Chapter 4
Aston
Dear Diary,
Kill me now, because I’m about to become soooooo insufferable.
You have no idea.
XOXO
-A
“You’re drooling.”
“Am I?” I sigh dreamily.
There’s a huff of annoyance, then, “I’m leaving.”
I roll my eyes, and blindly reach out, grabbing Eden by the arm and dragging him back to my side before he gets too far. “Uh uh uh. Remember the deal?”
He makes a low growly sound, ripping away from my hold. I don’t have to look to know he’s crossing his arms and pouting like someone jizzed in his Cheerios.
Speaking of cereal…
“Someone’s been drinking their milk and eating their Wheaties, that’s for sure,” I whisper, watching #33’s tight tush bobbin’ away as he jogs off into the sunlight. I mean, come on. Can you blame me? Hello, spandex, the greatest invention since…
Yeah, I’ve got nothing right now.
Riviera.
That’s what the back of his black jersey says.
And yet…
The second he’s out of sight, and time resumes, I whirl on Eden. “Why didn’t you tell me you go to school with Vale?”
His brow creases. “What?” His gaze darts toward the field, and his scowl deepens. “You know that asshole?”
I gasp. “How dare you talk about my brother like that.”
Eden’s wide brown eyes swing to mine, his lips parting. “Your brother?”
Waving him off, I look around to make sure Tillie’s still out of the vicinity. Someone bumps into me from behind, and I shoot the woman passing by with her kid a withering glare. It’s gotten a lot busier in the last however minutes since my world got rocked on its axis.
I spot Walt first, over by the porta potties. He’s looking down at someone I can’t see, telling me it’s probably Tillie.
“Come on,” I murmur, grabbing Eden’s wrist, and tugging him out of the line for food.
Dragging him in the opposite direction of the bleachers, I ignore his protests and attempts to shake me off as I cut a path through the crowds of people gathered around the concession stands. Leading us toward the woods beyond.
Once we’re far enough away from the masses, I finally let Eden tear himself away.
Crossing my arms, I level him with a no-nonsense look. “Talk.”
Glaring at me through a curtain of tangled dark brown hair, he mimics my position. But with far less I mean business, and a whole lot more of hunched defensiveness. And not for the first time, I can’t help but appreciate just how precious my new brother is.
This skinny, angry music-loving, baggy clothes-wearing sixteen-year-old with the perpetual scowl is the picture of petulant teenage angst, and fuck if he doesn’t deserve to be protected at all costs.
I mean it! If anyone so much as dares to say a negative word about him or thinks of harming a single strand of his long, greasy, unbrushed hair, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.
“About what?” he says sharply. I don’t miss how twitchy he seems suddenly. He keeps flitting his gaze away.
He’s probably jealous someone came before him.
“How was I supposed to know he was your…brother?”
I stare at him. Blink. “Forget that. Tell me everything you know about Vale DuPont.”
A shiver works down my spine, fingers buzzing. I haven’t said that name aloud in years.
Rolling his eyes, Eden says, “Well, first of all, his last name is Riviera. In case you missed it in bold across his back.”
Oh, did I mention my new brother is also sassy?
I steeple my hands together against my chin like I’m praying. “Eden. Sweetie. It’s called being adopted.”
Scowling, he fires back, “Or it’s a totally different person.”
I open my mouth to refute that, only to slam it together when I realize…okay, he could be right.
I mean it is pretty far-fetched, now that I think about it, Vale being here, living in the town I just so happen to have moved to. Playing football for the very same private school I’ll be attending, no less.
I know, I know—you’re probably wondering how this happened.
How I went from merrily skipping my way out of the asylum I called home the last six-ish years, to struttin’ my stuff through a crowd of unsuspecting townspeople all geared up in jerseys, foam hands pointing toward the sky, laughing and smiling and totally oblivious to the fact there’s a child killer in their midst…
a child killer who will be attending school with their children starting Monday.
First of all, though, I should probably clarify for those who skipped the prologue—yeah, I see you, heathens, and yes I’m one-hundred percent judging, because you’ve definitely missed out on some critical info—when I say child killer, I don’t mean that I’ve killed children. Come on, even I’m not that fucked up.
I was the child. He was an adult. For more deets, circle back.
Anyway…
Luckily for all these people here at the game, I’m an adult now. Legally, at least. And as of—let me check my watch—4:46 P.M. today, September 23rd, a whole month since I earned my wings, I’ve yet to become an adult killer.
So really, they’ve got nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.
Hashtag thriving.
