“You’re mad at me for waiting when you were passed out?”
I realized I was mad. He was here, where he didn’t want to be, and it was all his fault. “Yes. You should’ve left.”
He laughed a little. “Glad you think me capable of leaving a girl passed out on the floor.”
“I would’ve been fine. They would’ve found me. But now everything is a mess and you’re here and you’re miserable.”
“Autumn, stop. No need for guilt. I won’t be here for long.”
I wished I had his ability to read facial expressions, because his was so stoic I couldn’t tell if what he said was the truth.
“But I don’t understand, why would they punish you for helping me?”
“My foster mom said I ran away for the weekend so she wouldn’t get in trouble for kicking me out.”
“My dad didn’t know you were with me. He thought you came with the alarm.”
“I gave minimal information to the police. CPS doled out this awesome punishment.”
I groaned. “This sucks.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“How come you haven’t been at school?”
“I’ve been around.”
“I thought you could sit with us at lunch . . . if you wanted to.”
That was the wrong thing to say. His face went from the Dax I’d come to know, to closed off again. Like I’d pushed a reset button. “I don’t need you to set me up with friends, Autumn. I’m fine.” The hallway behind him was dark and seemed to be swallowing him up. “I better get back to mandatory homework time.”
I didn’t want him to leave feeling like however he now felt. I needed him to stay for just a little bit longer, so I blurted out, “Jeff’s in a coma. They won’t bring him out of it until he’s doing better.”
That stopped his backward movement again. “I’m sorry.”
“His mom thinks I am the key to saving him.”
“What do you mean?”
“She pretended I was his cousin and I sat by him and talked to him and she wants me to come back and do the same thing. Like I have some magic touch or something.” I laughed nervously, surprised I had told him that. “It’s no big deal, though. Maybe I can help.”
“You don’t have to go back, Autumn.”
My shoulders relaxed a notch. “I want to.”
“I hope he gets better.”
“Me too.” I toed the corner of the doormat. “If you ever need a break . . . I have a car.” When he didn’t say anything I added, “You can borrow it or something.” Maybe Dax didn’t want to hang out with my friends, but we were still friends. He was still wearing the bracelet, after all. That had to mean something. And as his friend, I knew things about him, like the fact that he’d need some freedom from this place once in a while. A car helped with that.
“Borrow your car? I’m sure your parents would love that.”
“They’d be cool with it.” They would not be cool with it.
“I don’t need your car, but thanks.” He moved his hand up on the door, his expression seeming to ask if I was done with my outbursts yet.
I bit my lip. “Okay . . . well . . . good luck with everything.”
“You too.”
I took a step backward. “Bye, Dax.”
“Bye.”
He shut the door and that was it.
I started to leave but then hesitated, thinking I’d left something, my arms felt empty, but then I remembered it was just his sweatshirt so I hopped off the porch and drove away. Maybe that bracelet didn’t mean anything, after all. Dax didn’t need my friendship. He didn’t need anything. Now that I saw that, I could stop worrying about him.
CHAPTER 23
My dad was sitting on the couch matching socks when I came in the door. The television was on (which explained why the task was taking him so long) and he paused it to say, “How was the hospital?”
“I didn’t end up going. I dropped off that sweatshirt instead.” That wasn’t a lie, even though I knew he would assume I went to the library.
“Oh good. Dax. His name is Dax.” He searched the pile of socks on the coffee table for the right one.
“What?”
“The police told me who the boy who helped you was. I wrote him a letter that they said they’d send to him for us.”
“That’s great.”
He held up a finger as if he just thought of an idea. “Did you want to add anything to it?”
“The letter?”
“Yes.”
I smiled, thinking that could be funny. “Sure, Dad.”
He swept the socks off his lap and onto the cushion next to him, then led the way into the kitchen, where he took a folded sheet of paper out of an envelope. I read through the words, which mainly talked about how grateful he was that Dax heard the alarm and came to help me. How this act let him know Dax had a strong character. I picked up the black pen on the counter and added the words, My hero then signed my name.
My dad read it, a crease forming between his brows. “That doesn’t seem very sincere.”
“It is.”