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He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Who’s giving the report here?”
She waved her hand. “Proceed.”
“Like I said, the North won. The slaves were all freed. Hurrah, hurrah. The end.”
He bowed jokingly, and everyone laughed as Mrs. Anderson shook her head. “Did you even read the material?”
“Of course I did.”
“Who was the leader of the North?”
“Lincoln.”
“No, he was the president.”
“Yes, which means he was the fucking leader of everyone.”
Mrs. Anderson’s face clouded with anger. Oops. “You won’t use that language in my classroom.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he said. “I thought I already did.”
A collective gasp resonated among his classmates as Mrs. Anderson stood, and Carmine started toward the door before the words could come from her mouth. “Principal’s office,” he muttered, mocking her at the same time she said it.
In no rush to see the principal again, Carmine headed out of a side exit, going for his car in the student parking lot instead.
* * *
The house was silent when Carmine made it home. He headed to the third floor and paused at the top of the stairs. In the library, in the same spot she’d been hours earlier, stood Haven. She stared out into the backyard with a vacant expression, her arms wrapped around her chest.
He cleared his throat to get her attention, and she flinched but didn’t look his way. After a moment, he strolled over and stood beside her. Her body grew rigid as she held her breath, tension rolling off of her when their arms brushed together. The simple contact wouldn’t have registered with him if not for her reaction. “Have you even moved today?”
“Yes.”
He waited for her to elaborate, but no more words came. It wasn’t until then that he realized she had on his shirt and pants, vaguely recalling his father taking them from his room. “You’re wearing my clothes.”
Carmine didn’t think it was possible, but she managed to grow tenser. “I can take them off.”
He stifled a laugh. “You’re offering to take off your clothes for me?”
“Your clothes. I have none of my own.”
And just like that, she made him feel a twinge of guilt. She’d have had clothes if he had done what his father asked. “What happened to whatever you came here in?”
“They were bloody, so Dr. DeMarco got rid of them.”
“Whose blood?”
“Mine.”
He tilted his head and stared at her. There was something strange about the way she stood motionless but still managed to seem like she was fidgeting. It made him uneasy.
“Keep the clothes,” he said, wanting away from her to clear his head. He didn’t like feeling uncomfortable in his house. “I’m gonna take a nap, Heaven.”
“Haven,” she corrected him.
“I know,” he said. “I kinda like Heaven, though.”
She turned to him, their eyes meeting for the first time since he’d walked in. “Me, too.”
