“It’s fine,” she says with a shrug. “I wasn’t doing anything anyway.”
I watch her for a moment before nodding my thanks again. Since lunch, Jordan has returned to her old self, the vulnerable girl staring at the breadbasket now safely tucked away. She’s back to being fake, although “fake” feels too harsh. She’s polished. Personally, I like her better without all the shine.
The front door of the station swings opens wildly, and suddenly, there’s a flurry of movement, shouts and stomping feet. A group of teenagers is being ushered inside, escorted by two officers and the sheriff himself. And they’ve got their hands full.
“Oh great,” Jordan mutters.
The dark-haired girl in the front of the group is clearly hyped up, looking like she’s ready to fight someone. A small smile pulls at the corners of my mouth when I see her.
“Let go of him,” she shouts at one of the officers as another holds her arm. “Tech should be at the hospital, not here. This is negligence. I’mfiling a complaint.” She yanks away from the officer’s grasp and tries to pull the other one off her friend.
“Knock it off,” the sheriff tells the girl firmly. To my surprise, she does quiet down, staring daggers at him instead. He takes out a notepad, flipping through the pages.
A phone rings loudly, echoing around the room. As one of the officers snatches the receiver off the desk, he looks warily at the kid in the glasses, as if anticipating that it’s about him. For his part, Tech really does seem shell-shocked by the entire thing. His clothes are filthy, soaked in what looks like mud all the way up to his chin. He literally looks like someone dragged him out of the marsh.
The other girl, a blonde in a baseball cap, walks over to sit at one the desks. An officer chases behind her, trying to keep up. Once there, the girl reaches over to take a sip out of the guy’s coffee mug.
“Shawn,” he says in exasperation, and snatches it back from her.
Jordan shifts uncomfortably beside me, her posture rigid. “And now we get to spend our afternoon with the Chasers,” she announces. “Awesome.” She holds herself up, as if pretending they don’t exist.
But they aren’t making it easy on her. Shawn turns and locks eyes with Jordan. When she does, she blows a kiss in her direction—sweet, mockingly innocent—and in the same breath, flips her off.
Jordan’s eyes narrow for just a moment, but she doesn’t bite. She doesn’t flinch. Her lips press into a tight line, and I can almost see the walls go up around her. It’s a type of protection.
“Delinquents,” Jordan murmurs. Her voice is tight, but there’s more underneath it—something deeper. Fear or frustration. She thinks she’s better than them. She doesn’t hate them because they’re rough around the edges. She hates them because they make her feel powerless, and she doesn’t do powerless. It’s clear they know how to press her buttons, and they do it on purpose.
I watch as Jordan begins to twist her bracelet again, a nervous twitch. I can’t help but wonder why she cares so much. She’s got enough to deal with from her mother. I have no idea why she’d let a group of locals get under her skin.
As I try to make sense of the situation, I turn back to this group of misfits. In my mind, I can’t stop hearing my father warn me about the type of people I should surround myself with. Yeah, these guys are definitely at the top of the avoid list. Which I always liked about them.
The sheriff’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Let’s go,” he says, sounding frustrated as he takes the arm of the shouty dark-haired girl and leads her toward his office.
On the way past us, the girl’s eyes pause on mine. I feel the weight of her gaze, like she’s sizing me up. And for a second, I wonder what she sees. But then her eyes drift past me like I’m not even really here. Like I’m invisible. It stings a little. Maybe a lot.
She walks into the office with the sheriff, and the door closes with a soft click. Now contained, the precinct falls into an uneasy quiet. It’s actually quite unsettling. I feel like I’ve missed something important. I wonder what they did to end up here.
“I need some air,” Jordan says, slipping her phone into her purse as she gets up. “I’ll be outside. Just text me when you’re done.”
“Oh,” I say surprised. “Do you want me to—?”
“No,” she says, without waiting to hear the rest. She strides through the office, her back straight and confident. She and the Chasers aggressively ignore one another on her way past them.
Suddenly, the sheriff’s door flies open, and the girl comes stomping out, slamming it closed behind her. She’s barefoot and sun-kissed and half covered in dried sand. She drops down in the seat directly next to me, the legs of the chair screeching and sand flinging over my feet. The office door opens back up, and the sheriff appears.
“Stay there,” he tells her sternly. She turns away from him. The short man in the gray uniform glances at me, but doesn’t break character to acknowledge that I’m waiting for him.
The sheriff goes back inside his office, slamming the door once again. The entire precinct seems to hold its breath. Even I’m struck silent. The girl leans back against the chair, her shoulder just an inch from mine. We sit quietly. There are several open seats on either side of us, but neither of us gets up to move.
Finally, I turn to her. She’s literally gorgeous. She’s a breath of salt and vanilla. Her skin is deeply tanned with dots of freckles over her nose, her eyes a browner shade of hazel—and I’m just going to say it—she really is a siren. She always has been.
“Hi, Noa,” I say simply.
She turns to me, annoyed. “So you’re friends with Jordan Miles now?” she says like an accusation.
I’m not entirely sure how to answer at first, but I think Jordan and I have turned a corner.
“Yeah,” I say. I motion to the people she came in with. “And seems you’re all as tight as ever?” At that moment, Shawn puts her muddy sneakers up on the officer’s desk in an act of defiance. Irritated, the guy swats her legs away, telling her to behave.