I’m totally rocking this freedom thing.
So yeah, as I was saying, there I was a fortnight ago…
“Say what now???” I all but screech.
“We enrolled you into high school,” Tillie repeats calmly from the other side of the table, before biting off another piece of meatloaf from her fork.
I blink rapidly, waiting for the punchline.
It never comes.
Fuck me, she’s serious.
I turn to Eden. “Did you know about this?”
He shrugs, not taking his eyes off the food he pushes around with a fork.
So, I turn to Walt instead, and surprise surprise, he’s not looking at me either.
“You’ll be a senior,” Tillie says. “It’s taking longer than it should for the paperwork to go through, otherwise you would’ve started with your peers this week.”
My face pulls in as I stare down at mostly cleared plate. Senior, I repeat silently, mouthing it and testing it out, like it’s something foreign.
So only one year behind…
“Just think,” Tillie goes on brightly, “you’ll get to go to prom, walk across a stage to receive your diploma…” Her voice trails off with a sort of pointedness I’m not quite sure I understand.
I mean, hypothetically, I do. Hypothetically is how I understand most things.
Mouth dry, all I can do is stare blankly at my plate, until my vision blurs.
High school.
Prom.
Graduation.
Things I only ever got to see in movies and read about in books. Things I never thought I’d get to experience myself, when I knew I’d be locked away until I turned eighteen.
I figured I’d be too old for all that stuff by the time I got out. If anything, I figured Tillie would force me to get my GED. She’s mentioned it a couple times over the years. But this? This has never come up. Wasn’t even on my radar.
“But…why?” I eventually ask.
“I said it at your hearing, and I’m saying it again now,” Tillie says.
“I truly believe, if given the opportunity, a little bit of trust, and the resources to be a productive member in society, you’d thrive.
” She pauses, her voice thickening in that way it sometimes does when she adds, “You’re a good kid, Aston.
A good kid who got dealt a…a very crappy hand. ”
A derisive snort escapes me before I can stop it. And it’s all I can do to hold back the eye roll begging to accompany it.
A crappy hand.
The party line.
How many more times will I have to hear that excuse in my lifetime?
They want to believe so, so bad that I’m not a lost cause…
Tillie goes on to say something, but I quickly cut her off before she can add any more bullshit to her bullshit sandwich. “You don’t have to lie, you know. I know why you’re really doing this.” I shrug and lift my gaze to hers. “You don’t want to leave me unsupervised. I get it.”
There’s a long moment where she just stares at me, lips pressed tightly together, fork paused halfway to her mouth.
When she does eventually speak, her voice is quiet.
Careful and measured. “It’s not that I don’t…
trust you, Aston.” She lowers the fork, her food momentarily forgotten.
Arching a knowing brow, she says, “But do you really want to be cooped up here alone day after day?”
I frown. I hadn’t actually considered that. Now that Eden’s gone all day…
Bored.
I’d get bored.
I don’t do well with bored.
Images flash across my mind of all the times I got thrown into the pit. Not that I really remember much. Sometimes things just get a little fuzzy, and when I come to, there just so happens to be…blood. Sometimes a lot.
I shudder.
I hate being sticky…
“Aston.”
My eyes snap open. I didn’t even realize I closed them.
Oopsie.
Tillie’s no longer smiling. No, she looks concerned. Something tells me that’s not the first time she tried to get my attention.
I dart a look toward Eden who watches me with narrowed, thoughtful eyes through a curtain of messy hair. Then to Walt, not surprised he’s now watching me too, only he looks a lot more wary. And not the I’m scared of you kind of wariness, but the try something, I dare you kind.
As if you could stop me, I sneer silently. Based on the tension newly lining his face, something tells me he got the message.
Turning to Tillie, I clear my throat and offer her a small, demur dip of my chin. “I’m fine,” I tell her. “I just…” Shaking my head, I scrape around for the words I want. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to go to high school.” I even get my voice to crack for good measure.
Her features soften, her gaze turning far less worried and more sad.
Bingo.
“Well, then this is your chance to see how the other half live. Trust me, you’ll probably realize it’s not all it’s chalked up to be.” She laughs a little at that, though her eyes remain tight.
“And they’re…allowing this? The school, I mean.”
Do they know what I did?
Tillie casts a long sideways at her husband. “We pulled some strings.”
Right…because he’s a teacher. History, because a lame name and dull fashion-sense weren’t bad enough.
“Look, Aston, I would never risk this—any of this—if I wasn’t one-hundred percent confident you could handle it.”