Chapter 4 – ELLIE
ELLIE
Age Fourteen
The worm dangles between my fingers like a fleshy little pendulum, and the bird tracks it with those beady black eyes that are always wanting.
"Come on, you little shit," I mutter, lowering the worm closer. "You know you want it."
The bird—I refuse to name it because naming things makes you attached and I'm already screwed on that front—hops forward in its upgraded accommodations.
Gone is the ratty shoebox Jinx rescued it in.
Now it lives in luxury, relatively speaking, in an old toaster box I lined with soft towels and twigs arranged just so.
It pecks the worm from my fingers with surprising gentleness, like it knows I'm fragile even though I'm the one taking care of it. The irony isn't lost on me. A bird with a healed wing treating me like I'm the broken one.
"You're getting chonky," I tell it, watching its throat work as it swallows. "Jinx is right about that."
The bird chirps at me, probably telling me to fuck off in bird language, and I can't help but smile. Even that small movement feels foreign on my face these days. Smiling without half my boys feels like betrayal, like I'm admitting I can be happy without them.
Which is bullshit, because I'm not happy. I'm functioning. There's a difference.
My eyes drift to my desk where two packages sit unopened, both addressed in the careful block letters juvie requires.
One from Tank, one from Kade. Birthday presents I can't bring myself to open because opening them means accepting they're not here to give them to me in person.
I told them as much in the letters I sent, and Kade called me a sap. At least some things don't change.
Fourteen doesn't feel much different from thirteen, except everything's lonelier and weirder.
Because Kade's gone too, the absolute fucking moron.
When he realized Tank wasn't getting out—when the reality hit that his brother was going to be locked up for at least six months, maybe more—he completely lost his shit.
Not in the explosive, obvious way you'd expect from someone who's been setting fires since he could hold a lighter. No, Kade's meltdown was planned.
He waited exactly three days after Tank's sentencing, then walked straight up to Reese's house at two in the afternoon when half the neighborhood could see him, doused the mailbox in lighter fluid, and set it on fire.
Didn't run. Didn't hide.
Just stood there watching it burn until the cops showed up, hands already behind his back like he was ready for the cuffs.
The judge called it "willful destruction of federal property" and "clear antisocial behavior requiring intervention."
I call it Kade being a dramatic lunatic who couldn't stand the thought of Tank being alone in there.
And I'm a complete hypocrite, because I tried to follow suit.
Spent a week attempting every delinquent act I could think of.
Shoplifted from the corner store (got caught, but Mr. Ronan just made me sweep his floor for an hour).
Tagged the side of the abandoned warehouse (turns out no one gives a shit about graffiti on a building that's been rotting for a decade).
Even tried to start a fight with Sheri Woods, but she just laughed and called me pathetic, which hurt more than any punch would have.
Turns out I'm shit at being a bad girl, even if I spend all my time around the baddest boys in school.
Also turns out even if I wasn't, it wouldn't matter. Boys and girls don't go to the same facility here. So while Tank and Kade get to have their little reunion in juvie, I'm stuck here playing mother to a bird that should've been released weeks ago.
Tap tap tap.
The familiar rhythm at my window makes my heart skip. Only one person knocks like that—three taps, pause, two taps. Jinx. Our secret code from when we were kids and thought we were spies or some shit.
I slide the window open, and Jinx's ridiculously golden hair catches the afternoon sun as he hoists himself through with practiced ease.
He's gotten even taller over the summer, all long limbs and sharp features and a too-white smile.
Even has a tattoo on his right bicep now.
A book with the pages on fire, because he's secretly as much of a nerd as I am.
It looks a hell of a lot better than Kade's stick-and-poke tats.
Not that I'm looking. Much.
"Just in time for the feeding frenzy," I say, gesturing to the bird who's already chirping for more food.
Jinx holds up a bucket that reeks of earth and fish. "Good thing Daddy brought dinner."
"Disgusting." But I'm grinning as I take the bucket from him. "Where'd you even get these?"
"The creek. That rain last night brought them all up." He flops onto my bed with the confidence of someone who belongs wherever he is, even though my mom would have a heart attack if she knew how often he's in my room. "Gotta be a responsible father, right?"
"Co-parent," I correct, selecting a particularly fat worm. "This thing's all of ours."
