Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The last of the students walk out of the building, their footsteps fading away. I pretend to reorganize my locker, but my eyes stay fixed on the exit.
Stay. Watch. Wait.
Something is wrong today. I’ve been watching him for long enough now to recognize the signs.
He’d been gripping his desk during last period, his knuckles white.
At one point, his pencil had stilled mid-sentence during the pop quiz, hovering over the page like he’d forgotten how to form words.
His eyes kept closing during Mr. Edwards’ lecture, and I’m sure it was more than just tiredness.
It looked like he was fighting to stay conscious.
At lunch, he didn’t reach for the half-sandwich someone left on the table nearest the door in the cafeteria, even though I saw him staring at it.
Each small tell adds up to something that makes me worry about him.
When he finally comes out of the restroom, his steps drag against the floor like gravity has turned against him.
One hand trails along the wall, and I am certain that if he let go, he’d fall.
Each step looks like it’s costing him something vital, something he can’t afford to lose.
I keep my distance behind him, and follow him outside.
The October wind cuts through my padded jacket, making me shiver, but he doesn’t seem to notice the cold.
He makes it halfway down the steps before his legs give out.
The sound he makes when he catches himself against the wall …
God, that sound … hurts my heart. I don’t know if I should approach him or not.
We’ve traded notes, but we’ve never spoken.
He treats me the same way he treats everyone else … Like I’m not there.
“Hey.” I speak before I can second guess it. “Are you okay?”
When his head lifts and his eyes meet mine, the world around me ceases to exist. I’ve seen eyes like that before in documentaries about war zones, when they show stills of kids who have seen too much, too young.
Dark circles shadow them like bruises, but it’s the emptiness in them that makes my chest ache.
He looks haunted, his eyes dull and lifeless.
“Fine.” The word sounds rusty.
“You don’t look fine.” My heart is pounding so hard I wonder if he can hear it. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”
“I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” He tries to push away from the wall, but his legs betray him. This time when he stumbles, I’m close enough to catch his arm.
The way he flinches when I touch him is going to haunt my dreams. He jerks away like my fingers are burning him, but it’s too late. I’ve already felt the way he’s shaking, and how cold his skin is through the thin hoodie.
“When was the last time you ate something?”
The question sits between us. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking on one side. I watch as he swallows, but he doesn’t answer me.
“I have some granola bars in my car.” My keys are digging into my palm where I’m gripping them too hard. “And bottled water.”
“I don’t need your charity.” His voice is harsh.
“Good. Because I’m not offering any.” I force myself to meet his stare. I feel like I’m looking into an empty abyss. “I’m offering food to someone who looks like they’re about to pass out. There’s a difference.”
Something flickers in his expression, a crack in the armor he wears, and for just a moment, I see past the walls to the pain he hides.
“Why do you care?”
The question sounds like a test. One he’s expecting me to get wrong.
“Because someone should.”
He stares at me for so long that I start to wonder if I’ve failed his test. Then he gives a slow nod.
“Fine.”
The walk to my car takes forever. He checks the parking lot three times, and it makes me wonder again what has happened to him to make him this way.
When we finally reach my car, I open the passenger door.
He just stands there, so I lean down and pull out two granola bars and a water bottle from the glovebox.
When I hold them out, his hands are shaking so badly he almost drops them. His fingers curl around the bars, and he just stands there for a moment, staring down at them.
Then he tears one open, and takes a bite. His eyes close, and he chews slowly then swallows. Each bite is small and savored, but his body language is screaming that he wants to devour it faster. It makes me want to cry.
Between bites, his eyes open to look around. Checking his surroundings. Always checking. I watch him from under my lashes, trying not to let him see. This is the first time I’ve been this close to him, and I’m taking in everything I can.
There’s dirt embedded under his fingernails. His knuckles are scraped raw. The cuffs of his hoodie are frayed, threads hanging loose.
He finishes the first bar, and carefully folds the wrapper into a small square before tucking it into his pocket. Then he looks at the second bar in his hand.
