Chapter Ten #2
“No,” she says, grabbing my arm. “You don’t get it. If he got out, we can too. You don’t have to end up couch-surfing. There’s still a way.”
“I don’t even know anyone with a fucking couch.” I huff out a laugh.
Her grip tightens, and for a second, I think she’s gonna hit me with some speech about hope. About how things get better if you just want it bad enough.
But she doesn’t. She sits there watching me.
“You’ve got me, ride-or-die, you know that.”
“You live with the Romeros, Cass. Ten kids in that place and a curfew stricter than prison. Where exactly do I go? The floor under your bunk?”
“Then we find something together,” she says. “A squat. A busted caravan. A sugar daddy with a limp and low standards.”
I snort, but my throat still burns.
“Cool. Can’t wait to trade blowjobs for power outlets.”
Cassie passes me the joint again.
“At least charge your phone first. No one wants to suck dick in the dark.”
I laugh, but it scrapes at my throat. “Yeah. Gotta keep the lights on while they remind me I’m nothing but a warm body.”
I take a drag, hold it until my lungs sting, exhale slowly.
Smoke curls between us.
“I wish I could hate him, Cass,” I say, voice breaking around the words. “God, I wish I could. It would make it fucking easier.”
Cassie leans back against the wall, one knee bent, eyes never leaving me.
“Then don’t fucking hate him,” she says softly. “Don’t waste the energy. Just… survive him.”
The word hits like a bruise.
Survive. I’m always surviving.
Always fucking crawling out from under someone else’s wreckage. I shut my eyes and press my head back against the brick. I’m so tired of feeling like this was all I was born for.
The joint trembles in my fingers. Cassie snatches it, takes a hit as if it’ll silence the truth between us.
“It’ll work out,” she says, the words flat, unconvincing.
I side-eye her. “You don’t know that.”
“No,” she says. “But I’m saying it anyway. Because someone fucking has to.”
I look at her, jaw clenched.
She shrugs. “You just need to trust me.”
The words hang there. I want to believe her.
“I’ve trusted people before.”
Cassie doesn’t blink. “Yeah, well, none of them were me.”
She holds the joint out again, a quiet kind of promise. And maybe that’s enough.
We sit in silence, passing it back and forth until the day frays at the edges. The concrete holds the last of the sun, warm under us, that only lasts until the bell from the main building sounds, dragging us back to reality.
Cassie sighs.
We don’t say anything for a beat.
Cassie nudges me with her foot.
“Come on. Before they send a search party and find out their perfect little foster girl’s have been getting high by the incinerator.”
I stand, brush the dirt off my jeans. “Pretty sure they already assume we’re a lost cause.”
“Good. Saves time.” She shoulders her bag and starts walking.
I follow.
By fourth period, my head’s already pounding.
The classroom reeks of sweat, too many bodies crammed into chairs that were never built for comfort. The windows are sealed shut, dust caked thick along the ledges.
I sit in the back, where no one looks twice if I zone out, but today, even that doesn’t help. Everything presses in.
The scrape of chairs.
The tap of pens.
The endless hum of voices that all sound the same.
Cassie’s next to me, chewing the hell out of her pen cap, eyes pinned to the clock like it owes her something.
She hasn’t said a word since I opened my mouth, and honestly, I don’t blame her.
I don’t talk about that kind of shit. Not out loud.
The second Zane’s name slipped out, I wanted to shove it right back down my throat.
The teacher drops a worksheet on my desk.
I don’t bother looking at it. My pen is in my hand, but it doesn’t move. Neither do I.
Two rows up, one of the dickheads from this morning twists in his seat. His eyes land on me. That smirk creeps back, all teeth and ego, and I catch it—that flicker of something foul gearing up in his brain.
A punchline.
A power move.
Something he thinks will make him feel bigger.
I hold his stare. Cold. Unmoving. Daring him to open his mouth and choke on whatever shit he’s dying to spit.
Cassie leans in, voice all silk and threat. “You want me to shank him?”
He’s the one who breaks first, eyes slicing away like the stare never happened. All bark and no fucking teeth.
Cassie grins like she won something. “Fucking coward.”
Up front, one of the jocks hurls a crumpled worksheet at Rebecca’s head the second the teacher turns. It clips her shoulder. Laughter spills out, the kind that sticks to weakness and waits for someone to flinch.
I like Rebecca.
She’s one of the few who actually says hi when I walk past, eyes meeting mine instead of darting away. That small thing matters.
She doesn’t belong here, not really. She’s too kind. Easy prey for assholes who get off on weakness.
The dickhead rolls another sheet of paper tight and whips it straight at her back.
It lands with a dull smack and drops to the floor. His friends lose it, snorting, elbowing each other, proud of the show they’re putting on.
It’s fucking stupid how cruelty gets the applause. How being a prick makes you somebody.
Rebecca flinches but doesn’t turn around or say a word.
He grins, already rolling up another sheet, as if being a piece of shit is a full-time job he’s proud to show up for.
I shove my chair back. It screeches across the floor, a sound that cuts clean through the noise.
Heads turn.
He freezes just as he’s about to throw, eyes dragging to me.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I don’t yell. I don’t have to.
He blinks. Smug still clings to his face.
“What, you got a thing for the freaks now?” He says.
I step out from behind my desk.
“Oh, shit.” Cassie mutters under her breath.
“You think that’s funny?” I say, to the dickhead. “Picking on the quiet girl because you know she won’t fight back? Real tough of you.” I step forward. “Bet your mommy’s real proud knowing her son turned out to be a pathetic little bitch who gets off on making girls cry.”
A few students gasp. One laughs.
“Skylar,” the teacher snaps, finally noticing. “Sit down. Now.”
I don’t move.
“Last warning.”
I keep my eyes on him. “I’m not done staring at stupid,” I tell her.
“That’s it,” she barks. “Out. Get out of my classroom.”
I grab my bag without a word and sling it over my shoulder.
Every step down the aisle burns up my spine. My pulse thuds so loud it might as well be a war drum.
No one laughs now. Not even the prick who started it.
At the door, I stop. Face the teacher.
“Good job, Miss,” I say. “Real solid message, kick out the girl who called out the bully, and let the asshole stay seated.”
I hold her gaze just long enough to make her uncomfortable.
Then I walk out, letting the silence eat up the space I leave behind.