I’m studying at Rosewood Hall. Cicley sits across from me. Abbie is on my right. Samantha slumps two seats down, complaining about the structure of benzene rings. She’s still struggling with O-Chem, which keeps her tethered to me, close enough that I can help with her homework when she needs it. I’m sure she hates that fact, although she’s become less hostile over the past few weeks.
Sam’s not the only sister I’ve tutored recently. I’ve assisted with English essays and quadratic equations. Even Carrson asked for help with math the other night whilewe were lying in bed, about to go to sleep.
He’d handed me a stack of papers, printed on obnoxiously bright neon-orange paper, and said, “Can you make sense of this? I need to know what it’s about and if the numbers add up.”
I grabbed a pencil from my backpack, settled next to him cross-legged, and started scribbling calculations in the margins.
Carrson’s phone had buzzed with an incoming text. He’d read it quickly, his brows drawn downward. He’d let out a groan as he flung the phone onto the nightstand so hard it bounced.
I looked up. “Problem?”
“My father,” he’d muttered, sinking deeper into the pillow like he wished he could disappear inside it. “He likes to text at random. Usually to remind me of everything I’m doing wrong. Every flaw. Every failure. All listed in alphabetical order.” His lips curled into something bitter. “He’s the world’s most aggressive backseat driver, except the car is my entire life.”
His tone was dry but not amused. More like acid. Like the words burned coming out.
I paused with my pencil in the air. I thought of the scars on Carrson’s back and how I was pretty sure his father put them there. “Where is he now?”
Please stay far away.
He’d shrugged, but it looked forced. “Who knows. Everything’s top secret. Last time I actually talked to him, there was gunfire in the background, so I’m guessing it’s not Hawaii.”
“Gunfire?” I squeaked, startled, sure he must be joking.
He wouldn’t look at me. Just muttered, “Don’t worry. Even death itself wouldn’t stop him from nagging.”
I’d opened my mouth to ask more, but Carrson had rolled his head to the side and cut me off, nodding toward the neon-orange paper. “So? What’d you figure out?”
I blinked, the abrupt shift in tone rose like a wall between us, like something he built brick by brick, swift and unbreachable. The message was clear. The subject was closed.
“Um, yeah,” I’d said, glancing at the paper. “Looks like a ledger. Expenses, income. Whoever put it together sucks at math. There’s way more profit than they’re reporting at the end.”
Carrson’s mouth had tightened into a straight line.
“Why’s it on such loud paper?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Beats me. That’s just the paper he uses.”
Whoeverhewas, Carrson didn’t offer a name, and I didn’t push. When it comes to Order business, he rarely explains anything. I try not to let it frustrate me. What’s the point? Six more months until I’m out of this deal.
Now, a sister I barely know,Staci,I think is her name, passes our table. She’s shy, withdrawn. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her speak more than a sentence at a time, even to the others. She tries to squeeze by us, lifting her arms to slide past a chair that hasn’t been pushed in. The motion pulls her shirt up, and that’s when I see it.
A mottled bruise, dark purple and ugly, blooms across her ribs.
“Are you okay?” The words are out before I can stop them.
Staci freezes. Her head whips toward me. “What?”
I nod toward her side. “Did you hurt yourself?”
She blinks. “Oh. Yeah, I—I bumped into my dresser the other day. It’s nothing.” A beat of hesitation, just long enough to register. Then she’s gone, moving too fast.
There’s a strained silence at my table after Staci leaves.
“Sam…,” Cicley murmurs, her voice tight.
Samantha exhales, her eyes tracking Staci as she takes her usual place across the room. Sitting alone. “I’ve tried talking to her, but you see how it goes.” Sam flaps a hand in Staci’s direction. “She deflects. Makes excuses. Every time.”
Abbie doesn’t even lower her voice. “You know it’s Jackson. He’s the one doing it.”
