“I guess that means I’m not hungry.” His eyes widen in surprise, because I did kind of snap at him, but I’m too annoyed to apologize.
“HOLY SHIT!” Jesse’s loud voice grabs the attention of the entire table. “Somebody write this down. May twenty-sixth. Adam Blake is in a bad mood.”
Charlie shakes his head, shooting secretive glances from Jesse to Emerald to me. Looking abashed now, Jesse aims apologetic eyes back at them. It’s like they’ve all developed some kind of Morse code out of blinks and head shakes.
I look up and realize everyone is staring at me like I’m a mental patient around whom they need to lightly tread. My arms and legs start to itch like crazy. It’s gotta be the caffeine, but I can’t just sit here anymore. I don’t bother saying anything. I just go.
All day is like this: a pointless biding of time until each class ends. I feel this growing buzzing tension, too many thoughts crowding my head, and I wonder if this is how Julian feels all the time. And if he does, how does he even freakin function? How does he walk down the hall without it leeching out? It seems like there should be an obvious wound branded across your forehead when you feel like this.
I’m heading to seventh period when I stumble over some invisible obstacle, right into a guy I sort of recognize. He’s not in my grade—a junior, maybe—but he’s taller and wider than me and he’s got a sharp jaw and mouth that make him look part-velociraptor.
“Watch it, asshole.” He sneers like I intentionally tripped and fell into him.
“It was an accident, asshole.”
Super fast, his hands are fisted in my shirt, and he propels me toward the wall. My hips smack against a water fountain—turning it on—but my back hits air so I end up awkwardly flailing. This immediately grabs the interest of the entire hallway. Bloodthirsty kids encircle us. Their excitement depresses me.
The guy is really glaring now, over-the-top-WWE-style. He keeps me pinned to the fountain, every sharp tooth showing, but not saying anything.
“So are you gonna hit me, or can I go?”
My question seems to catch him off guard, and he unfolds his fingers from my collar.
I straighten. The back of my hoodie is wet, soaked through to my skin. I can feel the disappointment of the crowd when he steps back just enough to let me pass.
You got in a fight??
Sometimes it’s difficult to interpret tone from a text message, but with Charlie you can always assume he’s yelling.
It wasn’t a fight, I text back while walking down the colorful pediatrics hall.
WTF happened??
He’s either worried or he’s impressed. I don’t care which at the moment, so I stuff my phone back into my pocket.
I find Julian sitting in the chair in front of the window in his room, writing in a spiral notebook. Delores sits next to him, wearing a bright yellow dress and an orange hat like an advertisement for springtime. She says hello to me, then pats Julian’s back and tells him she has to run.
“So how was it?” I ask, dropping into a metal chair.
“Do I have to go back?”
“Was it that bad?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They make us say things.”
“Like what?”
“Like things about ourselves. All the good things we can name about ourselves. We had to write them down, then read it out loud.”
That does sound like Julian’s own personal brand of hell. “So what’d you write?” I reach for his spiral, but he pulls it away.
“It’s confidential,” he says, and I think he’s actually being a smart-ass. Funny.
“Just a couple more days. Then you can get out of here.”
“Does Russell…”
My smile wobbles. “Does Russell what?”
“Do you think he still wants me to live with him?”
“It wouldn’t matter if he did. You’re not going back there.” Instead of relieved, he looks like he’s going to throw up. “Do you want to live with Russell?”
He shakes his head.
“Then what?” I’m constantly confused these days, like an English speaker air-dropped into Russia.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Julian’s smart, but in some ways he’s so staggeringly clueless. “You’re coming home with me.” I thought that was obvious. “My mom’s been working on getting permission to be your guardian since you got here.”
“She is? But…”
“What?”
“Well, before…”
“Before what?”
He shakes his head, leaving me frustrated and baffled. “Last time.”
“Last time what?”
“I…I know I caused problems. And you and Catherine couldn’t handle it anymore. I know.”
“Who said you caused problems?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Russell?”
He shrugs, then nods.
“Jesus, Julian. He was lying. It wasn’t our choice for you to go. That was him. Do you know how freakin devastated my mom was when he wouldn’t let us see you?”