Runaways by V.C. Andrews Page B

the earth’s gravity. Soon, the past’s stronggrip on us would be broken and we wouldn’t look back.
    â€œMaybe we ought to check your map now, Crystal,” I suggested as we left more familiar places.
    Crystal unfolded the map and found the switch for the light in the rear, but it didn’t work. She leaned forward to catch some of the illumination from the front.
    â€œWe could either get onto the New York Thruway or take Route Six to the Palisades Parkway and find the exit for 1-95,” she explained.
    â€œWhich is better?” I asked.
    â€œThe fewer people who see us and can trace us, the better off we are,” she concluded. “Avoid toll booths. Take route six. The exit should be coming up shortly.”
    We watched for it and when we saw the signs, I slowed down, made the turns and followed the highway.
    â€œYou’re really doing very good,” Raven said, impressed. “I should have taken drivers’ education, too.”
    It would have been a great help to have another driver, I thought.
    Crystal sat back and yawned.
    â€œIf Megan didn’t wake anyone, they still don’t know we’re gone,” she said after a long moment.
    I glanced at the clock on the dash. It was nearly three-thirty in the morning. Gordon, his brain soaked in whiskey, lay dumb in his bed. Everyone else slept quietly. In a few hours, they would all be surprised.
    Raven rested her head against the window. The exhaustion we had staved off with our excitement was settling in our limbs, in our eyes.
    â€œAre we going to drive all night?” Crystal asked me.
    â€œIt’s probably a good idea to make as much distance as possible, don’t you think?”
    â€œOf course, but are you all right? You don’t want to fall asleep at the wheel.”
    â€œI’m fine,” I said even though my eyelids wanted to slide closed like elevator doors. I concentrated on keeping them wide open. The radio station had become all talk. “Find some music again, Raven,” I asked. “Something lively, okay?”
    She turned the dial until she found some upbeat sounds and sat back again.
    We drove on. I should have kept up the conversation. Butterfly was in a deep sleep by now and Crystal, despite her efforts, permitted her eyes to close one time too many and drifted off as well. Raven, emotionally and physically exhausted, stopped talking and let her head lay back. I suddenly realized I was the only one awake. I started to count, to sing to myself, to move with the music, anything to keep myself alert, but I went into a daydream at the wrong time and suddenly blinked and saw a sign that said: GEORGE WASHINGTON BRIDGE.
    â€œCrystal? Crystal!” I cried.
    â€œWhat? Oh, I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep. Where are we?”
    â€œAre we supposed to go over the George Washington Bridge?” I asked. The toll booth was directly in front of me. There was no way to avoid it.
    â€œNo, No!”
she cried. “Oh Brooke, you missed the exit.”
    â€œWhat should I do?” I asked in a panic.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Raven asked. Butterfly groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
    â€œJust cross the bridge,” Crystal said quickly. “Don’t act lost. Act natural. Act as if you’ve done this before. I’ll figure something out afterward,” she said, unfolding her maps.
    I slowed down, read the toll cost and reached into my pocket for the money. An African-American woman who looked like she was about forty took the bill and gave me change without even looking at me.
    â€œShe couldn’t care less who we were. That has to be one boring job,” I muttered and then looked ahead at the George Washington Bridge all lit up. What a daunting sight, I thought as I started us across it, my heart thumping like a parade drum again. New York City came into view against the night sky.
    â€œLook at that,” Raven said, her voice