could I be such an idiot!? Jo… Jo what!? What could my name be!? Every last name to ever exist suddenly disappears from my brain. The pit in my stomach continues to grow. I can’t let it show. My face is like a steel wall. This monstrous, deceitful child will never know she broke me. I stare dead into her eyes as I say the first thing that comes to mind:

“Jo Johnson-Smith.” My voice never whimpers. I never blink. I have won. 

“Twinsies!” the girl says before skipping off to another aisle. Ha. That’ll show her. 

Just then, the man exits the bathroom, staring at me with annoyed eyes, and I make my way in and shove my head in the sink. I allow the water to run through my hair, against my scalp, and wash away the bleach. I take some hand soap and wash the chemicals out. When I look up in the mirror, a new man looks back at me. One with patchy yellow hair. A “Jo” that they will never find. Perfect. I put my beanie back on, slither back out to my Lexus, and sit in the driver's seat. That was close, too close. Right on time, I hear Carl’s squeaky, youthful voice mocking in my ear, “How’d you mess that one up?”

I try my hardest not to let his cruelty get to me, but right now, I can’t help it. “It- it wasn’t my fault,” I say defensively as my face heats up. We both know it's a lie. I should leave–speed out of the parking lot, avoiding the suspicion of others, but I can’t bring myself to start the engine. “You’re one to talk! What have you done for the past 12 years other than follow me around?! You’re just as pathetic!”

“Really? Then how’d I get this?” 

I flinch, my anger retreating into fear as I picture the diary from so long ago. I visualize the dark blue fabric cover with the faint etches of clouds painted on. I remember the smell of the paper and the crunching sound the book made when you opened it all the way. I used to write in it every night before I went to sleep. I remember my deepest, darkest feelings and all my secrets contained in its yellow-tinted pages. A diary that was stolen from my hands while I slept that fateful night in fifth grade. I don’t know how he got it, how Real-Carl managed to steal my prized possession from beneath my fingertips. It haunts me. “One day, I’ll figure it out,” I promise Brain-Carl.

“I’m waiting,” he replies with a mocking grin through his metallic braces. I aggressively twist the ignition to start the engine and slam on the gas, speeding out of the parking lot. Stupid Brain-Carl with his mean face! Stupid Real-Carl with his evil cons! Stupid Jo for falling for his tricks every time! We drive in silence for the rest of the day as Brain-Carl’s presence grows less and less noticeable. There are even moments where I forget he’s there, and I feel almost at peace, then I remember.

After driving a few more hours, I park the car in the back of a Walmart parking lot to get some rest. It's dark outside, and when I open the sunroof, I can see the stars shining down on me. Night is my favorite time of day because all of the people retreat back into their houses, and it's as if the world stops spinning for a couple of hours. I recline my seat back all the way and attempt to drift off to sleep, staring at the sky. Sometimes, I think Brain-Carl goes to sleep early because he never seems to bother me at night. After all, it’s easy to forget that he’s 12 and might still have a bedtime. It's completely silent as I gaze up at the stars and admire the vastness of it all. At times like these, the universe’s size is made apparent to me, and I feel less alone. Being on the run is not a fun existence, but it is my burden to carry. Sometimes, I long for a friend to keep me company, but then I remember the only friend I’ve ever had, Carl, and I don’t want friends anymore. Sometimes, I long for love, but then I remember that fateful day in 5th grade. There was a girl in my class named Maxine. She had fiery red hair and an infectious laugh that could make my day. I loved her as much as my 5th-grade self could love. I loved her so much I couldn’t tell anyone about it except my diary. I foolishly confessed my deepest feelings into the pages of my book and later watched as Carl read my confessions aloud to the entire 5th-grade class at recess. I watched as Maxine’s face turned as red as her hair. My heart bled as she turned around and ran away from Carl and the rest of the class. I so desperately wanted to chase after her, but there were too many people surrounding me, laughing and pointing at me. At that moment, I knew my company would only make things worse, and I watched her curly red hair swoosh in the wind as she ran. My love for her was like a fire, blazing as bright as her hair, but in the end, it burned us both. I could never show my face at school again. I ran away that night and never returned to that town again. I learned a valuable lesson that day: all people can do is hurt you, and trust is a fool’s concept. All I know is that no one will hurt me again; they can’t, not if I don't let them. 

