Could have been worse. It’s only puffy, not closing my eye like some of them have. Still, there’ll be no school for me today. If I wait a day and fake a note, they’ll all think I got hurt and my dad kept me home from school to check for concussion.
Done.
Except my heart drops at that thought, because that means not seeing Chris today.
I have to press my lips together hard and walk away from the mirror. It’s so unfair. Last night was an oasis—a warm, sugary night of sheer joy. Then Dad . . . I hunch away from those memories and head back to my room.
I shuffle back to bed and pick up an old book. If I’m quiet enough, Dad won’t notice I’m here when he wakes up, and I can escape the very particular torture of having his eyes land on what he’s done to me without ever mentioning it.
By ten-thirty, Dad still hasn’t stirred and I’m hungry enough to venture out of bed. I brush my teeth and am headed into the kitchen when an insistent knocking sounds from the front door.
“Tully!” Chris’s voice is muffled a little by the walls. I scramble down the hallway, hissing at him to be quiet. But his knocking is becoming thumping by the time I get to the door and swing it partly open. I’m terrified he’ll wake Dad, which can’t happen, so I grab the door and open it a few inches, only let him see the unmarred, right side of my face. I keep my hand on the knob so I can swing it closed quick if I need to.
“What are you doing here?” I say in a weak voice that isn’t completely faked. I’ll make him think I’m sick.
But he knows I’m selling, and he’s not buying. He searches me up and down, then leans his head in the gap so his face is only inches from me. “What’s going on, Tully?” he demands. “Why aren’t you at school?”
“I’m sick.” I squint like the sun is bothering me and repeat my question. “What are you doing here?”
He gives me a sharp look. “Ms. Pine is saying you can’t skip or you end up in detention, or maybe even suspended. What are you thinking, Tully? You can’t ditch—”
“Keep your voice down!” I hiss, glancing back down the hall toward Dad’s door. “Dad got—”
I don’t get to finish the sentence because Chris breathes, “What the?”
Crap. I’ve revealed my injuries. I turn to hide them again, but he pushes the door slowly open, like I’m not even there. I stumble back, glaring as he enters the house with the same unarguable force that a wave slides up the beach.
I’m still glaring when he’s scanned the hallway and turned back to me, his expression as though he’s about to bite through nails. He’s taken my chin between his fingers—gently—turning my bruises to the light. His face is a mask of tension.
“Who did this to you?” His eyes flare.
I hush him and bat his hands away, glancing at Dad’s bedroom door.
Chris rubs a hand through his hair and exhales hard. His hands shake as he reaches for me, pushing me gently toward the door to my room. I go without arguing because I’m terrified if we stay in the hallway Dad will hear him and get out of bed. I don’t want Chris to see that.
When we’re both in my bedroom, I shut the door, leaning back on it for a second, heart pounding.
Chris runs a hand through his hair again, until it sticks in seven different directions. When he turns back, he crosses his arms, widening his stance like he’s about to take a hit. “Does your dad do this a lot?” he asks.
I step away from the door. “Forget about it, Chris. I fell, okay? I tripped in the garage and hit the table and—”
“Bull,” he says.
I jerk to a halt. Bull? “Um, I think you forgot the sh—”
I cut off as Chris steps right up to me. His biceps flex, his shoulders are rolling planes of muscle. His lips peel back and my gut flashes a warning. I flinch and step back to give myself space, but I run into the door, my head clunking against it. I grab the stinging spot on my scalp and wince.
“Oh, geez, Tully, I’m sorry.” Chris gasps. Most of the tension goes out of him, most of the anger. He catches my elbows to steady me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
His whole face pinches.
No one’s ever looked at me like that before—pleading and demanding and caring. I bite my lip and touch his cheek, overcome with enough desire for him to let him feel it.
But it isn’t enough. I lean forward until our breaths mingle. He doesn’t back away. I kiss him once—gentle, grateful—then say against his lips, “I’ll be fine. I fell is all.”
He pulls back slowly. “I’m not an idiot, Tully. He did this.”
I close my eyes and lean back against the door.
“Pack your things.” He’s emphatic. “We’re going to the police.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No!” I stand my ground. “You take me to the police and they take a report and they come back and arrest him. He loses his job, we lose this house, and I’m either on the street or moved to some foster home in Guardia, which would probably be worse. I have to graduate, Chris. It’s my only chance for a normal life. I won’t let you steal it from me because of some glorified sense of justice, or whatever.”
He’s gaping at me now. “Glorified sense of—?” He cuts off. “Tully. You can’t let him—”
“I never let him,” I snap. “And you need to wake up. Not everyone has a family like yours, okay?”
“That’s not fair.”
“I don’t care if it’s fair. It’s true. Accept it. Move on.”
There’s a dark look in his eye that simultaneously scares me, and makes me want him. But he’s turned away now, digging through the clothes on my floor, coming up with my school bag and some jeans. He stuffs the jeans into the bag and scans the floor.
“What are you doing?” I grab for the bag and he lets me have it.