"Yeah, but Tank and Kade are deadbeat dads who got themselves locked up, and Cyrus only shows up when there's medical shit to handle." He watches me feed the bird with an expression I can't quite read. "Thing's getting fat as fuck."
"It's healing," I protest, but he's right. The bird's practically doubled in size since we've had it, its feathers glossy and full where they used to be patchy and dull. "Besides, you're the one who keeps bringing him buckets of worms."
"Because you look like you're gonna cry every time its food dish is empty."
"I do not—"
"You absolutely do." He sits up, studying the bird with a critical eye. "Wing's completely healed, huh? Cy did a good job setting it."
"Yeah." I stroke the bird's head gently, and it leans into my touch like a tiny feathered cat, eyes pinching shut. "He's probably ready to go."
"Definitely ready," Jinx says, and his voice is careful, like he's handling explosives. "Been ready for a while, actually."
"I was hoping Tank would be back first," I mumble, not meeting his eyes. "So he could see it. That what he did mattered."
Jinx's expression goes soft in that way that makes my chest hurt. "El, he doesn't even go before the board until next month. And that's just for assessment. Could be another three months after that before—"
"Before they let him out. I know." The words taste bitter. "All because fucking Reese is too much of a pussy to take a beating like a man."
"A skull fracture and brain bruising isn't exactly a normal beating."
“He wasn't using his brain anyway.”
Jinx barks out a laugh. "Vicious. I fucking love it." He grins at me, and my heart stutters a little. "Speaking of vicious, I got you something."
"Worms and a surprise? You really know how to treat a girl."
His cheeks go pink, and he ducks his head so his hair falls into his eyes.
I want to ask why he's blushing—want to ask a lot of things, actually.
Like why he sometimes stares at me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve.
Or why he gets weird when the girls at school flirt with him but lights up when Ken from his English class talks to him.
I'm pretty sure Jinx likes boys. Have been sure since we were twelve and he spent an entire summer obsessed with that lifeguard at the public pool. But he's never said anything outright, and I'm not about to push. He'll tell me when he's ready. If he ever is.
"Better than worms," he says, pulling something from his back pocket with a flourish. "Ta-da!"
Three tickets. Glossy, official-looking tickets with SYNTHESIA printed across them in that distinctive neon font that's been plastered all over town for months.
"Holy shit." I grab them from his hands, examining them like they might disappear. "Jinx, these have been sold out for months. They're like four hundred dollars each!"
"More like five hundred now," he says with a grin that's pure pride. "Resale's insane."
"How the fuck did you—"
"Five-finger discount." He waggles his fingers at me. "Digital edition. Courtesy of our resident computer genius."
My stomach drops. "Cyrus hacked the ticketing system?"
"Something like that." Jinx's grin falters slightly. "Look, he says it's fine. Says he covered his tracks and—"
"This isn't like him fucking with the school's grading system or stealing WiFi from the country club.
" I stare at the tickets like they're evidence in a crime.
Which is exactly what they are. "This is actual fraud.
Federal fucking fraud if it crossed state lines, which everything on the Internet technically does. "
"Cy knows what he's doing."
"Cy's fifteen and thinks he's invincible because he hasn't been caught yet." I shake the tickets at him. "This is exactly the kind of shit that gets kids like us tried as adults. And then instead of juvie, it's real prison with real criminals who eat skinny nerds like him for breakfast."
"You're being dramatic."
"Am I? Because last I checked, two-fifths of our friend group is already behind bars." The words come out harsher than I intend, and Jinx flinches. "Sorry. I just... if he gets caught, it'll just be the two of us."
"Yeah," Jinx finishes quietly. "That would be a total bummer."
Something about the way he says it makes me look at him. He's picking at a loose thread on my comforter, avoiding my eyes, and there's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before.
"Jinx—"
"The concert's tonight," he interrupts, back to his usual chipper self so fast it leaves me wondering if he was wearing the same mask he wears when he's shrugging off our questions about his brother.
"Eight o'clock. Hour drive to the venue, so we should leave by six-thirty to account for parking and—"
"I can't leave the bird that long."
He looks at me like I've lost my mind. "El, that bird could fly to fucking Mexico if it wanted. It doesn't need you."
"But what if—"