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Someone oohs at the use of Ty’s full name.
Matilda Jennings.
My sweet, little ol’ Tillie.
Standing at five-foot-nothing, with bright red hair chopped short around her ears, her command of an entire room of baby criminals is half the reason why I adore her to no end.
The other half being that I’m her favorite, something that’s widely known around here.
Heck, the woman is taking me in to live with her and her stuffy husband, rather than leaving me to fend for myself on the streets. If anyone is deserving of the name Saint, it’s her.
Maybe if the others stopped acting like uncivilized shitheads once in a while, they would’ve realized this could’ve been them too. That she wanted to be on their side. But nooo, they just had to go and keep making things harder for themselves. Getting into fights, sneaking contraband, flipping their lid when the cafeteria ran out of pudding cups.
Didn’t anyone tell them that no one likes a lost cause?
Tillie meets my gaze, blue eyes unreadable. I watch as they flicker toward my shoulder, growing harder just as her mouth tightens.
As if realizing he’s still touching me—not only that but caressing my neck with his thumb—Bruce pulls back his hand like I burned him.
I smirk.
Tillie’s fiery gaze meets mine, but I know her anger isn’t directed toward me. Not really. It’s not my fault the guards are so obsessed with me. They’re the ones who should be ashamed for being so weak-willed. From the second I turned sixteen, they’ve been on me like bees to honey.
A couple even before that, but we don’t talk about those.
And despite what the state might say, age of consent means little to nothing in a place like this. Sixteen, or even a week away from turning eighteen, it doesn’t matter. It’s illegal as fuck, not that anyone cares.
Well, Tillie cares. But she doesn’t have a penis. And waving that around is about the only way to get anything done around here. Trust me on that.
“That’ll be all, Officer Hammil,” she says shortly. Tilting her head, she quietly signals for me to follow her, before turning her back on me.
As I take one last cursory glance around the room, I don’t miss Ty glaring holes into my head. I lift my fingers into a V and waggle my tongue between them.
He lurches forward, face reddening.
Not waiting around to see what happens, I quickly skip off to catch up with Tillie. Hoping my new little friend tucked safely against my wrist can wait just a little bit longer.
* * *
“Will there still be a garden?”
Tillie blows out a breath, mouth thinning into a smile as her gaze softens on mine. “We’ll make one.”
I should’ve known there was a reason she was here. It’s Sunday, and she’s never here on Sundays.
Something soft tickles my wrist, making me realize I’ve clenched my hands in my lap, curling my wrist over the crushed butterfly still sitting against my pulse.
Shoot.
Willing myself to relax, I take a deep breath.
This isn’t a bad change, I tell myself as I subtly adjust my sleeve under the table, wiggling my fingers, and ensuring my new friend is okay. It’s a silent mimic of Tillie’s words from only moments ago, after she dropped the bomb on me that she and her husband were moving.
“This isn’t a bad change, Aston. This is actually really good for us.”
Yeah, for you, but what about me? I wanted to ask, barely holding myself back.
Apparently, money’s been pretty tight for a while since her husband, Walter, was let go from his old job. But most schools aren’t exactly chomping at the bit for new principals, so he had to expand his search.