“Get some stuff together. I’ll take you to the doctor.”
“I don’t need a doctor, Chris. It’s a black eye. Kids get them on the football field every day.”
He folds his arms. “So, what, we sit here, hiding from your dad, hoping he doesn’t get mad enough to throw another punch?”
I open my mouth to argue with him again, but he puts his hands up.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he says quietly. Some of the anger has seeped out of his tone, out of his shoulders. “You let me take you to the doctor, and you spend the night at my house. Otherwise I’m going to the police.”
I gape. He’s serious. He’ll go to the cops even if I don’t want him to. That can’t happen.
“You can take me to the nurse at school,” I say reluctantly. “But I’m not staying at your house.”
His lips pinch together. “We go to a doctor, and if anything’s broken, you stay with me tonight.”
“We go to the nurse because I fell. The rest we can talk about.”
Not.
He tenses. I can see the war waging in him.
“Chris, I can’t have any more reports, okay? They’ll remove me, and it’ll screw everything up. It’s only a few more months. Take me to the nurse, I’ll tell her I fell, she’ll tell you I’m fine, then we can have lunch or something.”
He looks away, but I can see him softening. “Fine,” he says reluctantly.
I wish I felt triumphant, but Chris just looks sad. He takes my bag, slings it over one shoulder, then offers me a hand. I glare at it.
“I want to help you, Tully,” he says so quietly. When I don’t answer, the hand comes up and traces my temple, my jaw, so softly. Inside I crumble, then curse him for making me weak at a time I need to be strong.
“I know you do.” I sigh.
~
“Nothing’s broken,” the nurse says, her thumbs pressing painfully on my cheekbone and eye socket. “The gash is shallow. Won’t even leave a scar, I don’t think.”
“See?” I say to Chris, unable to move anything but my eyes because she’s still got a grip on my chin.
“And you fell, you say?” she says skeptically.
“Yes,” I say as politely as I can. “I tripped in the kitchen and landed against the countertop before I could catch myself. It’s not a big deal. I had a headache this morning.”
The nurse looks at Chris over my shoulder, then picks up a file on her desk. She flips through it, expressionless. Then she opens her mouth, no doubt to call me on the lie. But the door swings open behind Chris and Ms. Pine bustles in. “There you are, Tully. I just spoke with your father. He said you’ve been in a bit of an accident?”
She smiles sweetly, and I could kiss her. I have no idea why she’s helping me—or how she knew she needed to—but my relief is palpable.
“Yeah,” I say.
Chris looks between us skeptically, but he’s keeping his mouth shut.
Ms. Pine turns to the nurse and gives that saccharine grin again. For a teacher, she’s frighteningly good at lying. “If she needs it, I’ll take her to the doctor myself. Her father’s concerned about insurance and so forth. I know a good clinic.”
“Catherine,” the nurse says pointedly. “I’m not sure this was much of an accident.”
Ms. Pine flutters a hand and steps closer to her. They confer in low voices. Chris and I glance at each other. He doesn’t speak up.
When the women step apart, they both look at me. Then Ms. Pine smiles at Chris. “Thanks for your help, Chris,” she says pointedly. “Tully and I need to have a talk. You can return to class this afternoon.”
He looks between us a couple times, then slumps. “Okay. I’ll see you at lunch, Tully?”
I wave and he walks out.
Ms. Pine watches me, hard-faced, from near the door. “Ready, Tully?” she asks.
I get to my feet, walking quickly. I’m not sure what Ms. Pine is up to and the clock says there’ll be a period change soon. I want to be out of the halls by the time that happens. I wore sunglasses to cover my eye, but I’m not exactly dressed for public view, still in the tank and sweats I was wearing when Chris showed up at my house.
“Thanks for your help,” I say. “If you don’t mind, I’ll head home.”
“My office. Now,” she says darkly, tipping her head in the direction of her door.
“But—”
“Now.”
I want to growl in frustration. I am surrounded by people who want to work against me. Who don’t understand. They care, but they don’t get it.
Reluctantly, I follow Ms. Pine toward her office. I won’t let her bully me into doing something stupid. I know what I need. She doesn’t have to live my life and I am not reporting this. I’ve seen what happens to girls who don’t finish high school. They talk big, but years later they’re still in town, usually with a kid or two, and they look dead in the eyes.
I refuse to have that life.
We get to Ms. Pine’s office and she opens an arm toward her sitting room. “Take a seat.”
I drop carefully into one of the chairs. When she sits across from me, she’s got my file from the nurse.
Wonderful.
“How did you know I was in there?” I ask.
“Chris,” she says simply. “Now, Tully, I’m going to let you leave after we’ve talked. But you missed school without a note this morning, which means you’re going to get detention. I’m going to ask Mr. Wallace to assign you to see me every day this week and next week as well.”
“What?”
She flips through my file. “I’m officially marking you ‘at risk,’ which means unless you want me sending a report to Child Protection, you’ll do as I ask.”
“You can’t do this!”
