"For my own gain," I corrected.
"I suppose so." He pulled away and finished his shrimp. "But someone who writes such heartfelt essays about caring for their family surely can't be all selfish."
"You too?" I moaned. "Why does everyone like that stupid essay?"
He chuckled. "It was a very compelling piece of writing! Why else do you think the board chose you as recipient of the McCaroll scholarship? Did someone else said they liked it?"
I hesitated telling him about Fitz hacking his computer for Wolf.
"Just...the teachers. I guess some of them read it."
"Oh, of course. I passed it around quite proudly."
I slapped my hand to my forehead and instantly regretted it - red sauce was the perfect makeup look. I wiped it off as Mr. Blackthorn ordered dessert.
"You've done very well, Miss Cruz. It isn't much, but just knowing what they're up to alleviates my mind. They keep everything hidden from me."
"Are you - " I shook my head. "Nevermind."
"No, please, speak up."
"Are you going to...punish them?" I asked. "For the fighting? The weed? The drinking?"
"And clue them in to the fact someone is watching them for me? No, I won't risk your cover for that. Another few weeks of your reports, and then I'll decide what to do with them."
"'Do with them?'" I repeated, the words hanging ominously. Mr. Blackthorn blinked.
"Well, something has to be done. Fitz's drug use is untenable. I know a very good rehab facility, and then he will be homeschooled, where I can keep an eye on him."
Fitz, homeschooled. By himself, in a room with a tutor, not smiling and flirting and laughing among the people who adore him. Just holding that thought in my head feels unnatural, wrong.
"Burn will need an outlet for his risk-taking, adrenaline-seeking behavior," Mr. Blackthorn wiped his mouth with a napkin. "The military would suit him nicely, don't you think?"
I swallowed. The lack of regard for what his sons had to say in the matter chilled me to the bone.
"And Wolf -" Mr. Blackthorn sighed. "My poor, maimed Wolf. At least six months of psychotherapy at a very good mental hospital I donate to will be in order."
"Mr. Blackthorn, with all due respect, that isn't the right thing to do."
"Isn't it?" His face grew cold, like I saw it that one time when he was displeased with the couple at the table who'd made fun of my dress. "Please, tell me what the right thing to do is, Miss Cruz. Tell me how to deal with my own sons."
I gripped my fork upright, my knuckles white. Mr. Blackthorn continued.
"You are here to give me information, Miss Cruz. Not opinions on how said information should be dealt with."
"But -"
"Do you want to keep your scholarship to Lakecrest or not?"
I closed my mouth instantly. My insides rumbled uneasily. Mr. Blackthorn studied me with his piercing eyes, until he was satisfied about something he'd seen in me. He leaned back, polishing off his wine.
"After all, Miss Cruz. You said it yourself when we first met; you dislike my sons. There is no reason to be concerned about what happens to them. They are the ones who are making bad choices in their lives, and I am their father. It's my job to help them make better ones. To give them the opportunity to make better ones."
I was going to be sick. I could feel it. Mr. Blackthorn smiled at me.
"You may go. Unless, of course, you'd like dessert. I will see you here next week, at the same time."
I got up and left, every step feeling as though I was walking through frozen molasses. In the car ride home, I suddenly understood why the Blackthorn brothers didn't speak to their father.
And I suddenly understood I had made the wrong choice by speaking to him, that day at the bus stop.
***
If I knew then what I knew now, I would've stopped. And I know I keep saying that, but that time it would’ve been for real. I would've told Mr. Blackthorn to shove his scholarship up his silk-clad ass and stopped giving him information at all. But back then I was scared for Dad. Back then, I was worried for my family. Back then I thought I could save the world, if I just tried hard enough.
That night I stared at my rinky-dink phone and tried not to think about how badly I wanted one of the brother’s numbers. I wanted to call them, Burn, preferably, and tell them everything - that I'd snitched on them to their dad. But Wolf's words still haunted me. I was pitiful. He thought I was pathetic. He'd tried to ruin my life by taking my scholarship away. All of it piled up, until I felt my disgust for him like a toxic lump in my throat. Wolf Blackthorn sucked, hard. No matter what he'd been through with Mark, he had no right to say those things about me.
I didn't sleep very well, so running with Burn was torture. Neither of us said much more than ‘have some water’ and ‘watch out for this root’. I barely noticed that we’d gone beyond our usual vantage point at the halfway mark, until Burn turned us around. We watched the sun rise, silently. With all the thoughts swirling in my head, it was a relief to just have silence.
I watched Burn stand on the very edge of the cliff, his shoes inching closer to the edge. And closer. So close I stood up in alarm.
“Burn, you –“
“If you look straight down,” He said slowly. “It’s almost like you’re flying.”
He wobbled a little, and I flung my arm out and pulled him back. We both toppled backwards into the dirt, a tangled mess of legs and arms. Burn’s sleepy eyes were, for once, wide with surprise.
“You can’t j-just do something like that!” I panted.
“I was fine,” He insisted.
“It’s a long way down! Putting yourself on the edge like that – that’s so stupid and selfish!”
“Selfish?” He frowned.
“What if you fell, huh? You might think you’re fine, but what if the ground gave away? What if a strong breeze blew and caught you off guard?”