PS There was a typo in Chapter 2. I meant to put La Push, Washington, not La Push, Seattle. Teehee. Excuse my sucking at geography.

Chapter Three:

"I Must Have Hit My Head Falling Down the Rabbit Hole, Because This Wonderland Sucks!"

Maybe I shouldn't have come here. Maybe I shouldn't have been wandering around in the dark by myself. Maybe I shouldn't have been standing in the middle of the street. Maybe I should've been paying anything rather than trying to figure out an outdated map. Maybe I should've been more careful.

Well news flash, Conscience! The world is filled with more "maybe I shouldn't have"s and "maybe I should have"s then we're capable of counting. I am well aware of how our actions can result in fatal consequences that we can't take back. We wish we could, but wishing gets us nowhere. We just have to recognize our mistakes and learn how to deal with it.

But could you at least give us some kind of heads up when something this important comes barreling out of nowhere at 80 miles an hour!

Stupid jerk.

I taste the asphalt road in my mouth. I'm sore all over. I think I'm seeing triple (It's hard to tell with all the trees.) which causes my stomach to start reeling. I groan and squeeze my eyes shut. My head is pounding and my ears are ringing in the aftershock, but I can still hear the frantic voices behind me.

"Aw crap! Aw crap!"

"Goddam it, Quil! What did you do!"

"Who is she? Is she dead?"

"Stupid! Why weren't you paying attention!"

"Shut up, Paul. We can kill him later. We gotta get her to a hospital or something."

"Oh my God! This can not be happening!"

"How fast were you going?"

"She landed on her head. Is she even breathing?"

"Can you all just shut up!" I hiss through my teeth. "Just calm down! I'm not dying or anything!" I clamp my hand protectively against my forehead, as I pull myself into a sitting position with the other. The aftermath left me with a killer headache and I feel fresh bruises down the sides of my arms. I turn around to glare at the three men gawking down at me, and I take the liberty of staring back.

First of all, they're the size of giants. Full-grown, totally buff giants. They're big enough to be bouncers or bodyguards or something. Secondly, they we're wearing no shirts. Or shoes. In the middle of March. In Washington. Really? What is up with these small town people?

I try to push myself onto my feet, but a massive hand keeps me from getting up. "Don't try to move anything. You might have broken something. You probably have a concussion too. Let us drive you to the hospital."

"I'm fine," I snap back, shoving his hand away. "Nothing is broken," I take a pause to test out all of my major limbs, and find everything in one piece. "I didn't hit the back of my head, so…I don't think I have a concussion. And even if I do have one, I should be on my feet." He objects, but I push myself into a standing position and wait for the world to stop swaying before I add, "I don't really feel like sitting around waiting for someone else to run me over."

I know I'm being rude, but I'm certainly in no mood to be polite. On top of the whole being run over thing, I'm still scared, confused, and famished. I stumble over to my backpack, which has flown off the side of the road, and unfortunately had been unzipped when I pulled out the map. My stuff is scattered all over the street, and I begin shoving it all into my bag. At least my savings is still tucked away in my back pocket and my laptop is zipped up in its protective case.

"Are you crazy! You just got ran over my a truck going like 90 miles an hour! You are not fine! You're lucky to be alive. You shouldn't even be able to walk!" From what I can gather of the previous conversation, the one giving me the lecture was Paul.

"Look, if you think I need a doctor," I thought about the headaches, the fevers, the hallucinations, and now this. Despite my purpose for coming here, maybe it was all just some weird illness. This would be a good time to find out, since I did hit my head pretty hard. I can't do logarithms when I'm in a coma, though I'm sure Mr. Hardy would find some way to make me. "then you can drive me after I get something to eat. I'm kind of starving."

They all glance at one another before the one who had been driving, Quil, laughs and opens the passenger side of his truck.

"A hard-hitting girl with an appetite. I can respect that. Where to?"

"Umm…" Quil's carefree laugh reminds me of Marco and Twizler, which remind me of home. I listen to my grumbling stomach and think of Chichi's. "Promise you're not a bunch of psycho killers?"

"Almost positive," he grins.

"Well…Is there any Mexican food around here?"

Suddenly, there all laughing and I feel my cheeks go warm.

"Do we look Mexican to you? Chica, you're on the Rez. We've got a burger joint fifteen minutes from here. That okay?"

"Sure," I shrug. I'd eat bricks up to this point.

"Is it alright if we stop at my friend's house first? We were sort of heading over there before…this."

"Really? Look I appreciate it and everything but you don't have to go rearranging your plans-"

"Okay listen," the other boy interrupts "As tough as you say you are, were not leaving until we know you're not hurt. And the least we can do is let Quil buy you dinner. It's all his fault after all."

"Idiot," Paul growls.

"Fine, but next time you want to buy a girl dinner don't think this is gonna work the second time around."

Now he's smiling and we drive through the streetlamp-less town until we approach a red-painted house with a wheelchair ramp.

"Just wait here for a sec." Quil and the other boy climb out.

A couple silent minutes pass between me and Paul while I decide to check my phone. One message from my mom that reads, "got ur message. Have fun J," two from Babybel "y weren't u school today?" and "r u ok? Call me," and one from Marco's mother that reads, "get some rest sweetie. I'll take you off the schedule 'til u text me back. Call me on Monday about next week."

"Hey, do you mind if I try to get a signal outside? I need to call someone back."

Paul shrugs and I jump out of the truck. I spend a few more minutes holding my phone to the sky until I start to hear it ring a few times.

A 50 something year-old dude in a wheelchair comes rolling down the ramp and I'm guessing he lives here. When he sees me, he just stares and I hear nothing but the crickets and Babybel's voicemail.

"Who are you?" he says more as an accusation rather than a question. I hang up my cell and he's still staring at me when the boys come back outside with an angry, larger half-naked guy.

"Kiley Black from Westridge, California," I answer lamely, and shove my hands in my pockets.

Now everybody is gaping at me and we all just stand there awkwardly. Finally, the big angry guy speaks up.

"Dad, who is this?" he asks in an irritated tone.

"Are you Kyra's daughter?" asks the older man.

"Yeah, she grew up here with my Dad. Why? You knew her?"

"Knew her? She's my sister."

"That…can't be right. My mom never said she had a brother."

"Well I had no mind mentioning her much either."

"Dad? What's going on?" the big one blurts out, just as confused as I am.

"I'm Billy Black and this is my son, Jacob. Jake, this is your cousin."

"Cousins?" I echo, trying to contemplate what he's saying. That would mean we were related, which would mean my mother had deliberately been lying to me. What else was she hiding in this shoebox of a town?

"Come on in," Billy gestures to the house. "I'll prove it to you."