She keeps her head down, focused on the papers in front of her. “You should be grateful someone in your life cares enough to be worried about you, Tully.”
I scoff. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re threatening me with reports and . . . and whatever, so I’ll do what you say. That isn’t help. That’s blackmail!”
Ms. Pine sits back in her chair. “I’m not threatening you, Tully. In fact, technically, by marking you at risk I should be reporting my concerns. But Chris made it clear that you’re worried about the repercussion of that. So I brought you here so you could tell me yourself. I have observed your tendency to bolt. I wasn’t ready for you to leave until I’d heard the story.”
“I fell,” I mumble. “No story to tell.”
Her expression is skeptical. “Given that this is the fifth time in two years that you’ve missed school for a fall, I’d say there’s a story”—I squint, but she raises a hand to stop me—“But, I’m willing to overlook that. For now. If you agree to see me every day this week and next. And if we discuss some plans for your future and to ensure your safety.”
I clamp my teeth together. “Fine. Whatever.”
She watches me for a second. “You still have my cell phone number?”
“Yes,” I snarl.
“Keep it. Memorize it. Call me anytime. You should have called me this morning. Or last night, or . . . whenever it was that you fell,” she says sadly.
“I didn’t think I needed your help with a fall,” I reply sweetly. “Seeing as how that’s not an emergency.”
She drops her head, exhaling loudly. “I’m trying to help you, Tully. Not hurt you.”
“Then help me graduate so I can get out of this fucking town!” I snap.
Her head comes up. “That’s your plan, is it? To leave after graduation?”
“Yes.”
“And have you decided where you’re going? What you’ll do?”
I snort. “As far away from here as possible. I’ll do whatever I have to.”
“Would you consider furthering your studies?” she asks. “I mean, if there were ways to have the expenses covered?”
“I don’t think I can afford it, even if it’s cheap.”
Her lips purse and she taps the top of my file. “How about we make a deal, Tully?”
I lean my head on my hand. I’m tired. I’m sick of being manipulated into doing what others want. But I know she won’t let me out of here until she thinks she’s got me pinned, so I wave a hand at her. “What do you want?”
“I want you safe,” she says quietly. “I also want you to have a chance at a life that’s more than . . . survival.”
I don’t know how to respond to that.
Ms. Pine taps the top of my file again for emphasis. “Your favorite subject is woodwork, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What if I could get you an apprenticeship with a carpenter? Or someone who does interiors, something like that?”
“I’m not staying in this town,” I warn her.
“Granted. What if . . . what if I found someone in another city? Maybe even out of state?”
“Sure,” I say flippantly, knowing she’s flying blind.
She opens my file, riffling through to a specific page, then makes a note with her pen. “Okay, then I’ll make you this deal: I will do everything in my power to find you a position as far from here as I can, where you can work with wood and continue to learn, and maybe even make some money. In return, you’ll come to me every time you . . . fall, or have any kind of conflict which involves harm to your person. Every time. No matter what.”
I look at her, and she stares blankly back. She’s asking me to trust her. Asking me to let her in.
“I know you mean well,” I say to my hands in my lap. “But you don’t understand. If I agree to that, then something happens and the cops get called . . . I’m screwed. I’m too old to foster for real. I can’t stay in town because it’s too close to him. And I’m too young to go into a shelter on my own. I. Am. Screwed. I don’t graduate. I have to wait to get a GED. I’m stuck in this town,
or in Guardia. And nothing gets better!”
Ms. Pine rolls hers lips together. “I see you’ve done your research,” she says in a soft voice.
“Yes, I have. If I agree to talk to you, you agree never to go to the cops.”
“If your life is in immediate danger, I will call the police and I will not apologize for it,” she says.
“Define danger.”
She glances at my file. “If I feel that any injuries you sustain are . . . excessive, I won’t have a choice. I could go to jail if I don’t report it.”
I raise my chin. “No deal.”
“Tully—”
I get to my feet. “No. No dice. No deal. No fucking way. I’m not putting myself in your hands! You don’t get it!”
“I get more than you know, Tully,” Ms. Pine says in a low voice. “That’s the only reason I haven’t called the police already.”
I heave a sigh. “Whatever. I’m out of—”
“My mother was an alcoholic who thought I was trying to steal my father from her. She’d attack me in my bed when she was drunk, or when she thought I looked at my father that way.”
I go still. I swallow and sink back into my seat. For the first time, I meet her gaze and hold it. “That . . . sucks,” I say.
“It sucked big time.” Ms. Pine nods. “But it didn’t end me because I got help. Now I’m here, trying to help you make sure your situation doesn’t get out of control.”
There’s silence in the room for several seconds.
“You don’t have to handle this on your own, Tully. This is all about trust. Do you trust me to be looking out for your best interests?”
“I’m sure you want to,” I concede. “I’m just not sure you’ll always know what they are.”
Her lips press thin. “The only way you’ll know is if you tell me what’s going on. Then we can talk about how to deal with it. Do you see that? Do you see that I can help you if you talk to me?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
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