Suddenly, my internal monologue is interrupted by a shuffling outside. I hesitantly look out the window and see a madman with a very fashionable suit breaking into a car next to mine. My heart skips a beat as I look around for Brain-Carl, who is nowhere to be found. Panic builds inside me as I realize I am on my own. He’s looking for me. I wonder how he might’ve found me. Was it that vicious, pig-tailed brat from the gas station? Could it be something else entirely? How long had it taken him to find me? I open up the car door and slip outside. My arms, exposed by my t-shirt, are immediately met with a wave of cold wind. My heart is pounding so hard it reverberates through my ears. Every part of me is shaking. No one has ever found me. I’ve been on the run for years, and I have never been this close to danger. Every moment of fear I have felt before now feels foolish. A dark thought awakes from my subconscious: I am going to die. I struggle to catch my breath. I tell myself I need to breathe, but my throat can hardly open anymore, causing a sharp pain in my esophagus. I was so stupid. This is my fault. 

The man is facing away from me, trying to wedge a window open. He is still at the wrong car. This is my chance. He hasn’t found me yet, but I can find him. With shaky hands and a pounding heart, I stand up and say, my voice booming through the parking lot at a more threatening octave than it would normally have, “I’ve found you.”

I freeze in my tracks. “They’ve got you now,” snorts Mind-Carl. 

How did they find me? My heart quakes in my chest. I’ve been on the run for the past nine years since that fateful day in 8th grade. I’ve been so careful! I want to turn around and assess the threat, but my body won’t let me; I’m paralyzed by fear. I’ve never been this close to danger. Regrets flow through me of how I could have messed this up. I change my identity every two weeks and move towns. I wonder how anyone could have found me. Maybe it could be my consistent business casual fashion. It doesn’t matter how he found me. He’s here now. 

I will not go down without a fight. I swing around, my fist whirling through the air. I feel the cool night breeze pierce against my arm as I spin. I instinctively squeeze my eyes shut as protection as I feel my fist of steel plant itself directly into the side of my enemy’s face. He falls backward, flat on his rear, and his hands instinctively fly to his face, which is turning a bright shade of red. His defenses are down. I move closer to him to get in another shot when a sharp pain erupts from my hand. Ow! I look down at my knuckles, which are turning red and hot as blood flows to the surface. It only now occurs to me that this is the first fistfight I have ever been a part of. I take a mental note that punching hurts and I should use a weapon in the future, but just as my attention shifts to my opponent, he sweeps a leg under my feet. 

“Ow!” a shout as I fall sideways, my torso crashing against the ground. I feel tears threaten the corners of my eyes but I will them away. My eyes dart to my opposition. He has the build of a sad green bean and dyed yellow hair. I suddenly feel self-conscious of my own buzz cut and the lack of effort I put in– but I quickly remember my surroundings and focus on more important things. He’s quick. He’s already on his knees, making his way back to his feet. I take a mental note of his unfortunate taste in clothing; not only does his plain black t-shirt and jeans look bland, but he appears to be freezing in this weather. I can use that to my advantage. I clumsily make my way to my feet, worn down from the start of the battle, and adjust my purple patterned tie. Tension fills the air as we two foes glare into each other's eyes. His arms are wrapped around his torso in an attempt for warmth. This is my chance. I seize the opportunity to run at him and tackle him to the ground. Pinned to the earth, he makes a feeble attempt to shove me off of him, but I overpower him with ease. 

In the midst of the struggle, through gritted teeth, my foe mutters, “Shut up, Carl.”

