“So you’re not as invulnerable as you appear.”
“Even Superman had Kryptonite,” I mutter, causing him to choke out a laugh at my expense.
“And yours is now roses?”
“You assume they’re a new nemesis.”
His next look is searching, but he doesn’t ask for details. I wish Trips and I could have an actual conversation so we can decide how much we’re trusting this man. Last time wechecked in, we decided we could be honest about ourselves with him. But if we can get him on our side, the rest of our plan becomes much easier, even if it puts Falk in more danger.
I change the topic to a safer one. “Do you know when I’ll see Trips? Or if we’re due to be let out again soon? The paper homework, while nice, isn’t the same as attending school.” What would I give for one uninterrupted minute with any of my guys? I’m antsy enough that a tiny part of me wishes stones were flammable, so I could just light up this horrible place and be done with it.
Going to prison for arson wouldn’t get me what I want though, so I have to stay the course. Unfortunately.
“I have no idea. As my punishment, I’m no longer privy to plans as they’re being made—I’m back to being a grunt.”
“Is that better or worse?”
“Depends on the day.”
We jog beside the outer wall again, both of us silent while in view of the cameras. Once we’re back in the woods, I ask my most burning question. “Has Trips been let out? Will he?”
“No,” is his simple reply.
The ache grows bigger, heavier, competing with the sting in my lungs and the burn in my legs for my attention.
“Do you want me to pass on any messages? If I see him first?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at me, the end of the woods barely visible ahead.
For what has to be the hundredth time, I wish I’d spent less time perfecting a written code and more time figuring out coded speech or sign language. “Just that I miss him,” I say. A truth and a test.
If Trips gets the message, that’s another tally in the ‘maybe trust Falk’ column.
I hope Falk ends up on our side. We could use the help.
Chapter 7
RJ
Clara and Trips are absent from school for the rest of the week.
Terrified, unable to verify that they’re even still alive, I take a risk, texting the unknown number Clara used last time, routing my message in such a way that I’m invisible. If the person on the other end knows anything about Clara, though, they’ll know it’s one of us. They’ll know it’s me.
It takes almost a full day, but I get a response on Saturday morning.
They’re alive. Locked up, but alive.
I call for Walker, and we stare at those words, a sob of relief aching in my throat.
More words come through, and I have to figure out what to do now that I’ve started a conversation with a stranger.
Who is this?
I guess I should say that I’m not Clara.
I know you’re not Clara.
The reply comes a second later.
I’m Mattie. I can be your inside woman, but I can only talk while I’m not at home.
