23. BACK THEN – April
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
GARRISON ABBEY
B reaking and entering wasn’t on my list of things to do. Ever. But things change. I slide a paperclip through the keyhole of a deep navy door, scratches and dents marring the steel. Garbage stinks up the alleyway, and cigarette butts line the pavement.
Working at Superheroes & Scones gave me a lot of insight into this place. Like how the left alley door doesn’t have any security cameras. Most of the employees smoke pot and suck face on this stoop. So I’m not even sweating as I take my time with the lock. The pitch-black night conceals me enough.
Honestly, I just need a place to sleep tonight. A warm floor. That’s it.
Because I can’t go back to Faust.
This morning the headmaster called me into his office—and I thought for sure he was going to just tell me I needed a tutor. Because I did nothing wrong. No vandalism. No cheating. No cursing. No cutting class—except for that one time with poly-sci.
I was on my best fucking behavior.
Bookshelves towered against every wall, and the place smelled like moldy paperbacks. I took a seat in front of his polished oak desk.
“Mr. Abbey,” he said, “seeing as you’re a new student, I’ve tasked myself with looking into how you’re faring here at Faust.” He barely blinked. “Unfortunately, your current academic standing isn’t up to par with the other pupils.”
Not a surprise. I shifted on my chair. “So who’s my tutor…?” My voice trailed off as I saw the expression on his face. Pure fucking pity.
He sighed heavily. “I’m afraid, we’re past that stage.
With your current marks, you’d have to score well beyond one hundred percent on every final to even move the needle.
This is the end of the road for you and your time here at Faust. You can pack your bags.
A car is waiting to take you back to…” He glanced down at a sheet of paper. “Philadelphia.”
It’s official. I’ve flunked out of two prep schools.
Really, I was pulled out of Dalton before I even had the chance to flunk. But I was well on my way there.
The one silver-lining in all of this, Faust doesn’t contact parents by phone. Not when most of the students have moms and dads sailing the globe on yachts or too damn busy to lift their own cell. So Faust does everything by mail.
Before coming to the comic book shop, I made a quick detour at my parent’s house. Stopped by for point-two-seconds. Just long enough to swipe the letter from their mailbox. The one “notifying” them that I’m a loser.
The lock clicks. Success .
I push through the backdoor of Superheroes & Scones, and before the alarm can go off, I quickly type in the passcode. Yesterday, Lily switched the code, so Willow gave me the new one.
And yeah, I had to tell Willow I flunked. I couldn’t lie to her.
I hate that she’s kind of an accomplice to this whole “breaking and entering” thing. But the alternative was sneaking into her bedroom (she offered it as a place to crash) and I don’t want to ruin us by being that guy. Willow doesn’t deserve some loser crashing on her floor.
Quietly, I tiptoe through the deserted store. Not a soul or sound in the entire place. It feels like a comic book graveyard in the dark.
Dipping into the breakroom, I use a giant stuffed Millennium Falcon plushie as a pillow and lie on the hard ground.
I slide the letter out of my backpack and then flip open a lighter. Flame to paper, I watch my future—or lack thereof—burn between my fingertips.
My parents aren’t ever going to know I flunked. And if I have it my way, I’ll never see them again.
Honestly, that’s the only future I want.