I freeze. Confusion floods through my body as I shout, “How do you know Carl!?” His face turns white.

“What do you know about Carl?” he mutters almost fearfully. 

I know I shouldn’t say anything. “He was my best friend until he betrayed me in 8th grade.” The words slip through my mouth. I should not have said that. I look at my opponent, still pinned down beneath me but no longer struggling. He looks as if he’s seen a ghost. 

Quietly, I hear him whisper, “He was my best friend, too.” 

Part of me wants to run away and continue hiding, but another dumber part of me wants to stay. This could be a trick or a trap. I know I cannot trust anything he says, but below any logic, a part of me yearns to know what happened to this man. “Is he not your best friend anymore?”

No longer mystified, the man crosses his arms across his chest, “None of your business.” 

I cross my arms in response. “Copy-cat,” a mocking Mind-Carl sneers in my ear. 

“Shut up, Carl!” I yell. After disappearing during the fight, he suddenly has a lot to say once the action is over. 

“You hear him too!?” I hear an intrigued voice sound. I look down, and my former opponent, still lying flat against the concrete, is now looking at me, mesmerized. I nod in response, slightly shocked. Does he hear Mind-Carl, too? I honestly just assumed I was going crazy. “Are…” my opponent hesitates, “are you on the run, too?” I pause. The smart thing would be to deny everything. I should not tell him anything.

“Yes.” I should not have said that. “Are you?” I watch as he slowly nods. 

“So you’re not chasing me?” he asks. I’m dumbfounded by this question. It must show in my expression as he follows up with, “I assumed that’s why you were in this parking lot.”

“I’m not chasing you.” I confirm, “Are you chasing me?” he looks just as baffled, “When you saw me, you said ‘I found you.’”

“Oh.” he begins to explain, “I thought you were looking for me, but instead of you finding me, I found…” He stops suddenly, his eyes widening. “Instead of just running, I turned around and found you instead! Before you could find me!” He states. 

“Okay, so we’re not chasing each other,” I say, still skeptical of this stranger. 

“No, you don’t understand! Instead of waiting to be found, I found you instead!”

“And look where that got you,” I said, gesturing to his position against the concrete beneath me. 

He ignores me. “We were both Carl’s best friends once; we know him better than anyone,” He states as if it's some kind of discovery, “We need to stop waiting to be found and find him instead.” 

I stop moving. The idea is crazy but maybe crazy enough to work. A vision of a perfect world flashes before my eyes, one where I could have friends and I could trust again. Maybe that reality is closer than I thought. 

I stick my hand out as an offering, “I’m Frank.” 

He shakes my hand, “Jo.”

I think Frank is trying to kill me. I don’t have any proof, of course; he’s far too smart to leave any trace of his betrayal behind, but I smell a conspiracy. This alliance was a horrible idea– so dumb an idea I can't believe it was mine. We have been together for a week trying to track down Carl, and I am growing more anxious by the hour. Carl has done a good job covering his tracks and faked his death seven years ago, but that’s not the end of the trail at all. We found bits and pieces of his past scattered around, and we are hopefully close to finding him. Our most recent discovery was his 5th-grade jacket being sold at a pawn shop in Nevada. Neon orange in color, Carl wore that jacket every single day, including that fateful day at recess in 5th grade. I am currently waiting in the car in the parking lot of a rest stop because Frank needs to use the restroom AGAIN. 

“Run away! Leave!” Brain-Carl whispers in my ear. He has been continuously annoying me about this deal with Frank, and honestly, I can’t blame him. This is the most reckless thing I have done in years, and truly, it is a stupid idea. I desperately want to take this car and speed out of the parking lot and try to find Carl on my own, but I know I can’t do that. While I have no moral objection, Frank has known Carl three years longer than I can and can recognize signs of his presence that I simply cannot. While every part of me wants to run away from this alliance, my desire to find Carl burns stronger. I need answers. I can’t be left wondering how he got that diary for the rest of my life. All my secrets torn from my hands while I naively slept with both eyes closed is an image that will haunt me forever—motivate me forever. I remember my secrets of a passionate love for a girl with fiery hair. It was a love torn apart by fate. Lost in the memory, I hardly notice Frank getting in the car and beginning to talk. 

