Icouldn’t find Xander all day, and I was starting to worry.
It was getting late, and Father and Mother would be home soon. If they found out he wasn’t here, they’d be furious, and Xander would be paying for it. It was a school night; he was supposed to be home studying. His grades were already slipping.
I waited for him in the living room, my foot tapping against the floor anxiously.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Thirty.
An hour.
Cold sweat prickled my skin.
And then I heard it—the sound of a bicycle rolling through the gate and into the garage. A second later, it clattered to the ground, and footsteps pounded toward the front door. I opened it just as Xander burst through.
“Where have you been?” I snapped. “Hurry, go change before they get home.”
He didn’t answer, just ran straight to his room. I locked the door behind him and followed.
By the time I stepped into his room, he was already in the bathroom changing. A minute later, I heard the hum of ourparents’ car pulling into the driveway, the tires crunching against the gravel.
“Where were you?” I asked again, this time in a lower tone. “I was worried sick.”
“Around,” he muttered, grabbing his bag and rifling through it before sitting down at his desk. “You better not be here, Sloane. He’s going to come in any second.”
“I’ll just say I’m here to study,” I said. I didn’t want him to face Father alone. I wanted to be here for him.
He looked at me and gave a slight nod. Then he tossed a book onto the bed. I picked it up, sat down, and opened it, pretending to read.
A few minutes later, Father opened the door and stepped inside. His voice was clipped. “Have you been studying?”
Then he saw me. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to look at something in his book,” I replied.
Father gave a sharp nod. “See, Xander? You need to learn from Sloane. She’s a year below you and already wants to study what you’re learning.”
Damn it. That wasn’t the point.
I glanced at Xander. His head stayed down, eyes on the page. He didn’t say a word.
“Study hard,” Father said before leaving. “I want those grades perfect by the time you graduate.”
I kept my eyes on Xander. We both knew it wasn’t possible—not with only a couple of months left. But Father never asked what was realistic. He just expected it. Even if Xander got straight As on every final test, it wouldn’t be enough to fix his grades.
When Father finally left, I turned to him.
“Hang in there, Xander. Be strong.”
He didn’t move. His head was still bowed, shoulders tight with tension.
“Xander...” I said softly.
He lifted his head and let out a long, heavy sigh. Then he walked over and sat beside me on the bed.
“I can’t do this anymore, Sloane,” he said quietly. “I don’t think I have it in me.”