“You should eat it.” My throat is so tight I have to force the words out. “I have more.”
Relief and shame tangle together on his face, and he looks down. He doesn’t thank me, just opens the second bar and eats it the same way.
I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to demand answers.
Where are his parents? Where is he staying? Why isn’t anyone helping him?
But I don’t. I swallow them down, and just stand there, watching him eat.
“The library is still open. If you need somewhere warm to … study.”
His eyes cut to mine. “Why are you telling me?”
“Because it’s getting cold.” My hand twitches toward his hoodie, while I fight against the urge to take off my jacket and wrap him in it. “And sometimes people need somewhere like that.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough.”
He pushes away from my car, the bottle of water clutched in his hand.
“I should go.” He walks away before I can say anything more.
I move around to the driver’s side and get into the car, where I sit and watch as he makes his slow way off the school property, and turns left outside the gates.
I shouldn’t follow him. I know that. My parents would have a fit.
I shouldn’t care where he goes once school is over, but as his figure grows smaller I turn the key in the ignition, and instead of turning right, I turn left and drive along the road he took.
He walks slowly, keeping one hand against the wall that runs along the left hand side of the path, passing the houses near the school, and further away from the safe parts of town, and into streets that have seen better times.
When he turns and climbs through a gap in the fence that leads to the old textile factory, my teeth sink into my bottom lip.
That building has been abandoned for at least a decade, maybe longer.
Graffiti covers the lower walls. The upper windows are dark, while the lower ones have all been smashed.
One corner of the roof has collapsed inward, exposing rusted beams to the sky.
The place isn’t just abandoned, it’s dangerous.
It should be condemned. And he’s just walked inside like he belongs there.
Is he living here?
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can barely process what I’m seeing.
My phone’s ringtone shatters the silence, and I glance down to see Mom’s name on the display. My hands are shaking so badly, I almost drop it.
“Lily? Where are you? You’re usually home by now.”
“I—” My voice breaks. I clear my throat. “I lost track of time. I’m on my way home now.”
“Are you okay? You sound upset.”
“No, I’m fine.” I close my eyes. “Just tired. I’ll be home soon.”
I stare at the factory for a couple of minutes longer, looking for shadows moving behind the broken windows.
I don’t see anything, but I know he’s in there.
Alone and cold. And I have to drive away to my warm house, my soft bed, and a hot meal waiting for me.
I have to go home to a life where I’ll never have to wonder where I can sleep, or whether it’s safe.
The drive home is a blur, except for the moment I pass the diner on Fifth. Its windows glow warm and golden, full of families eating dinner together. The smell of burgers and fries drifts through my vents at the stoplight.
My stomach turns.
He’s less than two miles away in a building with no heat, and I’m upset because the smell of food makes me sick.
I don’t remember speaking to my parents. I don’t remember walking upstairs, stripping out of my clothes, or stepping under water hot enough to scald.
That’s when I break.
The sob tears out of me, a feral, ugly sound I’ve never made before.
My legs give out and I slide down the wall, pulling my knees to my chest. The water beats down on my head, too hot, but I don’t move to change the temperature.
Another sob breaks free. Then another. Until I’m gasping, my chest heaving as it tries to suck in air.
In my head, I see his hands shaking as he unwrapped that granola bar. The way he’d saved the wrapper. The dirt under his fingernails. The factory’s broken windows. The smell of decay. The cold that must seep through those walls at night.
He’s there right now. Probably sitting on the concrete floor with nothing between him and the cold. No one knowing whether he’s safe, or hurt, or—
I can’t finish the thought.
My throat burns. My chest aches like something inside has cracked open and is bleeding into spaces it shouldn’t reach.
I press my face against my knees and cry harder.
It’s the kind of crying that has no sound, just the hitching of my shoulders and the way I can’t catch my breath.
Steam fills the bathroom until I can barely see.
Water runs down my face, mixing with tears.
How long have I been sitting here? Ten minutes? Twenty?
The water starts to cool, but I don’t move. Because I get to cry in a hot shower while he’s cold and alone and invisible.