"Ellie, wait—" Kade starts.
"I'm calling the fucking cops!" Sheri screams, already pulling out her phone. “He's fucking crazy! He almost killed Reese!”
I don't stay to hear the rest. Tank needs me more than I need to deal with Sheri's dramatics.
The woods are darker than the park, branches catching at my clothes, leaving scratches on my arms that sting like tiny fires. I follow the sound of breaking branches, the path of destruction Tank's leaving in his wake.
"Tank!" I call out, stumbling over roots and rocks. "Tank, wait!"
He doesn't wait. Of course he doesn't. He's probably replaying that moment over and over—his fist inches from my face, the fear in my eyes that I couldn't quite hide fast enough.
I find him by the stream that cuts through the back of the woods, crouched with his back to me, hands clutching his hair hard enough that it has to hurt. His shoulders shake with something that might be sobs if Tank could make sounds like that.
A twig snaps under my foot, and he freezes. His hands fly to his face, adjusting his bandana that had slipped down. I didn't see anything—I never do—but the frantic way he fixes it like he thinks his entire world will end if I do breaks my heart a little more each time.
He holds his hands out when he straightens to his full height and turns, the universal sign for 'stay back,' like he's something contagious. Something dangerous.
"I'm okay," I say, moving closer despite his warning. "Tank, I'm okay. I know why you did it. I saw the bird. Reese is an asshole. He deserved it."
His hands move rapidly, but I catch enough of the signs to understand.
Don't give a shit about Reese. Almost hurt you.
"But you didn’t.”
Could have.
“But you didn’t,” I repeat, signing it for emphasis before moving closer, ignoring the way he flinches back. "You didn't hurt me."
Almost. So close. Could have?—
"Stop." I reach up, taking his face in my hands. He cringes but doesn't pull away. I can feel him trembling under my touch as my thumb brushes over the scarred and ropey skin pulling at his right eye. "You would never hurt me. Never. I know that."
His eyes soften, and I see the tear tracks on the visible parts of his face. This boy who everyone fears, who just nearly beat someone to death for hurting a baby bird, who's so gentle with me it's like he thinks I'll shatter if he breathes wrong.
"Let's go back," I say softly. "I'll tell them what Reese was doing."
But we both know it won't matter.
No one cares about kids like us, let alone a bird. Tank hurt one of their own—not run-of-the-mill trailer trash like us, but someonewith parents who actually give a shit, or at least pretend to. Someone with connections.
There will be consequences.
We walk back together, his hand in mine. For a few moments, the world is peaceful, but then the red-and-blue lights strobe through the trees on the edge of the forest near the park and that peace shatters.
Tank's hand tightens around mine.
Two cop cars sit in front of Reese's trailer, lights on, sirens off. Kade's on his uncle's porch, arguing with the cops and his guardians simultaneously, his voice carrying across the park.
"He was protecting a fucking bird! They were torturing it!"
"Watch your language," his uncle snaps, hand tight on Kade's shoulder to keep him from charging forward.
Jinx stands on his own porch, holding a shoebox that definitely contains the bird. Kyle lounges against the front door, beer in hand, watching the show with the same detached interest he'd give a mediocre TV drama. Half the neighborhood's come out to watch, because entertainment's hard to come by in the park.
"There he is!" Mrs. Johnson points at Tank, and my blood turns to ice.
The cops move forward, and Tank doesn't run. Doesn't fight. Just stands there looking sad and tired and younger than his size suggests as they cuff him.
