And you don’t make your most precious possession act up for the camera, so your friend—no matter how devoted, how valued—has a film for his private pleasure.
But, but, but… she held out on me. The game has to go ahead. She has to prove her loyalty not just to me, but to all of us.
I really thought Lilac would spill everything for a second there. Her lips parted, and I saw the desire form in her eyes. Then… nothing. The girl knows how to keep a secret, all right. Even if I don’t know what she’s so afraid of.
It’s not like I’m going to unleash hell on a small child. I’m a cunt, not a monster.
Her refusal makes me antsy, and I take out my phone during class, hiding it beneath the desk even though the teacher probably doesn’t have the balls to call me on it.
Sierra’s texts are funny, have an atrocious relationship with the English language—much like her sister—and contain a running commentary on everything wrong with her life.
Given how eagerly Lilac responds to tales of how awful the foster parents are, I guess Sierra exaggerates for her sister’s benefit.
I drove past her foster home a few times yesterday and can’t see any obvious signs of neglect. Not that I expect to tell everything from gazing at a front yard for two seconds, but the place looks cared for but not too perfect.
Just the kind of house I bet Lilac would have loved to grow up in, instead of whatever hell hole she’s trying to escape.
A strange pattern of emojis and shorthand text speak scroll across my screen, and I take a minute to decipher that Steven has been calling her names again.
It’s a recurring problem, along with occasional shoving, that no one has addressed. Perhaps because it’s all in her sister’s weird little head, but it upsets me because I know it upsets Lilac.
The kid needs someone to sort him out.
Not baseball bat level, but a light slap around with a dusting of threats. Just enough to take it seriously, while not so bad he involves the police. Or his parents. Or a teacher.
Except I don’t even know which kid he is.
Guess I could drop by her school and find out. Unlike Lilac, I know where her sister lives, where she goes to school, and even where her foster parents work. If she’d just confide in me, she’d know all this stuff, too.
Blaming her for withholding information makes it easier for me to do the same.
Casebrook isn’t far from here. I’ve got a free period next, and I bet I can get there and back well before the bell rings for morning break. Even if I miss that, my next class is English, which I’m already acing. It’d be a pity to miss the chance to sit next to Lilac and mess with her a bit more, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices.
So, I’ve heard. It’s not something I often put into practice.
“Can I borrow your car?” I ask Caylon when class finally ends. “Just need to run an errand.”
“And yours is…?”
“Far too memorable to risk driving where I need to go.”
He smirks as he tosses me the keys. “Told you to get something more subtle. I’m surprised the damn thing doesn’t get stolen from the carpark at least once a week.”
“Benefit of having one of the few models in the city. Nobody can drive it around without sticking out, and who’d want to lock that beauty in the garage?”
He nods, but I can tell his mind has already exited the conversation. I clap him on the shoulder and move away, already charting the route I want to take and the easiest place to park that won’t draw unwanted attention.
The primary school is set back from the road, the large grounds with enough room for a dozen rugby pitches forming a buffer to protect kids from the busy street. I pull to a stop half a dozen blocks away, blending in with the employee vehicles from a large clothing factory nearby.
As I walk nearer, my stomach tightens with anticipation. This stuff is truly dangerous. Not because the kids are armed or anything, but because giving the slightest wrong signal will trigger a visit from law enforcement. Schools don’t fuck around, especially ones with younger children.
It’s a challenge. A genuine challenge.
Much like Lilac herself.
One stroll past the school tells me I’ve come at the wrong time. With the kids safely bundled into their classes, there’s not the slightest opportunity to find out which one is Sierra’s Steven and even less chance to get him alone.
I settle back in Caylon’s vehicle, taking a spin through the USB stick he has jammed into his stereo. It doesn’t take long to decide that if we ever take a road trip together, I’m in charge of sounds.