Frank talks a lot. That’s the first thing I noticed about him after staying in the same car as him for a week. I remember the days when I longed for companionship and want to slap my past self. Frank never shuts up. Whether he’s talking about handsome ties or donuts, he could blab for hours–and he has. “That was a surprisingly clean bathroom! I gotta say most bathrooms can get kinda gross, but that one was nice! It had cool tiles, too! It wasn’t just an ordinary offset pattern…” He continues as I pull out of the parking lot. I’ve learned to tune him out like a white noise machine. The only good thing about his constant blabber is that while he’s talking, Brain-Carl can’t talk. 

After about ten minutes of talking, Frank shifts the focus of his continuous sound-making to singing. His current song is one that I’ve never heard before, but I can tell he’s doing it wrong. It’s not like I listen to a lot of music, but I am able to identify the somewhat pleasant tune of an ordinary song in comparison to the atrocity that is currently reverberating through that car. He is entirely off-key yet still just as confident and loud as ever. I am considering duct-taping his mouth shut when a beep emerges from the car. A message flashes across the dashboard, “Warning: Tire Pressure Low.” I pull the car over. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Frank asks, stopping his god-awful singing. 

“Tire pressure.” I get out of the car and check on the tires, Frank following. I reach the front left tire to find it slashed. Concerned, I circle the car to the back left tire to find it slashed as well. Worry growing in the pit of my stomach, I race around to the right side of the car to find those tires slashed as well. 

“What’s wrong?” I turn to my idiotic companion. Is he playing dumb? Did he do this? Someone is sabotaging our mission, and the most obvious suspect stands before me. I take a deep breath. 

“One of our tires popped,” I say with all the innocence I can muster, “must’ve been a rock or something.” I play stupid. He can’t know that I know that he is sabotaging me. 

“Where do we go now?” he says, adjusting his tie with the same pretend innocence I just faked. 

“Not sure,” I say, taking a better look at our surroundings. We are in the middle of nowhere, forest on both sides of the singular road we had been driving down for the past several miles. There is no other car in sight. He makes his way over to the passenger side and begins looking in the glove compartment, unaware of how closely I am eyeing him. He pulls out our map and begins scanning the pages. I can’t help but think he’s staging this for me. I wonder how closely he planned this out. Did he know we’d stop right here when he popped the tires, or did he just know we’d stop eventually? I study his facial expressions to see what he’s thinking, but his performance is spectacular. If I didn’t know he was a saboteur, I’d probably just think he was lost. 

“Here!” he says, pointing at the map. I make my way over to him, cautious to get too close. He gestures to different points on the map. “We’re probably around here, which means that right on the other sides of these woods, there’s a Walmart, just a mile or two away.” This is a threat. People who get invited into the woods by evil betrayers never make it out alive, but then again, those people don’t know who they are dealing with. I know Frank’s malicious intentions. If we are playing a game of cards, I have a mirror positioned neatly behind his back, displaying all his moves and motivations without him even noticing. Ha. I suppress my smirk and accept his offer.

“Sounds like a plan.” We make our way into the woods. It’s still light outside, so my visibility is good. I am prepared for whatever force Frank throws at me. I listen to him merrily whistle a toon as he makes his way through the forest and, when he’s not looking, shove a large rock into the pocket of my sweatshirt (that Frank insisted I steal after telling me I shivered too much). After our fight a week ago, I discovered that Frank could easily best me in physical combat, and to defeat him truly, I need a weapon–hence the rock. We continue marching forward until I question whether we are going in the right direction. Frank hasn’t tried anything and has been walking at least ten paces in front of me. His distance is making me nervous. 

