Seven—
“Not so fast.”
A hand latched onto her forearm, wrenching her around. She staggered to find her balance, and a sharp pain lanced through the sole of her foot.Oh no.Some of the duct tape must have worn through.
Distracted, she missed the manicured hand swiping at her face.Wham!The blow dislodged her woolen cap, and her hair fell loose, tangling around her shoulders.
“Did you hear me?” Naomi demanded. “Or are youdeaf, too?”
Blank,Loren scolded herself, fighting to smother her shock. Be empty.Make your face a mask—that’s it. Never let them in.Never let them see.
Once she regained control of her breathing, she stooped for her hat. The second her fingers contacted the wool, the heel of a thigh-high white boot descended to crush them.
Loren gasped before she could reel it in.
Mistake,a part of her scolded.Big mistake.
“So, shedoesspeak!” Naomi cackled with glee and snatched for her forearm next.
Dragged to her feet, Loren lost her grip on her bag, spilling books and materials over the sidewalk. “No! Don’t!” she croaked, this time consciously.
Unbothered, Naomi stooped for her bag and rifled through it.
“Oh, what?” she taunted. “Don’t want us to see what the little mouse is always hiding?”
She overturned the bag, dumping out the contents.
Loren winced as her homework scattered on the wind, but nothing tugged at her heart more than the plastic baggie full of carrots that landed in the street. Or the apple that dented against the damp ground.
“Is that her lunch?” Someone giggled from the car’s back seat.
No.Most of the time, she went hungry, though some days Mona, the lunch lady, tossed her a banana from the lunch line if she looked pathetic enough.
The carrots, carefully rescued from the back of the fridge among the many cases of beer, had been a gift meant for the only friends she had. And Naomi gleefully stomped them into mush without a second thought.
“Guess you’ll just have to go without, hun,” a blond from the convertible suggested.
Don’t cry,Loren told herself, blinking against that warning sting prickling the backs of her eyes. Still, her heart lurched as Naomi turned her attention to the discarded apple.
“Stop!” The plea broke loose, hoarse and broken. She raced forward, but Naomi kicked the apple out of her reach.
“Hold the bitch back,” Naomi demanded, and, like well-trained dogs, her two minions scrambled from the back seat to do her bidding.
One snatched a chunk of Loren’s hair and used it as a leash to keep her restrained, while the other kicked the fruit into the street.
“Aw, look,” the culprit taunted. “She looks like she’s going to cry.”
Loren tried to keep the tears at bay but failed. Unbidden, they coated her cheeks in bursts of warmth. Sorrow wasn’t the source—just guilt and rage. It had been sohardto scavenge those meager offerings. If her father knew that she had stolen the carrots, he’d…
Kill her.
“Aww, lighten up, Connors,” Naomi urged cheerfully. “It’s not like any guy will give you the time of day, even if you went on a diet.”
They all laughed, but Loren flinched, subconsciously huddling tighter within the confines of her sweater. Attention from anyone was the last thing she wanted.
The only plus side to having little money to spend on clothes was that the few things shedidown were nondescript and shapeless. The perfect armor to go unnoticed. The sweater she wore now was four sizes too big and hung to her knees, perfectly obscuring the pair of black leggings that had cost fifty cents atGoodwill.
“Ah, look, Naomi,” the second minion remarked on a laugh. “She’s blushing.”