“You look like you’re about to faint.”
“I’m fine,” Wick repeats, lifting her chin and glaring at me like she’s thinking about setting me on fire. “I just need to go to the nurse’s office. She’ll know what to do.”
What a liar. I have to stuff down my laugh. Wick was definitely upset earlier, but she’s smoothed under the panic. She’s playing Lowe now. Why?
Too late to ask. Wick’s halfway to the door now, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open.
“Will you be joining us for homeroom, Mr. Griffin?” I drag my attention from Wick, realize our teacher is smirking at me.
“Uh, no.”
“Then I would suggest you get going. You don’t want to be late for roll call.”
“Right.” I grab my things, cram the pad and pencils into my book bag, and shoot into the hallway, nearly running straight over some freshman.
“Sorry, man—” I extend one hand to pull him off the lockers and realize it isn’t a freshman at all. It’s Ian Bay, another junior.
“It was my fault,” Ian says. “I wasn’t watching.”
I start to remind him that I was the one who came charging out of Mrs. Lowe’s class, but it’s pointless to argue with Ian. He’ll just apologize for apologizing.
“I should be more careful. See you around?” I nod at him and realize immediately it was the wrong thing to say. Ian’s face goes hopeful, his whole body tensing like a puppy’s before you throw the ball. It’s kind of fitting since he’s one of those kids who’re always looking for a friend. Any friend.
“Yeah!” Ian says. “I’ll definitely see you around!”
There’s a pause like he’s waiting for me to say something else, and I don’t know, maybe I should. I’m kind of being an ass for looking straight through him. The hallway stinks of sweat and bleach and body spray and I can’t stop looking for Wick. She’s disappeared into the crowd and I can’t see her anywhere.
Too bad I can feel her. My palm remembers the press of her skin.
Screw this. I’m acting like I’ve never touched another girl, and I have—there’s been plenty more than touching too. Of course, there’s something about touching this girl. There always has been for me.
I turn in the opposite direction of the nurse’s office and Ian follows me, bouncing. “Didn’t I see you on my street last week?”
“Probably. I mow yards for a bunch of people.”
“That’s cool!”
It’s not cool, but I don’t bother pointing it out.
“I just noticed because I never really see you around anymore,” Ian continues, his smile overreaching his face. “What’s up with that?”
“What’s up” is that a social life kind of interferes with working. I got around a bit last year before things got really bad, but I could never bring anyone back to my place. I never knew what state my mom would be in. Not that I feel like sharing any of this with Ian.
“Lauren Cross is having a party later this week,” he says. “You should come. Let everyone see you again.”
“Can’t. I gotta go.” I speed up, leaving Ian behind a cluster of girls. It’s a crappy move, but I need space. No, I need to get out of here. It’s this freaking school and town and I’m done. I’m getting out of here, and if that means bringing down Wick in the process? Too bad.
6
I get home from school and realize my mom’s gone. The bed’s not made, but the closet’s open and her room smells like hair spray. This is serious progress, and for the second time today, I’m so surprised I stand around gawking.
Did she go to work? Did she—wait. I shoot into the living room, check her closet. Suitcase is still there. I cross to the mustard-yellow bathroom we share. Toothbrush hasn’t moved. My stomach goes tight, cold. Then that means . . .
I run back through the kitchen, out the door, hitting the gravel below our steps at a dead run. I swing around the trailer’s corner and skid to a stop. No point in going any farther. I can already see the churned-up dirt from here.
Well, at least she hasn’t ditched me.
As soon as I think it, I realize how pathetically stupid I sound. She robbed me . . . I mean I think . . . technically. I shuffle to the hole, toe the pile of dirt with my sneaker. It was my money, but both of us know it’s not like I’m going to turn her in, and yeah, obviously it would be smarter to keep the money in the bank, but I’ve been there, done that. She cleaned me out. Until I’m eighteen, Mom has to cosign. Hiding the money usually works better.
Usually.
“Hi, Griff!”
I turn, realize my neighbor Emily is standing on her back porch, watching me. “Oh, hey, Em.”
She smiles. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah.” It’s effing peachy. I rub one hand through my hair and Emily’s smile goes wider.