No doubt to tattle to Lyla.
I dig in the pocket of my bag, pulling out the locket and handing it to him.
He takes the necklace, almost gently, and stares at it for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket. He raises his eyes to me, and something gives. For a split-second I see something different. Like he’s…disappointed or something.
“Now give me the book,” I demand.
“Sorry,” he says, holding my eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t have it.”
“Don’t piss me off,” I growl in a hushed tone. “I got what you wanted.”
“What I want…” He laughs quietly to himself as if there’s something I don’t understand.
He opens the driver’s side door and climbs into his truck. But before he can close the door, I reach out and grab it.
“We had a deal.”
He nods. “We did. But right now I’d love nothing better than to piss you off.” And he yanks the door out of my hand, slamming it shut.
Starting it up, he steps on the gas, and I run my hand through my hair, despair curling its way through me. But I hesitate only a moment before I drop my bag and race up to him, jumping up on the cab step.
“You asshole,” I bite out, and he slams on the brakes and glares at me.
I’m probably attracting attention, but I’m not taking any more of his shit.
“Get off the truck.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know who you are or where you come from,” I snarl, “but I don’t get pushed around. In case you haven’t heard.”
He jerks his chin, indicating something behind me as he smiles. “I guess we’ll see.”
I turn and see Lyla and Katelyn sitting on the ledge at the top of the steps, watching us. Great. How am I going to explain this?
“Watch out. You’re being judged,” Masen taunts. “Don’t choke.”
I step down from the cab, and he puts the truck in gear again. But before he can take off, I call out, “You’re living in an abandoned theme park.”
He stops the car again and lifts his chin. I stroll up to his window, feeling a bit of my power return as I give him a small smile.
“I’d only be doing the compassionate thing,” I tell him, “letting a responsible adult know about your homeless situation.”
He stills at my threat, and I offer a sympathetic sigh. “Social services would come in, find out where you come from and if anyone’s looking for you…” I go on, putting my finger on my chin in mock contemplation. “I wonder if Masen Laurent has a criminal record. Maybe that’s why you’re hiding out? You definitely want to stay invisible. I’d bet money on that.”
His scowl is hot, and I can see his jaw flex. Yeah, he might be eighteen and perfectly able to squat wherever he likes, but that doesn’t mean he’s up for any attention, either. Maybe his parents are looking for him. Maybe a foster family.
Maybe the police.
Not many kids transfer schools six weeks before the end of their senior year, after all. He’s running from something.
He shifts the gears again and finally speaks. “I’ll bring it tonight.”
“You’ll bring it now.”
He turns to look at me. “If you have me picked up, you’ll never get it back,” he points out. “I got shit to do. I’ll see you tonight.”
Dear Ryen,
I hold the pen over the paper, frozen, the millions of things I want to say to her every day lost once I sit down to write. What did she always tell me? Just start. Don’t worry about what I’m going to say. Just start, and everything will open up.