Escaping Perfect by Emma Harrison

momentarilydistracted whoever was in the car so they’d turn away before they could catch me. Or maybe it was just some livery driver lost on his way to the airport. Whatever the reason for this stroke of luck, I turned on my heels and ran straight to the diner. When the door closed behind me, I waited to feel safe, to feel like everything was going to be fine. But that feeling never came.
    I reached up to touch the flying-bird pendant that hung against my collarbone. Why did I suddenly feel as if there was a ticking clock on my newfound freedom?
    *  *  *
    â€œWe have to take this girl water-skiing at Lake Pleasant, ASAP,” Duncan said, reaching around me with a plate of fries that night. His torso leaned against my back as his arm brushed mine, and I got the distinct feeling that he lingered there a second longer than was strictly necessary.
    Was Duncan interested in me? He wasn’t unattractive. And he’d be a much safer bet than the possibly taken, definitely playing Jasper.
    Not that I was looking for romance anyway. Romance was not my focus. Living was my focus. Trying new things, experiencing life. At least until the Wicked Witch of the Senate descended on Sweetbriar with her flying FBI agents. Ever since my close encounter with the black sedan earlier thismorning, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. To my lifelong East Coast–dwelling mother, Sweetbriar was the serious middle of nowhere, but what if she did, somehow, find me? I had to live each second as if it were my last. Which was all the more reason I was loving the current trajectory of our conversation.
    â€œDo you water-ski?” Fiona asked, sliding a bottle of ketchup toward me.
    â€œNever have,” I said. “But I’m in.”
    â€œThat’s my girl.” Duncan squeezed my shoulder, then doused half the fries in ketchup. Outside the plate-glass windows rain was falling at a steady pace, and it had been for the last few hours. A baseball game was playing on the flat-screen TV that hung in the corner, the volume muted, and the atmosphere inside the diner was equally hushed. It was after eight o’clock now, post–dinner rush and pre–late-night snack binge, so the diner was mostly empty. A family of four with two well-behaved little kids occupied a table near the door, and a teenage couple sat on the same side of one of the two-top booths, making out between sips of their sodas. Other than that, the three of us, Hal, and the two chefs in back were alone.
    â€œWhat else do you need to do to call yourself a true Sweetbriaran?” Fiona mused, leaning sideways against the counter while Duncan and I munched on our fries. It was all I could do not to shovel them into my mouth by the handful.Aside from a quick bowl of cereal right before my shift, I hadn’t eaten all day.
    â€œI like Sweetbriarite better,” Duncan said.
    I narrowed my eyes thoughtfully. “It does have a ring.”
    â€œRace bikes down the Brookline hill,” Duncan said, snapping his fingers.
    â€œYeah, if you’re twelve,” Fiona chided. “Oh! You have to try the dim sum at Jimmy’s.” She leaned toward me to whisper, “Best food in town.”
    â€œDon’t let Dad hear you say that,” Duncan chided. “What else do we do for fun around here? You could come to one of my soccer matches.”
    â€œHe’s only saying that because he wants to show off,” Fiona told me. “He does this spin-kick move that makes all the girls swoon. In his opinion.”
    Duncan’s face fell. “Hey! Way to be supportive, Fi.”
    â€œJust trying to look out for my new friend here.”
    â€œWell, I appreciate that,” I said, popping a fry into my mouth. “But I think I should be able to survive the sight of a soccer kick without fainting dead away. No matter how glorious it is.”
    Duncan lifted a finger as if he was about to make a very important point, but