“A good guy?” I echo, trying to wrap my head around this. It’s not something I had even considered before. Not something I let myself consider. Although if me being here was a mistake . . . then maybe it was a mistake for others, too. Okay, not Nathan, but I had already decided Gil couldn’t possibly be a bad sort.
Coco’s gaze snaps back to me. “When I first got sent here, he tried to help keep Brockman away.” She shrugged as if it were nothing. Just a dim memory.
I shake my head. “Why didn’t you let him?”
She snorts. “He might be tough, but he doesn’t have any real power. He might be able to handle Nathan and Brian, but in the end, who’s gonna help me in this school? The teacher? Or another carrier?”
I just stare at her.
“I do what I have to.” She looks me over. “And you will, too. Eventually.” Her gaze flicks to the boy sitting two desks behind me. I don’t need to follow her gaze to know she’s looking at him again. “There won’t always be a Sean around.”
She gets up then and moves to her desk. I watch as she opens her backpack and starts rifling through it, hunting for something. I study the slim line of her bent neck, the curly hair pulled up in a messy knot on her head, wondering what about this girl is so dangerous . . . so deadly. What lurks inside her?
What has she ever done, or Gil—or me, for that matter—to deserve ending up down here?
What did Sean O’Rourke do?
I gnaw on the edge of my thumb through the remainder of the day, eyeing the clock, willing the hour hand to move. It’s starting to get to me. The chain link, the space that feels like it’s shrinking, closing in. The long stretch of mostly soundless hours. I can’t wait for tonight when I can pretend none of this exists.
Every time I glance behind me to check the time, my gaze collides with Sean’s. Those pale eyes bore into me. When I look, it’s like he’s waiting for me . . . like he knows I’m going to turn around.
When we’re finally dismissed, I’m the first out of my seat. I’m careful to leave nothing behind. Not my satchel or purse. I sling both over my shoulder and bang out of the Cage. My feet race without quite running down the narrow hall. I don’t cross paths with anyone, and I reach the parking lot without incident. All of this makes me feel like I made it. Like I escaped.
Sliding behind the wheel, I drag a deep breath of stale, warm air inside my lungs. It’s not home, but close enough. It’s my car, my space, my sanctuary. Air releases in a loud shudder from my lips. I wrap both hands around the steering wheel like I need something to hang on to.
Suddenly, someone raps the glass next to me. Not very loudly, but a bomb might as well have dropped outside my car. I jump. A yelp escapes me, and both my hands fly over my mouth.
Gil stands there, hands buried in his pants. I haven’t started the car yet, but I need to in order to roll down the window. He waits, watching me patiently through the glass as I fumble with the keys and start the engine. I hit the button for the window. It slides down with a purr.
“Nice car,” he murmurs, his gaze sliding over the plush interior.
“Thanks.”
Silence hangs between us for a moment. It’s strange seeing him outside the Cage. His hair seems darker against the bright light of day. His eyes glint behind the frames of his glasses. They’re not just brown but amber.
“You okay?” he finally asks. “You flew out of there so fast.”
“I’m fine. Just can’t stand being in there a moment longer than I need to be.”
He nods but looks unconvinced.
My gaze drifts. Across the parking lot, Sean moves toward his truck, his strides unhurried. He doesn’t glance at us. Simply stares straight ahead as if nothing in the world can touch him.
“Davy?” I jerk at the sound of my name, almost forgetting Gil still stood next to my window.
Gil’s head cocks and he looks over at Sean. His shrewd eyes widen behind his lenses. “Are you and he—”
“No!” My voice comes out harder than I intend.
“Sorry. He went after you when Brockman followed you . . . and he hardly talks to anyone inside the Cage. Even me. And I try talking to him all the time. All I get is monosyllables out of him. Guy’s like a wall. Guess that’s what happens when you’ve been treated like a deviant all your life. Can you imagine? When you’re just a kid? A toddler?”
I watch Sean back his truck out, thinking about this. Thinking how Sean had known he was a carrier practically forever. As a foster kid, he had to have been one of the first groups tested.
I slide my gaze back to Gil. “How long have you known you’re a carrier?”
He pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Since last summer. I applied for a position as a camp counselor. Everyone had to get tested.” He shrugs as if it should have been nothing. A formality. Only for him it had been the end of everything. I understood that too well.
“You’re a nice guy, Gil,” I say suddenly. I have Mitchell to tell me that, but I don’t know if Gil has anyone to tell him. I hope he does.
He grins and then sighs. “Yeah? Well, tell that to the rest of the world.”
I smile, and the curve of my lips feels brittle and every bit forced. “Are you headed home?”
“No, work.”
“Need a lift?” I offer before I have time to consider whether I should. He’s a carrier, but it makes no sense how this boy could be dangerous. I’m not dangerous, and I don’t want others to judge me without proof. They do, of course, but I don’t have to be like them.
He nods to the street bordering the parking lot. “It’s not a long walk.”
I shrug. “I don’t mind. Get in.”
He grins widely and walks around the front, sliding into the passenger seat.
He directs me out of the driving lot, and he’s right. It’s not far. We travel maybe five blocks before I turn left into a gas station.
I pull up front. “You work here?”
He nods. “Stocking and cleaning. Can’t be trusted for much more.” He rolls his eyes. “I used to get paid well for tutoring but no one will hire me now.”
“What did you tutor?”
“Math, computer science . . . your geek subjects.” He grins again. “I used to dream of going to MIT. Maybe work for the CIA someday.” He snorts and waves around him. “Funny, right? It’s a long way from this.”
“No. Not funny,” I murmur, shaking my head. “I had dreams, too.” I flex my hands on the steering wheel and look forward again, oddly in no hurry to leave.
“You want to come in and get an ICEE? I don’t start for another half hour.”
I smile at him. It suddenly feels right to be here with him. Better him than an empty house. “Sure.”
Turning off the car, I follow him inside.
He waves to the woman behind the counter. “Just getting some drinks.”
She smiles, eyeing me curiously.
We take our drinks outside and sit on the curb away from the door. The cold cup sticks to my palms.
I swirl the straw around the frozen red ice. “I don’t think I’ve had one of these since I was twelve.”
“You’re kidding!” He looks at me in horror. “That’s criminal. I can’t get through a week without one.”
“You might have a problem.”
He shrugs as if he’s known this for a long time and it doesn’t faze him. He slurps long and deep from his straw. “You could come here anytime. After school. You shouldn’t wait another five years until your next ICEE.”
“Yeah. I shouldn’t let that happen again,” I agree, feeling oddly content beside this boy that I hadn’t even known existed a month ago. He smiles as he stares out into the parking lot, and I’m suddenly glad to have made at least one friend in the Cage. My thoughts drift back to Sean. Maybe I’d made more than one.
The party is in full swing when we arrive. Zac holds my hand, and I cling to his just a little bit too hard. Like I’m afraid he’ll let go of me this first time around all our friends again. Or maybe I just need to feel his hand around mine, holding me after the day I’ve had.
Our friends? They are more Zac’s friends than mine or they would still be calling and coming around. Zac’s the only one. I shoot him a glance, my heart aching and swelling at the same time. I’m beyond glad he’s proven himself loyal, but what does it say that none of my other friends have? I attended Everton Academy since kindergarten. Many of these people have been my friends for that long.
We climb the porch steps of Carlton’s house. His parents are at their lake house. They practically live there full-time now, leaving Carlton to finish out senior year. His mom is scared to be this close to San Antonio. And she’s not totally off base. Our little suburb is hardly crime-free. Just like the rest of the country, crime is on the rise.
As I step over the threshold, I wonder what Carlton’s mom would think if she knew a carrier was inside her house. I almost smile as I imagine her swooning in a dramatic faint.
The living room is crowded. Bodies press close together in tight groups. Conversation is loud, but the music louder. No one stops and points at me. There’s no outright gawking, but the awareness of my arrival is palpable. Sly glances turn my way. Heads shift subtly to examine me. It’s impossible to understand anything in the deafening mash of words, but I’m sure I’ve become the topic.
