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“Yeah, I’m fine,” I tell her, following her to return my tray. “I just…didn’t sleep much last night.”
“I’m not surprised,” she says. “I’m not trying to be a dick, but…Mila told me about what happened at the art fair. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No…I don’t. Thanks, though.”
Were we friends? Not really. But she’s shown me kindness when I was vulnerable—when I couldn’t trust many of the people I’ve called friends here to do the same.
“Hey, Laurel?”
“Yeah?”
“I know we haven’t talked much. But you helped me…a couple of times when I really needed it, and it made a difference. It mattered to me. I won’t forget it. I want you to know that.”
“Anytime, Ally. Really. I’d give you my number, but…”
“Yeah, I don’t have a phone. Anyway…thanks. I’ll see you around.”
Ilook around the cafeteria, but I don’t see Ally anywhere. I know she’s here…somewhere. I checked her locker, and the food was gone.
I take a tray and grab a seat next to Isaac and Seth.
“Dude, I heard about what happened at the art fair. Fucking awesome,” Seth says. Isaac scoffs and shakes his head. “Isaac disagrees, but I think the bitch deserved it.”
I practically leap across the table and grab him by the collar of his shirt. “Don’t fucking call her that. Ever. Do you hear me? I’ll fucking…”
Kill you,I almost say. I let go of his collar and sink back into my seat.
“Jesus, man. What the fuck?”
“It was fucked up,” Isaac says. “I’m not talking about what you just did to Seth, either. What you did to Ally was fucked. I don’t care how much you hate her. I saw the drawing, Devon.”
“I sat in jail for over four months because Ally Hargrove was insecure and scared. I drew a picture.”
“Devon, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I don’t really care: Ally is not the reason you were in jail. You get that, right? You went to jail because twenty people saw you put a knife to Darci’s throat and tell her you were going to kill her a few hours before she was murdered. Even if Ally would have said she was with you, who saw her? How could Ally account for your whereabouts if she was asleep?”
“Even if you are right, she still shouldn’t have done it.”
“No, she shouldn’t have. But…you said she was scared, right? You said that they hurt her. I don’t know what it’s like to be scared of someone like that. Do you?”
Yeah. I do.
I think about when I was thirteen, and I got in the middle of my mom and Jack when they were fighting in the kitchen.
I thought I was a lot bigger than I was. I grabbed a pan from the counter, thinking I could sneak up behind him and hit him over the head, and he’d pass out and fall to the ground the way they always do in the movies. But my mom spotted me and yelled, “Devon, no!”
Jack spun around so fast I didn’t stand a chance. It wasn’t the first time he beat me, but it was the worst. He took the pan from my hand and clocked me square in the jaw. I fell to the ground, choking on blood, spitting teeth, and scrambling to get to my feet so I could run. I did get to my feet, but I didn’t run. He grabbedme, slammed me against the wall, and strangled me until I passed out while my mom screamed for him to stop.
The next time I heard them fighting, I stayed in my room…scared.
The next week, I went to my dad’s, and he said I was never going back. My mom didn’t even try to argue. I didn’t see her for months.
“I could have kept her safe. She should have trusted me,” I tell him.
“You know what? I believe that you believe that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you have a hero complex.”
