“But you usually do better, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. What with my guilt-ridden face, he didn’t need to. I didn’t exactly feel guilty for my own sake. I couldn’t care less if I got an F. But I knew Mom would be disappointed. “Every time I look at you in class, Edie, you’re staring out the window. Not paying attention.”
My heart sped up once more. “You look at me?”
“You’re seated right in front of me,” he said with a smile. “I can hardly miss you.”
Stupid heart. “Right.”
“It’s not like I’ve got anyone else I can study with,” he said, face turned away. “Anders is barely getting by for his basketball scholarship. Anyway, he’s at some party.”
“I would have thought you’d be there too.”
“Nuh. Not in the mood.” He pushed back his hair. “Plus I don’t want to fail English, and you said you’d help me.”
Without further ceremony, his backpack was dropped onto my bed, making the mattress bounce. He’d either packed every textbook known to mankind or a bowling ball. Odds were sadly on the latter. Not that I was even any good at bowling.
“Of course I’ll help you,” I said. “And you’re right, I’ve had issues focusing on books and classes since it happened. It’s stupid; my brain just doesn’t want to seem to do its thing.”
“You still seeing that shrink?”
I nodded.
“You told him about this?”
“Not exactly.”
His gaze narrowed. “Why not?”
“I don’t know.” I turned away, embarrassed. “People died that night and I’m popping pills over issues like night terrors and panic attacks. Poor me.”
“On the other hand, not much point being alive if you’re not willing to get your shit together.” His voice was no-nonsense and his face the same. “Is there?”
“Ouch.”
“Am I wrong?”
I hung my head. “No.”
“Tell him everything. Let him help you.”
Scowling at the floor, I searched for a change of subject. Anything would do. “And what about you, John? Who do you have to talk to?”
He leveled his gaze at me pointedly.
“I’m not particularly qualified,” I objected. “You don’t talk to me that much, either.”
“So I’ll talk to you more.”
Huh.
“That a problem?” he asked, tipping his chin.
“No. Of course not.” My heart just about beat out of my chest. “I like talking to you; you know that.”
“No, I don’t,” he said, gaze turned aside. “Half the time I’m not sure if I’m bugging you or what.”
“You worry you’re bugging me? Seriously?”
Not bothering to reply, he climbed in after his bag. He had on his usual attire of a T-shirt and jeans. Immediately, he started pulling off his Chucks.
“Lucky you took those off,” I said, watching him toss them onto the floor with an approving nod. “Mom would be super pissed about shoes on the bed. A hot guy hanging out in my room with me though? Not a problem. Hell, she’d probably give me a high-five.”
“You think I’m hot?”
“What? No. I was just making conversation.” My face heated. Mental note: Duct tape mouth at first opportunity. “Geez, the ego on you.”
Huffing out a laugh, he shook his head. “So you are or you aren’t supposed to have boys in your room? I can’t keep up.”
“Boys are definitely not allowed,” I confirmed. “Actually, I’m also not supposed to have anyone over while she’s at work. Not without permission.”
“I’m here to study.”
“That would still be a hard no.”
Lines filled his forehead. “You want me to go?”
“No, of course not.” I smiled. “I like you bugging me. I like it a lot.”
He laughed softly.
“Got it?”
“Got it. Bit of a rule-breaker these days, aren’t you?” Pulling back his hair, he secured it with a rubber band he’d had around his wrist.
“That’s not good for your hair. Use this.” I grabbed him a hair tie off my bedside table and he took it with another one of those looks. Lips drawn wide in a vague smile, yet his brows drawn down. Interestingly enough, he used the look a lot around me. As if he didn’t quite know why he was going along with what I’d said or something. Like I amused and confused him both at once. The feeling was pretty much mutual.
“Would your parents mind?” I asked, curious. They weren’t something he tended to talk about.
“Doubt it. I only talk to them on the phone now and then since they moved a year ago. Dad got offered a job in Anchorage. Dillon was of age and the money was good, so they moved,” he said, like it was no big deal. “I had the business to look after and I didn’t want to change schools, so I stayed.”
“I know you’d said they moved up north, but Alaska?”
“Hmm.”
“Never occurred to you to change your mind after the Drop Stop?” Escaping to an icy land of few people sounded pretty appealing to me.
He pursed his lips. “I never thought I’d miss not having my parents with me. When they said they were thinking of moving away, all Dillon and I cared about was freedom.” He shook his head. “But no, I didn’t want to leave here. My uncle, he’s pretty good, and he’d been on me to work for him for a while. Moving in with him for my senior year’s a lot easier than starting over up north. And it still gives me some space from my brother.”
“Wow.”
“Even when Mom and Dad were down here, things weren’t much different. Mom didn’t like the people Dillon had hanging around, but she sucked at saying no to him. Plus she had church groups and stuff going on. Kept her busy,” he said. “Dad was working just about around the clock and was dead tired whenever he was at home, so we tended to keep any friction away from him.”
“Did they know about the dealing?”
One side of his lips drew out a ways. “Mom definitely had to. I think she was just really good at not seeing anything that didn’t suit her, you know?”
I frowned.
“I’m not sure about Dad. Can’t remember me or Dillon ever having to ask for permission,” he said. “As soon as Dillon hit high school he was always going out somewhere. Most of the time he didn’t mind me tagging along. He had this piece-of-shit truck that was always breaking down and I was better with engines than he was.”
“I can’t believe your parents moved away, just leaving you with your brother,” I said with more bite than intended.
“Think they’d pretty much given up by then.”
Just the thought made me furious. And yet . . . “Now here you are, wanting to study on a Saturday night. They were wrong.”
His gaze lingered on me, assessing. “Sure you don’t want me to go? I don’t want to cause trouble with your mom.”
“No, stay,” I said, answering the earlier question. “You know, I have a theory that most of the rules we’re given are nonsense anyway. I’d rather make up my own mind about things. Take for instance you being here. There’s nothing for my mother to worry about. Nothing’s going on. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“Only I just happened to sneak in your window to hang out with you on your bed.” He scratched at the beginnings of stubble on his chin.
“Now you’re thinking like my mother. Don’t do that.”
“How old are you?” he demanded.
“Seventeen.”
“See, you’re not even legal yet. Practically a baby.”