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“There’s an art to making a good PB&J. You have to get the balance just right.”
“Good point.” This might be a way to open a conversation about her family. “What about you? Do you like to cook?”
“Cooking was a way to make sure I had something to eat. It wasn’t something I did for, like,fun.” I’ve noticed she tends to pull her sleeves over her fists when feeling nervous or threatened. She’s doing it now, wrapping her arms around herself.
“You didn’t get any help at all from your family? Not even grocery money?”
“Why are you so obsessed with my family?” She’s curled into a tight ball, wedged into the corner of the sofa.
This is obviously a sore subject for her. I suspected it all along, but until now, she’s always been flippant about them. She’s deliberately avoided going any deeper than the superficial facts. Now, when I push a little harder, she’s on the verge of snapping.
That confirms that I’m getting closer to the answers I seek. “Let me help you understand a little something about Corium. We can’t afford to have anyone here whose past is a mystery. Typically, I know the history of every family who sends one of their kids here. It’s a matter of security, both for the school and for the students themselves.”
“And…?”
“You’re no exception. Do you need me to spell it out for you?”
“I never asked to be brought here. I don’t want to be a student here. I want to go home.”
I snap before I can stop myself. “Really? You miss that double-wide you keep complaining about?”
She winces but doesn’t back down. “It’s still better than being here.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Yeah, well, you can believe whatever you want to.” She stares at the darkened TV, her jaw twitching while her nostrils flare.
“Did it ever occur to you that it might be dangerous for you to go home?”
Her head snaps back toward me, her eyes blazing, and something inside me lights up. I don’t know what it is. Perhaps the challenge? In no way is my role here at this school boring or easy, and I know too well how different my life could have turned out if I didn’t straighten my shit up, but I’ve missed this kind of thing. Crashing against someone whose will is almost as strong as mine and breaking them. Is that what I’ve been trying to do all along?
A knock on the door interrupts us, and I get up to answer, not sure if I’m glad for the interruption or not. Delilah looked like she might have been about to unload on me, and who’s to say she wouldn’t have told me something valuable?
We’re both silent as the staff sets up the meal. It smells like basil, thyme, and oregano. Italian, most likely. My favorite. I thank them as always before closing the door and carrying the trays over to the table.
“Well? Do you need an engraved invitation?” I’m already sitting, napkin in lap, by the time she grumbles her way off the sofa and into her chair. I know I’m an asshole. No need to be told, so why not continue to pick at the scab? Now that she’s stirred up, she might be more willing to talk. “Did I shock you with what I said? About you being safer here than at home?”
I notice she’s very slow and deliberate about unwrapping her silverware, then lifting the lid from her plate. Up until this point, I didn’t allow her silverware. The opportunity for her to hurt herself or me was too likely. “How many ways do I have to tell you I have nothing to do with that family before you actually believe me?”
“Even if I believed that—and I’m still not certain I do—there are plenty of people who haven’t sat down and discussed it with you. As far as they’re concerned, you could have been your father’s golden child. And you just happened to get lucky enough to avoid the bloodshed that went on.”
“Listen.” She looks me straight in the eye with no bullshit or playful smirks. “We both know what happened. Let’s not pretend it was all done by some shadowy figure without a name or a face—or a wife who goes to school here with him.”
“I would think you’d rather be here, protected, than out there in the wild of the world. Unless you forgot how easy it was for him to pluck you off the street. It could easily happen again, maybe by someone worse than him.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she grits out, sawing into a piece of chicken like she has a personal grudge against it. “As for my family, I hated them. I still do. I don’t care who believes me. I’m tired of trying to convince people who aren’t willing to listen.”
“You can’t pretend it doesn’t sound unusual. Why did your father send you away?”
“You would have to ask him,” she mutters before taking a mouthful of chicken.
“I can’t ask him.”
“Oh well.” She lifts a shoulder, now twirling spaghetti around her fork. “I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.”
Fucking infuriating little smart-ass. Though that isn’t enough reason to keep a close eye on her. This school is teeming with smart-ass kids—spoiled little shits who’ve never had to face the consequences of their actions. More than a few of them. Fuck, I used to be one of them.
It’s still not a good enough reason to keep her with me.