“He has a slingshot or some kind of weapon that only works at a distance,” Brain-Carl informs me, “That’s why he’s so far away.”

I whisper in response, afraid of alerting Frank to what I know. “That makes sense. Should I get closer?”

“Well, I would say yes, but he can overpower you in hand-to-hand combat,” Brain-Carl squeaks out. 

“So what do I do?”

“Run. Otherwise, you’re dead meat.” I consider Brain-Carl’s words. Running would be the best way out of this, but I can’t turn back now. I yearn for answers to what happened to my diary. I decide to get closer to Frank because my rock might be able to overpower his possible slingshot if he has one. As I get closer to Frank, I realize he is no longer whistling. I get a little bit closer and realize he is no longer making any noise at all. He is staring intensely at his compass, unaware of anything else. 

“Frank?” I ask.

He jolts back, his eyes darting to me, almost scared. He looks around as if suddenly aware that we are alone in the woods, together, with no one around for miles. I shove my hands in my pocket, feeling the rough surface of the rock. 

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. 

“Frank?” I say again, softer. The silence of our surroundings has sunk in. He looks at me fearfully.

“What did you do to our compass?” He says so quietly I have to lean in to hear it. I want to laugh. I have never touched his compass, nor have I ever had any intention to. His accusations seem almost funny, but there is an intensity behind them that is no laughing matter. 

“What?” I say, having no clue what he is referring to. 

“What did you do to our compass!?” He repeats, louder this time. I feel my hand tighten around the rock in my pocket. 

“I didn’t touch your compass!” I say, suddenly defensive. He slowly squats down to the ground, and I continue my explanation, growing more and more stressed. “I didn’t touch your stupid compass! That thing is probably just broken! Things break!” I shout, suddenly realizing how weak my defense sounds. He thinks I’m the traitor, just as I suspected him. That means he didn’t pop the tires and there is a third person that has reached us that we didn’t even notice. Or this could be a trick. I continue my defense anyway, “I was framed!” I continue shouting while watching him closely–watching as his fingers glide across the forest floor and land upon a rock roughly the size of my own. It suddenly occurs to me how much I don’t want to hurt Frank anymore. He could be guilty, but I have no proof of that. I stutter as I begin to pull my own rock from my pocket, “I-I didn’t touch your c-compass; someone is trying to get you to turn against me. It’s Carl! We’re looking for him, a-and he knows! This is his revenge!” I state, aware of how crazy I sound. Frank stands up, rock in hand, and takes a small, hesitant step toward me, looking torn. I know how he’s feeling right now. Just as I am wondering if this is a trap or not, he is wondering if I am trying to trick him. I raise my rock above my head in defense, “C’mon, Frank…” My voice trails off as Franks's eyes turn both regretful and decisive. I can’t do this. I turn around and bolt. I run as fast and as hard as I can. I hear the sound of Brain-Carl’s laughter echoing through my ear. What just happened? I feel like such an idiot. Was Frank conspiring against me? Brain-Carl’s laughter grows louder. Who slashed our tires? Is someone else here? I sneak a quick glance over my shoulder to see if Frank is following me. My heart stops. 

Flames have engulfed the part of the woods where we were. Brain-Carl’s laughter stops, and through the newfound quiet, I can clearly hear screams–Frank’s screams. 

“This could be a trick.” Brain-Carl reminds me. I turn towards the flames. “This could be a trap.” Maybe Brain-Carl is right. Frank isn’t trustworthy. I shouldn’t let him, a saboteur who slashed our tires, lure me into a fire. Then again, what if it isn’t Frank? Then, I’m left alone with the true enemy. “It’s safer on your own.” Brain-Carl reminds me. He’s right. I’ve been on my own for a long time and am better off because of it. 

“All people can do is betray you, and trust is a fool's concept.” I remind myself. I don’t have friends or family. I don’t have people. I turn away from the fire and start walking. “I’m doing the right thing.”