A few of the guys approach Zac, their hands slapping one another in that guy way. These are boys I’ve known for years. They’re strong, good-looking. Confident in themselves and where they’re going even in this uncertain world. They’re at the top of the social hierarchy. Just like Zac. If I wasn’t dating him, I’m sure I’d be dating one of them. Carlton with his blue eyes and lashes so long any girl would kill for. Josh with his matching dimples.
They always hug me. Tease and flirt with me in a way that would make Zac get all huffy.
“Hey, Davy.” They greet, smiling down at me almost with embarrassment. It’s mutual. My cheeks burn. The whole situation is awkward. I’m sure if I said boo they would jump. Ironic, considering they both top me by almost six inches.
None of the girls approach. They hang back, pretending not to watch. Except Tori. She doesn’t hide her stare. I stare back at my best friend. I start to move toward her but Zac stops me. A deliberate move, I know. His gaze flits uneasily between us.
“C’mon. Let’s get a drink.” He laces his fingers with mine and leads me to the keg. Away from Tori.
Carlton follows us. The two guys talk about rugby as I pretend to drink from the Solo cup. I hate beer. Zac knows it, but it’s never stopped him from handing me a cup. It’s, like, the thing you do at these parties. Everyone drinks in order to make it okay to act dumb and do things you’ll regret later. I know the game, but I don’t feel like playing it tonight. Not after the day I had. I just wish Zac and I could be alone together. I wish we could talk. I wish I could hug him and share all the horrible things that have been happening to me.
I spot Tori pushing through the crowd to reach the keg. But I know it’s really not the keg she’s after. Her gaze is bright and glittery, fixed on me. A quick glance at Zac, and I see he hasn’t noticed her advance. He’s too busy chatting with Carlton.
She stops in front of me. “Why are you here?”
“Am I not supposed to be?” I ask carefully, still hoping somewhere deep inside, maybe in that part of me that’s delusional and still believes in the tooth fairy, that Tori and I can still be friends.
Zac tenses beside me. “Tori?” His voice is full of warning . . . and something else: an easiness and familiarity that I’ve never heard in his voice when talking to her. They hardly ever talk. She annoys him. He calls her clingy. I’m the one always mediating between the two of them. This reversal of our roles . . . that Zac is now the mediator between us . . . is just weird.
Coco’s gaze snaps back to me. “When I first got sent here, he tried to help keep Brockman away.” She shrugged as if it were nothing. Just a dim memory.
I shake my head. “Why didn’t you let him?”
She snorts. “He might be tough, but he doesn’t have any real power. He might be able to handle Nathan and Brian, but in the end, who’s gonna help me in this school? The teacher? Or another carrier?”
I just stare at her.
“I do what I have to.” She looks me over. “And you will, too. Eventually.” Her gaze flicks to the boy sitting two desks behind me. I don’t need to follow her gaze to know she’s looking at him again. “There won’t always be a Sean around.”
She gets up then and moves to her desk. I watch as she opens her backpack and starts rifling through it, hunting for something. I study the slim line of her bent neck, the curly hair pulled up in a messy knot on her head, wondering what about this girl is so dangerous . . . so deadly. What lurks inside her?
What has she ever done, or Gil—or me, for that matter—to deserve ending up down here?
What did Sean O’Rourke do?
I gnaw on the edge of my thumb through the remainder of the day, eyeing the clock, willing the hour hand to move. It’s starting to get to me. The chain link, the space that feels like it’s shrinking, closing in. The long stretch of mostly soundless hours. I can’t wait for tonight when I can pretend none of this exists.
Every time I glance behind me to check the time, my gaze collides with Sean’s. Those pale eyes bore into me. When I look, it’s like he’s waiting for me . . . like he knows I’m going to turn around.
When we’re finally dismissed, I’m the first out of my seat. I’m careful to leave nothing behind. Not my satchel or purse. I sling both over my shoulder and bang out of the Cage. My feet race without quite running down the narrow hall. I don’t cross paths with anyone, and I reach the parking lot without incident. All of this makes me feel like I made it. Like I escaped.
Sliding behind the wheel, I drag a deep breath of stale, warm air inside my lungs. It’s not home, but close enough. It’s my car, my space, my sanctuary. Air releases in a loud shudder from my lips. I wrap both hands around the steering wheel like I need something to hang on to.
