She studied him more closely. He looked like everyone else who drifted through this place. Tough, worn down, hiding more than he showed. But his wife beater wasn’t stained and his hair looked clean.
She didn’t feel afraid of him the way she felt around most adults here.
“What’s your name?” Her own voice surprised her.
He lifted a long finger to scratch the side of his jaw, eyes working over her for a long moment before answering. “Smith.”
She blinked. “That’s your whole name?”
“Good enough for now.”
She nodded like she understood, and in some ways she did. Live there long enough and there wasn’t much left to question. “I’m Opal.”
“Uh-huh.”
He didn’t say it unkindly. More like he was filing it away somewhere important.
The vending machine hummed behind him. Cars hissed by on the main road. Someone slammed a door on the far side of the building. All normal background noise, but Smith watched her like he saw more than she wanted anyone to see.
“So”—he tilted his chin at her bruise—“why didn’t you fight back?”
She sucked in a breath. No teacher had asked her that. No kid cared. Her mother would say she should’ve run faster. And her father, if he even came home to see the bruise, wouldn’t say anything at all.
But no one had asked in a way that made her feel like the answer mattered.
“I don’t know.” Her voice sounded small and strained. She cleared her throat, putting more force behind her words. “They’re bigger than me.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “Seems like most people are. You don’t look like much.”
Opal’s mouth dropped open. “Thanks.”
One corner of his mouth lifted, not a smile but an expression that was real. “Just telling the truth.”
“I know I’m skinny.” Her defensive instincts kicked in. “That’s what happens when there’s never enough food and Mom has to take whatever crappy nursing shifts she can get. It’s not like I can make myself grow.”
He didn’t argue that things would get better. Didn’t give her the empty encouragement adults used when they brushed her off and wanted to change the subject.
Instead, Smith leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. His dark brown eyes drilled into hers.
“Wanna learn to fight?”
The words hung between them.
Opal’s heart thudded so hard she felt it in her bruise.
Smith wasn’t offering her empty promises of protection or safety.
He was offering herpower.
The idea felt dangerous.
She swallowed. “For real?”
“For real.”
She looked toward the motel room. The metal door was dented from her father kicking it. The number six tilted to the side, its tiny nail long ago rusted away. Fear waited inside those walls.
Fear was killing her from the inside out.
