“Did you check to see how I was released at fourteen when they found the actual killer and they confessed to the crime?”
His smirk slowly fades.
“He was killed by the School Sigil Searer,” I hiss, “I got sent down for two years, for a crime I never committed and still, to this fucking day, despite the fact it has never been public record, I’m being punished for it.”
“I didn’t know,” he says, looking away. At least he seems ashamed of himself. “I’ll tell people it’s not true.”
“Do you have any idea the kind of damage you could have done? Not just to me but to Stanley and Lane who are completely innocent in all this.”
“I figured they knew and were helping you anyway.”
“It wasn’t anyone’s fucking business to know, Presley.” I step towards him, shaking with rage. “If you ever talk about me again to anyone, I’ll do more than punch you in the mouth.”
I hear him spit out more blood as I move past him, heading for the exit of the school, and for the rest of the day, I don’t go back.
“I didn’t kill my cousin,” I say, coming face-to-face with Stanley who is as usual, covered in grease and paint.
He looks at the clock on the wall and puts the wrench in his hand onto the tray beside him before standing to full height. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“That’s not really the important issue right now, is it, Stanley?” I snap and he wipes his hands on a cloth, remaining silent as I start to pace. “Look, I don’t know why I’m with you and Lane, I don’t know what you want, but so far you’ve been good to me and I don’t want my shitty past biting you both in the ass.”
“We can hand—”
“So I’m going to go home, pack my bag and leave.”
He blinks twice, his face blank but his eyes vibrant with something I can’t place.
“But I need cash. And I know you already gave me a hundred, and I promise I’ll pay you back. But if I stay, everybody is going to think you have a murderer living under your roof.” I can’t remember the last time I ranted like this to anyone. I don’t know why I’m doing it now. “So please, give me like five hundred dollars or whatever you have and I’ll go and you and Lane can get your home back and maybe you’ll get a sweet little five-year-old who you can love, and hug, and take to the fair and play with.”
He doesn’t speak so I stop pacing and look at him. He’s not thumbing through his wallet. He’s not moving at all. He’s just watching and waiting.
“Did you know I got sent down for murder? Did you know that?”
“I did.”
“But you know I’m innocent, right?”
“I do.”
“And you know I was institutionalized for being crazy.”
“Yep.”
“And you know that I wasn’t discharged lawfully but because my release was demanded?”
“Yep. By me.”
His words catch me off guard and I sag, all ranted out. “By you? Why?”
His phone rings, breaking our eye contact. “It’s Lane. She probably just got the call that you’re not at school.” He puts it to his ear and immediately says, “She’s with me.” He looks at me warily. “I think she just needs reassurance that she’s not going anywhere.”
His words make me still.
“I love you too,” he says to Lane and hangs up the phone. “You busy?” he jests, smiling at me.
I cross my arms over my chest and look at him flatly.
“Come on, let’s teach you how to drive.”
“You’re just going to ignore everything I just said?”
“Pretty much.”
“You know… you’re rewarding my bad behavior here.”
He chuckles and repeats, “Pretty much.” Then he leads me to his parked vehicle outside of the garage with a hand on my shoulder. It’s the first time I’ve let him touch me and haven’t felt threatened by it.
“Can we talk?” Lane asks as I finish cleaning the dishes from breakfast.
Damn. I was hoping for a drama-free morning before dealing with Carter and Presley. I knew she and Stanley wanted to talk, I could tell as they kept sharing looks at breakfast time. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, no, not at all, you’ve been such a help.” Lane tightens her brown ponytail and smiles kindly.
“Then…?” I prompt, looking at my foster blocks. “What’s wrong?”
Stanley comes to stand beside Lane as he washes his hands at the sink and I dry mine on a kitchen towel.
“We keep hearing your alarm go off every hour on the hour, every night,” Stanley says calmly and my spine stiffens.
“So?”
“I guess we’re just wondering why your alarm is going off every hour or so until you get up for school.”
I look into his familiar dark blue eyes but when I can’t conjure an excuse I look away. “I’m going to be late.”