She sits up higher. “They discharged me? Did they send a message to my dad? Maybe Millie can help, they have a hospital car service don’t they?”
“You know damn well the runners won’t be back from the outer districts until nightfall,” I say, my voice rough. “And I already talked to Millie.”
Her head snaps toward me. “You did?”
“Yes. She’s staying with your parents.”
“What?” Her breath catches in her throat.
“You can’t go home, Sisk. Three flights of stairs. No elevator. No weight-bearing for six weeks.” I gesture at her leg. “You can’t get to the bathroom. You can’t do this alone.”
Humiliation colors her cheeks. She hates pity more than pain. “I’ll figure it out,” she whispers.
“You don’t have to. You come home with me. I’ll carry you. I’ll get you to PT. I’ll do the work. One month. Until the next full moon. After that, you never have to see me again.”
Her voice breaks on a single word: “Why?”
“Because I’m the one who put you in here,” I say. “So I’m the one who gets you out.”
“I’m not your fucking motorcycle, you don’t get to fix me because you broke me,” she spits.
“The studio’s covered,” I continue. “Lou’s got all your classes. He’s taking your privates, the whole damn thing. It’s handled.”
She flinches. “I told you long ago,” she says, her voice shaking, “I don’t need your charity.”
“This isn’t charity.” My voice roughens. “It’s a debt.”
She looks at her leg—not the brace, but everything she’s afraid it means.
“One month,” she surrenders.
I take it with a nod. It’s not forgiveness, it’s a sentence and I deserve every second of it.
Sixteen
THEN | SISK
This is a very stupid thing to do, but it’s necessary. I hover by the lockers, pretending to dig through my bag, counting breaths, watching Becca laugh with two girls whose names I don’t know and one guy who definitely thinks he’s funny.
She’s so sure of herself with her perfectly curled hair and lip gloss shining when she smiles at the guy, making sure to touch his arm when she does. I have spoken to her exactly three times in all these years. All of them accidental, and I would prefer to keep things the way they are but I need her. I need the door she can open.
“Hey, Becca,” I say, standing up too fast. “Ready for… whatever Mrs. Klein is calling that group project?”
She blinks at me. “—Hi?” she says confused and a little rude. “Do I… know you?”
One of the girls glances at the other and smiles.
I force a smile of my own. “Sisk. I sit near the window.”
“Oh.” Becca’s face lights with recognition. “Right. The dancer.”
There it is. The label.
“Yeah.”
She looks me over like she’s deciding whether I belong in the same room as her reflection. Then she grins. “Okay, hi,” she says, drawing the word out. “Did you need something?”
I swallow. This is the moment where normal people would lie casually. Where they’d slip in sideways. I don’t do sideways. “I heard you’re going to the lot tonight,” I say. “Near The Pit.”