Suddenly, someone raps the glass next to me. Not very loudly, but a bomb might as well have dropped outside my car. I jump. A yelp escapes me, and both my hands fly over my mouth.
Gil stands there, hands buried in his pants. I haven’t started the car yet, but I need to in order to roll down the window. He waits, watching me patiently through the glass as I fumble with the keys and start the engine. I hit the button for the window. It slides down with a purr.
“Nice car,” he murmurs, his gaze sliding over the plush interior.
“Thanks.”
Silence hangs between us for a moment. It’s strange seeing him outside the Cage. His hair seems darker against the bright light of day. His eyes glint behind the frames of his glasses. They’re not just brown but amber.
“You okay?” he finally asks. “You flew out of there so fast.”
“I’m fine. Just can’t stand being in there a moment longer than I need to be.”
He nods but looks unconvinced.
My gaze drifts. Across the parking lot, Sean moves toward his truck, his strides unhurried. He doesn’t glance at us. Simply stares straight ahead as if nothing in the world can touch him.
“Davy?” I jerk at the sound of my name, almost forgetting Gil still stood next to my window.
Gil’s head cocks and he looks over at Sean. His shrewd eyes widen behind his lenses. “Are you and he—”
“No!” My voice comes out harder than I intend.
“Sorry. He went after you when Brockman followed you . . . and he hardly talks to anyone inside the Cage. Even me. And I try talking to him all the time. All I get is monosyllables out of him. Guy’s like a wall. Guess that’s what happens when you’ve been treated like a deviant all your life. Can you imagine? When you’re just a kid? A toddler?”
I watch Sean back his truck out, thinking about this. Thinking how Sean had known he was a carrier practically forever. As a foster kid, he had to have been one of the first groups tested.
I slide my gaze back to Gil. “How long have you known you’re a carrier?”
He pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Since last summer. I applied for a position as a camp counselor. Everyone had to get tested.” He shrugs as if it should have been nothing. A formality. Only for him it had been the end of everything. I understood that too well.
“You’re a nice guy, Gil,” I say suddenly. I have Mitchell to tell me that, but I don’t know if Gil has anyone to tell him. I hope he does.
He grins and then sighs. “Yeah? Well, tell that to the rest of the world.”
I smile, and the curve of my lips feels brittle and every bit forced. “Are you headed home?”
“No, work.”
“Need a lift?” I offer before I have time to consider whether I should. He’s a carrier, but it makes no sense how this boy could be dangerous. I’m not dangerous, and I don’t want others to judge me without proof. They do, of course, but I don’t have to be like them.
He nods to the street bordering the parking lot. “It’s not a long walk.”
I shrug. “I don’t mind. Get in.”
He grins widely and walks around the front, sliding into the passenger seat.
He directs me out of the driving lot, and he’s right. It’s not far. We travel maybe five blocks before I turn left into a gas station.
I pull up front. “You work here?”
He nods. “Stocking and cleaning. Can’t be trusted for much more.” He rolls his eyes. “I used to get paid well for tutoring but no one will hire me now.”
“What did you tutor?”
“Math, computer science . . . your geek subjects.” He grins again. “I used to dream of going to MIT. Maybe work for the CIA someday.” He snorts and waves around him. “Funny, right? It’s a long way from this.”
“No. Not funny,” I murmur, shaking my head. “I had dreams, too.” I flex my hands on the steering wheel and look forward again, oddly in no hurry to leave.
“You want to come in and get an ICEE? I don’t start for another half hour.”
I smile at him. It suddenly feels right to be here with him. Better him than an empty house. “Sure.”
Turning off the car, I follow him inside.
He waves to the woman behind the counter. “Just getting some drinks.”
She smiles, eyeing me curiously.
We take our drinks outside and sit on the curb away from the door. The cold cup sticks to my palms.
I swirl the straw around the frozen red ice. “I don’t think I’ve had one of these since I was twelve.”
“You’re kidding!” He looks at me in horror. “That’s criminal. I can’t get through a week without one.”
