Chapter 6: Left Behind

For a few days, Rachel was busy, and I didn’t message her either.

Until Derek was discharged from the hospital. Rachel messaged me, asking me out.

We went on an outing. She Venmoed me, so I packed my bag and went.

Only when I got there did I realize they brought two cars, exactly eight people, and I was the ninth wheel.

I froze for a second. Everyone was already in their seats, no one spoke. Rachel didn’t look at me, probably annoyed, just playing with her nails—her red polish swapped for something even flashier.

Someone called her, "Rachel, there’s no more room."

Rachel finally looked at me, frowned, and glanced at the sightseeing bus nearby.

"Isn’t it the same to sit on that?"

Derek frowned: "You’re going to let him ride the sightseeing bus alone?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Or what? He can climb up, or sit on the roof, don’t ask me. Why should I care about him?"

I smiled: "I’ll take the sightseeing bus. You guys go ahead and have fun."

Their cars drove off, and I sat alone in the pavilion. It wasn’t tourist season—just me, picking at a splinter in the bench. Even the squirrels had more company than me.

Today, with Derek around, I figured Rachel would probably drink. That’s just how she is—always drinking alone, but in this whole city, besides me, no one really indulges her.

I waited a long time. The sightseeing bus finally came. I got on, and by the time I reached the mountaintop, the group had already started the barbecue. The grill smoked with the smell of burnt hot dogs and marshmallows. A couple of kids tossed a frisbee nearby.

I wasn’t familiar with most of them—had only eaten with them once or twice. I found a corner and sat there from noon till afternoon.

Rachel was grilling skewers, not saying a word. Occasionally, someone handed me a skewer. The scenery was beautiful. I ate until I was half full, then stared at the view, wanting to take a walk.

I told Rachel. She seemed in a bad mood, didn’t look at me, just answered simply.

The mountain air was great. Growing up in foster care, I rarely got to go out and play.

I walked for almost an hour, figured they’d be almost done eating, and headed back.

But things didn’t go as I expected. When I got back, the place was empty—everyone was gone.

That’s when I realized: the saddest thing about being a doormat is that no one cares about you. When they like you, they call you; when they don’t, they just leave you behind.

It was dusk. The sightseeing bus had stopped running. I could only walk down the mountain. The sun set behind the hills, I was all alone. Halfway down, my phone died.

I kept walking quietly. My legs ached, and every shadow looked like it might jump out at me. I kept telling myself I was too old to cry. This road reminded me of when I ran away from foster care as a kid.

The same dim light, the same blurry world, until it was swallowed by darkness. I couldn’t find my way home, and my parents weren’t coming back either.

I looked around. The shadows of trees under the moonlight were eerie, but luckily, I wasn’t afraid of the dark. But I was getting hypoglycemic, a bit dizzy, but forced myself not to faint—if I passed out here, I’d be done for.

I walked all night, scared all night.

Finally, at dawn, I waited at the bus stop and met the driver, who let me charge my phone for a bit.

He looked back at me, startled: "Whoa, kid, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You sure you’re okay?"

I forced a smile and held up my phone. "Forgot to check the battery, it died."

"Don’t go hiking alone at night. If you do, bring friends."

I did call... but maybe, she doesn’t count. How could I count as Rachel’s friend?

"Mm, got it. Thank you, sir."

I turned my phone on and saw Rachel had messaged me last night, saying she’d left first and told me to go back early.

I gave a bitter smile, dragged my tired body to the back seat, and fell asleep. For a while, I dreamed about home—whatever that meant. Maybe the closest I’d ever get was waking up in the back row, sunlight flickering through dirty windows, with nobody waiting for me at the other end.