“You are.” Brain-Carl reassures me, “It’s not like Frank would save you.” I pause. Would he? “Not after the compass incident, at least.” Brain-Carl clarifies. “He’d leave you to the flames. Traitor.” That last word stings. He would leave me and betray me, just like Carl. But isn’t that what I'm doing to him? I know I shouldn’t trust Frank. It would be stupid to trust Frank. It would be stupid for Frank to trust me, just like it would be stupid for me to trust Carl. Maybe I don’t want to be like Carl. I turn around again and start sprinting, following the screams. 

No one’s coming. It's a realization I slowly come to while screaming for help. Did Jo do this? Did someone else? Below all of these accusations, the real questions simmer. Did no one do this? Did my compass just break? Did the fire just start without intentionality? Has anyone been chasing me all these years? All this time I’ve spent running for my safety, have I just been running for my sanity? Am I so afraid of trusting people that I'm going to burn alone in the woods? I want someone to blame. I wish someone had betrayed me. I wish I had a name other than my own to curse for my last few minutes alive. If I hadn’t run away in 8th grade, maybe I would have had friends come into the woods with me. If I hadn’t accused Jo of stealing that stupid compass, maybe he could’ve rescued me. Flames burn in a circle surrounding me. There is nowhere to go and no other person in sight. Not even Mind-Carl stuck around. My throat hurts from screaming. My pleas for help remain unanswered, and part of me wants to stop yelling. No one is coming to save me. People say before you die, your life flashes before your eyes, but what life have I lived? My existence has been lonely and purposeless. I spent all this time by myself, and for what? I scream louder. I want to survive this. I want to make it out of this forest and live a better life. I want to have a friend. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life running from nothing. I want to live. 
“FRAAAAANK!!” A voice shouts in the distance. “FRAAAAANK!! WHERE ARE YOU!?” I recognize that voice. Jo came back. 
“JO!?” a figure emerges in the distance. I can see the outline of him through the flames. He’s running towards me. “YOU CAME BACK!?”
“I'M NOT A TRAITOR!” He shouts as I see him more clearly. He is dripping with sweat and horrifically out of breath. 
“I’m not either!” I tell him. He charges towards me at full speed. One foot in front of the other, like a dart whizzing through the air. He’s coming closer and closer to the fire surrounding me when, all of a sudden, he leaps forward. His body lurches through the air as he speeds through the flames and lands within the circle next to me. I stare at him in admiration. 
“Let's get out of here!” He grabs my hand, and we charge forward to the flames and leap through. A shiver runs down my spine as the flames brush against my legs. The sensation is curious, but it is over as quickly as it began, and we crash to the ground, free. 
“I’m sorry I accused you of breaking my compass,” The words pour out of me. I realize I talk a lot around Jo, maybe because I haven’t really gotten to talk to anyone in years. “I shouldn’t have questioned your motives. I’m sorry.” Jo hesitates for a moment in thought. 
“It’s okay. I probably wouldn’t have trusted me either.” He tries to turn away, but I trap him in a hug. Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around me, hugging me back. I’m not alone anymore, I realize. I release him, and we continue forward on our walk, side by side. Neither of us is entirely sure of which direction we are going, but we figure if we go in a straight line, we’ll go somewhere. We eventually emerge from the forest and find ourselves not by a Walmart but next to a graveyard. I have no clue how we got here, but I see a car parked in the distance, so we’ll be fine. 
“There’s a car, let’s go!” I walk forward, but Jo doesn’t move. “Jo?”
“I used to live near here,” he says faintly. 
“What?” Looking around, I suddenly recognize the surroundings. I grew up around here as well. 
“I used to walk by here on the way to school.” Suddenly he walks forward at a quick pace, looking at all the gravestones as we go. I can’t tell what he’s thinking until he stops, staring at a headstone, and I turn to face it. “Carl.”
“He’s dead,” I say with shock. Carl, whom I have spent years running from, is gone. Carl had been such a large part of my life; Carl had dictated how I lived for so long. Suddenly, I feel relieved. Years of running and hiding suddenly bubble up through my chest as I begin to laugh. “We’re free!” 
“No! He’s not dead!” I turn to Jo, who seems to be miserable. “He can’t be dead! He broke your compass! He messed with our tires! He lit you on fire!”
“Carl didn’t do that; those things just happened.”
“You’re wrong! You’re lying!” Jo shouts, a look of panic spreading across his face. 
` “This is a good thing, Jo!” I reassure him, “We no longer have to run; we can go back to normal!”
“NO! I need to know what happened! He needs to tell me!”
“What are you talking about?” I say, confused. 
“He’s still after us! He lit you on fire!” Jo repeats. 
I adjust my tie, “What does he need to tell you?” Jo looks at me skeptically. “You can trust me,” I say softly. 
“He… He stole my diary in fifth grade. I don’t know how.” He starts pacing, “One night I was sleeping, and when I woke up, it was just gone!” His face contorts, “I don’t know how it happened!”
Suddenly, a memory comes to mind. I remember my fifth-grade self wanting to be cool and have friends. I remember being jealous of Carl and his friends and desperately wanting to impress him. “You don’t need Carl to give you answers; I know what happened! Carl didn’t steal your diary! I did! I snuck in through the window!”

