Garrett sniffed again, this time defiantly. His little chin was thrust forward, his eyes on the road. “I can handle it.”
I recalled the murderous look in Shane’s eye when Garrett defended me. No, you can’t. The burning letter cut me to the core and left a gaping wound I knew wouldn’t close any time soon. But more important than that was keeping Garrett safe. No matter what.
I drove in silence, hardening my heart and steeling my courage. I pulled into the roundabout of Williamsburg Elementary as my little brother—the only brother who felt like flesh and blood—hauled his oversize backpack onto his lap. He reached for the truck’s door handle but stopped before opening.
“You should leave,” he said, looking up at me through his tousled mop of blond hair. “You should get far away from them.”
“I’m planning on it,” I snapped, and faced forward, my voice as stony as I could make it. “Go. Get out. You’ll be late.”
He frowned at my cold words. “I’ll miss you, Evan. If you go, I’ll miss you, but I think it’s best. So they can’t hurt you anymore.”
I clutched the steering wheel in both hands until my knuckles turned white under the red rawness from my fight with Merle. “Get. Out.”
I could feel Garrett’s hurt wafting over me and nearly broke.
“Why are you being mean to me?” he cried, his voice trembling. “Evan…?”
I couldn’t do it. But I had to do it. To protect him. It was safer if he hated me too.
The car behind us honked. I reached across Garrett and threw open his door, then faced forward again, not looking at him. “Get out of the goddamn truck.”
Garrett wrangled his backpack and climbed out of the truck’s cab. He stood for a moment, staring at me, challenging me. I muttered a curse and reached across to shut the door, but he was quicker. Garrett slammed it shut, his face full of hurt and anger, then turned and stomped toward his school.
The look in his eye hurt almost as bad as the pain of my burnt note.
Good, I thought, watching him storm away. Better for him.
I didn’t have the luxury of wondering if it was better for me.
That morning, I noticed the jocks were being extra shitty to Evan. I had perfect vantage from my locker, which was on the same bank as Shane Salinger’s. I watched the scrawny little asshole mutter something to Jared, Merle, and the others as Evan walked by, his head down, shoulders hunched, hands jammed in the front pockets of his jeans.
“But Merle took care of it,” I heard Shane say, louder.
Merle Salinger made a fist in one hand and slammed it into the palm of his other meaningfully.
Jared’s eyes widened and he laughed. “Had a little campfire in your driveway this morning, eh, Freakshow?” he called.
Evan ignored him, but I saw him level a blue-eyed glare at Shane that could have frozen all of hell’s nine circles. Shane recoiled, fumbling his cane a little, then eased up as Evan continued on.
I was supposed to meet Jared at recess but I ditched him. Blew him off at lunch too. In Western Civ, he shot me a questioning look. I turned away, showing him the wall of hair over my face, which put Evan in my direct line of sight. His head was bowed, eyes down, shoulders hunched looking as if he wanted to dive into his book. I saw a smear of dried blood under his nose. The knuckles on the hand closest to me looked red and swollen. He’d been in a fight.
Who? Probably that meatloaf of a brother, Merle. Or maybe one of the other jocks. Maybe Jared. Jared tried to get my attention again and I gave him the finger. His eyes widened then he shook his head, disappointed, but his lips curled in warning. I knew the rumors would begin immediately. Slut. Whore. Cocktease.
I heaved a sigh. Breakups can be so messy.
I spent the rest of the class wishing Evan would look my way, just once. But it was clear he was having a monumentally awful day. He wouldn’t look at me, or anywhere but down for that matter. It was as if last night hadn’t happened.
Can you blame him? You were a total bitch.
I looked down at my desk, hiding behind my hair, hiding behind excuses. Evan scared me last night in the worst possible way. I thought he was trying to drown himself. Still, I felt kind of guilty for going nuclear on him. He got enough of that shit everywhere else without me piling on.
Toward the end of class, I noticed Evan was hiding a book under some papers and reading while Mr. Albertine droned about the birthplace of Democracy.
“Hey,” I whispered, going for friendly. I probably looked like Wednesday Addams attempting a smile, like in that movie.
Evan glanced at me for a second, his eyes dull and heavy. He nodded once in greeting and went back to his book.
“What are you reading?”
He kept his head down, eyes on the page, as he moved the paper enough to show me the book was The Count of Monte Cristo.
“Missed that one. Any good?”
“Yes,” he whispered, still not looking at me.
“What’s it about?”