When I wake up at six, my dad's truck is gone. I heard him leave somewhere around three. It doesn't alarm me. My dad is very fond of disappearing and reappearing as he pleases. There's never a note, there's never any clue as to where he is. The first time he left, it scared the shit out of me. Now, the sight of an empty driveway offers relief beyond description.

Emily waddles towards the kitchen from my room, where she slept last night. There's hardly ever a night when she doesn't sleep next to me, her little limbs thrown haphazardly across me and her head tucked into my shoulder.

"What's for breakfast?" She asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and yawning widely. I ruffle her hair and do my best to hide the frown that crosses my face. We don't have any food in the house yet, and my dad probably forgot to leave us money again.

"Uh, I'm not quite sure yet, Em. Give me a few minutes and I'll figure something out," I answer. Emily nods and goes back to my room, probably to get back in bed. I don't protest. Dad isn't home, I don't have to worry about him getting angry with her.

He's never hit Emily. I've never let him, and I never will. I've redirected his anger from her to me more than a couple of times, letting comments that I would usually hold back in his presence fall from my lips like rain. I backtalk and sass him until I know that he's no longer after her, and then I take whatever he dishes out.

I'd die before letting him lay a hand on my innocent little sist-

"Logan! Can we go for a ride on Bob Seger today?" Emily's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I smile at her and laugh.

"Sure, honey. I have to go out anyways."

Twenty minutes later, we're on the road, the powerful bike rumbling beneath us. It feels fantastic to have the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. I feel… Free. Safe. Confident. Emily is laughing behind me, squealing about how my hair is tickling her face. I chuckle along with her and gun the bike, heading off to explore our new home.

First, we stop at the store. I was able to find two ten dollar bills and a couple of ones and fives crumbled up in the bottom of my duffel bag before we left. It's all that remains from my last job. The money should buy us enough food to last for the next couple of days, giving me enough time to secure a job. If not, there are always other methods of getting food. Though I consider myself to be an honest and (relatively) moral person, I've stolen loaves of bread and containers of peanut butter more times than I'd care to admit.

After I buy food, we head to Dollar Tree and get school supplies. Usually, I don't worry much about being prepared to to spend all day in class. I make sure Emily has a few pencils and a notebook or two tucked into her bag, but that's about it. I don't load myself down with the binders and notebooks that are listed in the syllabuses of my classes. I'm never at one school long enough for it to matter that I don't have the materials, that I don't turn in homework. I'm just the new kid who sits in the back, corrects the teacher's grammar, and makes sarcastic comments for a week or two and then disappears.

This time is different, though. This time, we'll be here for a while. Maybe I'll actually make an effort to turn in my work, instead of just skimming over it to make sure that I grasp the material. Maybe. Maybe, but probably not.

I stare willfully at the last few dollar bills as they leave my hand, knowing that I need to find a job fast. I decide to stop by Singer's Auto today to see if the owner will even consider hiring me. After a few minutes, the school supplies are tucked into my backpack alongside the food and Emily and I are headed towards the outskirts of town.

I stand in front of the shop's office, my bike behind me and Emily's small hand slipped inside of my own. The air is pleasantly cool, and I'm warm in my flannel and AC/DC shirt. I look down at myself, taking note of the rip in my jeans and the dark stain on the tee. So much for job interview attire.

A quiet bell jingles as I push open the door and I'm greeted by the sight of a small room completely crammed with stuff: tires, tools leaning up against shelves filled with parts, dented hoods stacked against each other. The walls are covered with old hubcaps and posters advertising motor oil or depicting Johnny Cash's face. Somewhere in the room, a small radio is turned on, spilling out Metallica through low-quality speakers. I smile as I take it all in, allowing the feel of it to wash over me. Safe. Comforting and familiar.

And then he has to show up, wiping grease-stained hands on his already dirty tee shirt and tucking a wrench into his back pocket. He looks up and his bright green eyes widen as he sees me. He covers up his surprise quickly and an easy grin falls onto his face as he wipes his hand again and holds it out to me. I take it and shake it firmly, our eyes meeting again.

"You ladies need something fixed?" He asks. His voice is steady, casual, but I see him studying me carefully. I keep my expression neutral.

"No, actually. I was wondering if the owner is hiring."

"You know about cars?" He asks, head tilting a bit.

"You could say that." I reply. He nods and is about to respond when a deep, gruff voice sounds from the back of the office.

"We got a customer, Dean?"

Dean. His name is Dean.

"Nah, Bobby. She's here for a job." Dean yells back, and I hear approaching footsteps a moment later. The older man who was with Dean at the diner appears from between the shelves, taking off his cap and running his hands through his thinning hair. He looks at me and recognition sparks in his eyes as he reaches forward and shakes my hand.

"Ah, you're the girl who was at Fran's last night. You new in town?"

"Yes, sir."

"No need for formalities. Call me Bobby."

"Yes, si- Bobby. I was wondering if you're hiring."

Bobby pauses and considers this for a moment.

"Well, our work load does tend tah' get pretty heavy this time of year. I could use an extra set of hands, what with Dean's wrist n' all." He gestures to Dean's casted arm. "You know anything about cars?"

"Yeah. Been fixing ours since I was twelve."

Bobby nods and I catch Dean staring at me.

"Alright, you're hired. Be here right after school tomorrow and Dean'll show ya' the ropes."

I blink. That's it?

"She your little sister?" Bobby asks, gesturing to Emily. I grip her hand tighter and nod.

"Yes, sir."

He smiles knowingly.

"She can come and stay here with you, if there ain't gonna be anyone home to watch her."

I let out a breath.

"Thank you, sir. Really, I can't tell you how much I appreciate all of this."

"Don't mention it. What's yer name?"

"Logan. Logan Fraye."

Alright! Hope y'all enjoyed chapter three. Sorry it took so long for me to get it posted...

Any thoughts? Comments? Things you want to see happen? I love to hear from you guys. Seriously.

Thank you for all the followers and reviews so far! I'll try and get chapter 4 up ASAP :)

-Emma