“You might have a problem.”
He shrugs as if he’s known this for a long time and it doesn’t faze him. He slurps long and deep from his straw. “You could come here anytime. After school. You shouldn’t wait another five years until your next ICEE.”
“Yeah. I shouldn’t let that happen again,” I agree, feeling oddly content beside this boy that I hadn’t even known existed a month ago. He smiles as he stares out into the parking lot, and I’m suddenly glad to have made at least one friend in the Cage. My thoughts drift back to Sean. Maybe I’d made more than one.
The party is in full swing when we arrive. Zac holds my hand, and I cling to his just a little bit too hard. Like I’m afraid he’ll let go of me this first time around all our friends again. Or maybe I just need to feel his hand around mine, holding me after the day I’ve had.
Our friends? They are more Zac’s friends than mine or they would still be calling and coming around. Zac’s the only one. I shoot him a glance, my heart aching and swelling at the same time. I’m beyond glad he’s proven himself loyal, but what does it say that none of my other friends have? I attended Everton Academy since kindergarten. Many of these people have been my friends for that long.
We climb the porch steps of Carlton’s house. His parents are at their lake house. They practically live there full-time now, leaving Carlton to finish out senior year. His mom is scared to be this close to San Antonio. And she’s not totally off base. Our little suburb is hardly crime-free. Just like the rest of the country, crime is on the rise.
As I step over the threshold, I wonder what Carlton’s mom would think if she knew a carrier was inside her house. I almost smile as I imagine her swooning in a dramatic faint.
The living room is crowded. Bodies press close together in tight groups. Conversation is loud, but the music louder. No one stops and points at me. There’s no outright gawking, but the awareness of my arrival is palpable. Sly glances turn my way. Heads shift subtly to examine me. It’s impossible to understand anything in the deafening mash of words, but I’m sure I’ve become the topic.
A few of the guys approach Zac, their hands slapping one another in that guy way. These are boys I’ve known for years. They’re strong, good-looking. Confident in themselves and where they’re going even in this uncertain world. They’re at the top of the social hierarchy. Just like Zac. If I wasn’t dating him, I’m sure I’d be dating one of them. Carlton with his blue eyes and lashes so long any girl would kill for. Josh with his matching dimples.
They always hug me. Tease and flirt with me in a way that would make Zac get all huffy.
“Hey, Davy.” They greet, smiling down at me almost with embarrassment. It’s mutual. My cheeks burn. The whole situation is awkward. I’m sure if I said boo they would jump. Ironic, considering they both top me by almost six inches.
None of the girls approach. They hang back, pretending not to watch. Except Tori. She doesn’t hide her stare. I stare back at my best friend. I start to move toward her but Zac stops me. A deliberate move, I know. His gaze flits uneasily between us.
“C’mon. Let’s get a drink.” He laces his fingers with mine and leads me to the keg. Away from Tori.
Carlton follows us. The two guys talk about rugby as I pretend to drink from the Solo cup. I hate beer. Zac knows it, but it’s never stopped him from handing me a cup. It’s, like, the thing you do at these parties. Everyone drinks in order to make it okay to act dumb and do things you’ll regret later. I know the game, but I don’t feel like playing it tonight. Not after the day I had. I just wish Zac and I could be alone together. I wish we could talk. I wish I could hug him and share all the horrible things that have been happening to me.
I spot Tori pushing through the crowd to reach the keg. But I know it’s really not the keg she’s after. Her gaze is bright and glittery, fixed on me. A quick glance at Zac, and I see he hasn’t noticed her advance. He’s too busy chatting with Carlton.
She stops in front of me. “Why are you here?”
“Am I not supposed to be?” I ask carefully, still hoping somewhere deep inside, maybe in that part of me that’s delusional and still believes in the tooth fairy, that Tori and I can still be friends.
Zac tenses beside me. “Tori?” His voice is full of warning . . . and something else: an easiness and familiarity that I’ve never heard in his voice when talking to her. They hardly ever talk. She annoys him. He calls her clingy. I’m the one always mediating between the two of them. This reversal of our roles . . . that Zac is now the mediator between us . . . is just weird.