I am no longer aware of where I am or what I am doing. My whole body feels like it is on fire as the words slowly crawl through my dry throat. “you what?”
“I was the one who stole your diary!” He says, a grin spreading across his face, “We don’t have to worry about anything anymore! We’re free!”
My mind is racing. Maybe this is a coincidence? No. Someone popped our tires. Someone messed with Frank’s compass. Someone trapped us in a fire. I look over to Frank. A part of me wants to believe him, but I know better. He’s a betrayer. Twelve years of desperately wondering what happened to my diary, and it was him all along. My hand reaches into my pocket, where my fingers brush against a rough surface. I had forgotten my rock was still there– it had felt so irrelevant. My hand wraps around the rock, gripping it tightly.
“We don’t have to run anymore! We could live regular lives! We could get jobs and an apartment!” He continues his celebration, oblivious to the threat I hold in my pocket. He did this. Any ounce of trust I once held disintegrates. I hold my rock tighter and tighter until my fingers start to hurt. Am I really going to do this? I think.
“End him,” Brain-Carl whispers breathily. “We’ve been working together this whole time. We’re coming for you.”
No, he wasn’t. He was… the words “my friend” come to mind.
“I was your friend,” Brain-Carl says, and I can feel the smile creeping across his face.
He wouldn’t do this.
“He already did.”
My thumb circled the rock, getting a feel for how to wield it best. Words of joy and celebration continue spilling out Frank’s mouth as if mocking me.
“Do it,” Brain-Carl whispers. I feel the rock emerge from my pocket. I sense my tight, steady grip. It’s as if I am in a trance as I lift my arm up. “Do it.”
Do it. A voice from deep within me echoes.
Frank is turned away. He would never see it coming. He stole my diary. He’s the last piece of the puzzle. I hold the rock above my head, prepared to make my move, when I am interrupted by a sudden crash.
“Jo!” Frank cries out. There was an oak tree in the graveyard, an oak tree that was now on fire and has fallen into place, separating Frank and I. I can hardly see him through the flames. I am in the same predicament I was in earlier. I have a do-over. Do I save Frank or run? Frank betrayed me; he stole my diary 12 years ago, and who knows what he’s done since. This could be a trick on his part. A ploy to secure my allegiance to him. I don’t know what to do.
This is the second fire we’ve faced today; this cannot be a coincidence. I look over to where the tree once stood and see a shadow. A figure in all black. My instincts say it’s Carl, but Carl’s dead. I don’t know who it is, but I stop wondering–and thinking altogether–when they charge at Frank.
Without thinking, I run to the roots of the fallen tree, around and after the figure. Sprinting as fast as I can, I am right on their tail. My right-hand reaches out in front of me and brushes against the back of their sweatshirt. I instantly drop the rock and grip the fabric instead. I yank the sweatshirt clean off, revealing a heap of fiery red hair from the attacker’s back.
“Maxine!?”

