Lock pinched the bridge of his nose and then grasped his hands behind his back before he leaned in close to me. I fought the instinct to step back, but only because a group of girls walked by just then, and I didn’t want to give them any more reason to stare at us. Lock didn’t seem to notice or care about the girls, however. He stared into my eyes for a few seconds, then shifted so that his lips were at my ear.
“I know you’re still angry with me,” he said quietly. “But just for today, let me hold your hand and walk next to you. I promise I won’t lend it any significance. I promise I won’t think that this makes anything better. Just for today, for me, let me stay by your side?” I didn’t answer, so he straightened and said, “I’ve got much more important things to ponder than the passive-aggressive, ill-informed mutterings of our schoolmates. Please help me drown out the noise for a bit?”
He held out his hand, and I studied his face as I laid mine over his. But all he did was smile and exhale in relief. “That’s better.”
Holding Lock’s hand didn’t do much to drown out the voices for me, of course. But when the comments got more vicious and the commenters more bold, he wove his fingers through mine and patted out an odd rhythm with his thumb against my skin.
“I actually felt bad for her when her face was a mess. Now I guess we know there’s more to that story.”
“Wonder how many of those bruises were real?”
“How can she even face Lily Patel?”
As if her name had summoned her, Lily Patel came around the corner, buffered by her friends, who worried and kvetched around her until she held up her hand and said, “Enough.”
We both paused just long enough to exchange a neutral look. Before we could be led away by our friends, Lily said, “Wait.” She looked right at me, then, and pulled the handbag that was hanging from her elbow up onto her shoulder. She’d exchanged it for a new one again, I noticed. “Did they find the weapon?” She didn’t sound angry, just curious.
I shook my head.
Lily scrunched her face a bit. “Didn’t think they would.”
She walked on, her scandalized posse in tow, but that small interaction seemed to quiet the gauntlet. Lock and I walked toward my chemistry class in near silence. No more comments. No more whispers. In fact, I didn’t hear so much as my name again until we were mere steps from the classroom.
“Moriarty!”
A flash went off in my face the moment I turned. The strobe kept flickering as the paparazzo’s shutter ticked off as many shots as he could before Sherlock pulled me into his arms and back-stepped me into the room. A wave of whispers erupted from inside, and my chem professor stormed past us, shouting, “Out! Get out now!”
Lock and I stood in that embrace much longer than we needed to—well past when we heard a couple of other teachers join my professor, and even after the paparazzo’s shouts about his rights faded to nothing as he was taken to the nearest exit. I probably should’ve felt embarrassed as I extricated myself from Sherlock to answer the vibrating phone in my pocket. But I didn’t have time to think on such things.
It was a text message. From Alice.
“Who is it?” Lock asked.
“Not even one class for me today,” I said.
You need to come home, the text read. Followed quickly by, Immediately.
Chapter 6
Getting home involved squeezing through the side gate at school to avoid any lingering press and paying another taxi fare. I left Lock at school, tasking him with gathering my schoolwork for me, but really I didn’t want his day to be ruined just because mine was about to be. Sadly, there was no side door to our house, which left me no choice but to push through the fog of camera flashes, shouted questions, and picket signs proclaiming both my father’s guilt and innocence. It wasn’t until I stood on the top step near our door that I noticed the crowd of bullies was actually significantly smaller than it had been earlier in the morning.
“Please let that be a good sign,” I whispered as I opened the front door only as wide as it took to slip inside.
With the door closed, the entry of our house felt like a sanctuary. I leaned my head back against the wood, my hand still on the handle, and took a deep breath. I’d been more than stupid that day. None of us should have left the house for at least a day or two. The sighting of us, even doing something as plain as going to school, only meant one more day of this nonstory playing out as news.
I heard a hiss of pain coming from the kitchen and peeked around the corner just as Alice said, “Sorry.”
She winced in sympathy as she dabbed a cotton swab along the corner of Freddie’s mouth. Sean and Fred were lined up for triage at our kitchen table, which was covered in first-aid supplies like a clinic. Sean held a pack of frozen peas across his hand, but probably should have had another one for the blooming bruise under his eye. Freddie was definitely worse off. He had a gash along his cheekbone, a bruise on his jaw, and he was spitting blood into a paper cup. He lifted his hand up to scratch his head, and I saw cuts and bruises across the knuckles as well as a tear in his jacket.