Page 58 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

UGH.

We’re being kind, Hollis.

“I do. I mostly bake for her and for my family. She prefers my bread over anything, but I think she’s just too lazy to try learning to make it herself.” Walt smirked.

“You hang out with Yulia a lot,” Clementine said, pulling Hollis’s coat tighter.

“She’s my best friend.”

Clementine looked a bit relieved. “Oh.”

“Did you. . . . want something from me?” Walt asked. “People don’t usually invite me to stuff, much less pull me out to stand in the cold like this.”

She likes you, dumbass.

I know, simmer down.

Clementine shrugged. “I don’t know. You seem . . . different. I always noticed you, but it didn’t ever feel like you’d notice me back until recently. But I think maybe I might have . . . misunderstood that.”

She did. Get us out of here and go find Yulia.

“Clementine, I—”

The back door opened, and Timothy Reid poked his head out.

“Hollis, get in here.”

Walt gave Clementine a tight smile and gratefully seized the opportunity.

Ripe

Timothy grabbed Walt by the forearm as soon as he was fully inside the house and started pulling him deeper into the party.

They were dragged through the kitchen, to the front of the house, to the basement stairs, then down into the darkness.

It was quiet, dim with only one lamp. William’s basement was finished; there was a couch, coffee table, and TV, all pushed against the walls so that the thirty or so guys in there could fit in the space, gathered in a circle. Timothy let go of his arm and pushed Hollis forward.

Hollis met James’s gaze first. James looked tired and angry, like he didn’t want to be there at all.

Everyone else in the room was a guy Hollis hadn’t spoken to or didn’t know in any real way. Some basketball guys, some baseball, more than a few on the football team, Stephanie’s boyfriend, Tim and James, of course. None of them were speaking, and they all looked serious.

It was so confusing that it took a moment for him to recognize Jorge.

He was standing in the middle, waiting.

“Hey,” Jorge said, sharp and loud.

“What is this?” Walt asked.

Jorge . . . didn’t look good. His cuts had healed enough for him to be walking around, but he was crisscrossed in lines of pink. Coming back to school like that was going to be difficult. His whole life would probably be difficult, if Hollis was being honest. But again, this wasn’t Hollis’s fault.

Timothy rubbed the back of his neck, agitated.

“He wants to fight you, man,” he said, like it was embarrassing.

Walt looked back at the stairwell, then returned to the conversation.

“I assume I’m not going to be allowed to leave?”