I whip my head around, prepared to fight, only to be met with the love of my life. “Jo!?” I say. Every part of me turns to jello, and I feel myself smile. “I missed you!” It’s true. I have spent the past 12 years of my life missing him, ever since that fateful day on the playground when Carl destroyed the romance I had been building since kindergarten. I have always loved Jo. I remember the pure joy I felt that day, hearing he loved me back, but it was quickly destroyed when everyone started laughing and pointing at his heartfelt poetry to me. I saw the shift in Jo’s expression. I noticed the shame creep into his face as they all called him names. Right then, I knew our relationship was over before it had ever gotten the chance to start. I hated everyone that day, and the burning, passionate hatred never ceased.
“Maxine!? What are you doing here?” Jo says. I glance at his features to see how he is feeling, but he only looks confused.
“I’m here for us, darling,” I say softly, batting my eyelashes. I love him. He still looks the same as when I last saw him, only a decade older. His skin and eyes are exactly the same.
“What do you mean by that?” He still looks confused, but this time he looks a little upset.
“Didn’t you hear him? He’s the one who stole your diary. He’s the reason why you and I didn’t get our happily ever after!” He looks at me thoughtfully.
“What are you going to do?”
“Ha,” I laugh. He still has that cute little clueless face. “I’m gonna light him on fire, silly!” With that, I turn around to finish my task, racing after the jerk who broke my relationship.
“STOP!” Jo screams. Confused, I turn back around.
“Why? Do you wanna help or something?” An idea forms in my mind, “Oh my goodness! This could be our first official date!” I pull my lighter out of my pocket, “Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”
“No! This is crazy!” tears form in my eyes. I cannot believe that the love of my life would say such hurtful things. “We’re not killing him!”
“Is this-” My voice breaks. “Is this our first fight!?”
“No! Yes? Maybe?!” He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “We’re not gonna kill him. How’d you find us anyway?”
“I’ve been following you,” I reply, happy the topic has changed and we’re no longer fighting.
“What!? Why!? So you could kill Frank!?” Nevermind. I guess he’s still yelling. I take a deep breath and remind myself that all couples have issues.
“Lovebug, I just want to take care of this the same way I took care of our Carl issue. Okay?” I bat my eyelashes again for added effect, and then I turn to Frank, ready to finally settle this issue. I take off, but as soon as I do, I feel a set of hands shove me aside. Jo? I don’t have much time to think because I am quickly met with the flames of the tree I previously lit on fire. “AAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

I hear screaming, and I run towards it. “Jo!?”
“I’m here!” I see Jo running towards me. “Are you okay?”
I try to catch my breath, “I’m great! Are you okay?”
“I figured out who’s doing this! It’s Maxine, my ex-girlfriend who I wrote about in my diary! She lit Carl on fire, and she’s here to light you on fire as well!”
I panic. “What!? Where is she!?”
“It’s okay; I lit her on fire”
I quickly try to process his response. “But wait- doesn’t that mean that the cops will be after us? We’ll have to go on the run again?” Jo freezes, then looks down, not saying anything. I don’t think this occurred to him till now. I can’t believe this. After finally being free to have a life, I’m back in the same position I was in before. Tears well in the corners of my eyes. “I don’t want to do it again, Jo. I don’t want to be alone again.”
This time, Jo does respond. He looks up, a grin widening on his face. “Who says we’ll be alone this time?”

When living on the run, there are certain rules you have to abide by. You have to stay with a buddy at all times to prevent getting lonely. When changing your name and identity, make sure that you and your friends' identities are also friends. You have to stick by your best friend at all times. It may seem like a lot, but if you don't follow these rules, well, that’s when they get you.