Tank puts his huge hand on my shoulder, gentle as always despite his size. We stand there together, watching the ants use our bridge, and I pretend for just a moment that we really are the mob of Creekside Estates. That we have power. That we can protect each other.
But we're just kids playing at being dangerous, building bridges for ants while the real monsters drive Camaros and share our last names.
The sun sinks lower, painting everything in shades of rust, and I count the ants as they cross.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Five is safe.
Five is us.
Five is home.
And I promise myself it always will be.
But deep down, I know I don't really have any power over that, either.
Chapter 3
ELLIE
Age Thirteen
The quadratic equationstares back at me from my math textbook like it's as tired of me as I am of it. X squared plus whatever equals who gives a shit. I tap my pencil against the paper, leaving little graphite dots that look like bullet holes through my homework.
Summer's almost here. Two more weeks of this academic torture and I'll be free to spend every waking moment with my boys, except?—
I glance at my broken bike leaning against the wall, its chain hanging loose like it's given up. The derailleur's ruined beyond even Tank's ability to fix it, and the whole frame's a Frankenstein's monster of spare parts the guys scavenged for me anyway.
Mom barely has enough for rent this month, let alone bike parts. Which means I'll be stuck walking everywhere while the guys ride circles around me, literally and figuratively. Sure, Tank would let me ride on the back of his bike, but it's not the same.
Thunk.
A rock hits my window hard enough to make me jump. Then another.Thunk. Thunk.
I slide off my bed and peer through the grimy glass. All four of them stand in the dying light below, looking up at me with matching grins that spell trouble in four different flavors.
"What the hell?" I push open the window and lean out. "Use the door like normal people."
"Where's the fun in that, Princess?" Kade calls up, his voice carrying even more mischief than usual. At fourteen, he's shot up like a weed soaked in Miracle-Gro. His brown hair's gotten darker, almost black in this light, and there's something harder about his gray eyes now.
“Come on, we’ve got a surprise,” Jinx adds, bouncing on the toes of his hand-me-down sneakers like an overgrown puppy. His hair's grown out past his shoulders now, golden waves that catch the last rays of sun. Even though he's the shortest of the bunch, he's already a couple of inches taller than me. The girls at school are starting to do double takes whenever they see him in the hall,and for no reason whatsoever, I have to swallow down a feral growl every single time.
Tank stands behind them, a mountain that keeps growing. He's already taller than Kyle, which gives me a sick sort of satisfaction every time that asshole has to look up at him. His bandana's solid black today, and his dark eyes crinkle at the corners when he sees me looking. The scars on his face somehow seem to take up more space, despite his best attempts to keep them covered with his hair. I'm pretty sure he'd just wear a ski mask to school if he was allowed.
He still hasn't let me see him without his mask, but I feel like he understands me better than anyone. I'm really good at sign language now. Kade helps, and he's a surprisingly patient teacher—mostof the time.
Cyrus pushes his glasses up his nose. New ones with black frames that make him look older, more serious. "Sometime tonight would be nice. Before someone calls the cops on us for loitering."
"Someone's already called the cops on us three times this month," Kade says cheerfully. "What's one more?"
I roll my eyes but I'm already swinging one leg over the windowsill. The drop's not far, maybe three feet, but Tank moves forward anyway, arms raised to catch me if I fall. Always my protector, even from gravity and my own klutzy feet.
I land in a crouch, gravel biting into my palms. "This better be good. I've got a test tomorrow."
"Fuck your test," Kade says, already walking toward the RV. "This is better."
The familiar smell of rust and old leather hits me as we pile into our fortress. Everything's the same. The torn couch, the stack of comics Cyrus swears he's organizing, the first aid kit that's seen more use than any kids' should. But there's something different about the way they're all watching me tonight. Like the excitement is going to make them explode if they wait too long.
