He studies my features for a few moments before sighing sharply. “I’m going to be honest with you, I didn’t want to see you again. It wasn’t my plan when I came back to this fuckhole town. But now I’m assuming you sneak out every week to go to your ballet studio. Like you do to go to that shitty bar with your friends. Is that correct?”
“It’s not a shitty bar,” I say, offended.
That frown on his forehead grows. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. It’s a great bar.”
“It’s a dance bar, Fae. Theonlydance bar where when they put on the music, instead of dancing, you want to kill yourself.”
I ignore the flutter in my chest atFaeand say, “You only think that because you have crappy taste in music.”
It’s a lie. He doesn’t.
I like his taste in music.
It’s usually a mix of vintage rock bands and modern hip hop, and well, it’s not a secret that I love it. He knows that too; I’ve danced to it quite a lot, haven’t I?
So before he can make a comment about it — dirty, of course — I continue, “And their whiskey is excellent too, don’t you think? It’s so excellent that peoplestealit just to have a sip.”
“If you think that then you should probably just stick to your lemonade and leave the hard liquor to the grown-ups,” he says, tipping his chin to my half-drunk glass of lemonade, not taking my bait.
“You’re such a —”
“The point is,” he speaks over me, “that I’m willing to give you a ride to your ballet studio.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Just so you can stop being stupidly reckless and taking the bus at midnight. Where at worst, you could be kidnapped and murdered and at best, robbed and raped.”
I have no words right now.
I don’t.
He’s insane.
“You’re insane,” I tell him.
“And you’re lucky.” He sips his coffee coolly. “That I’m willing to drive you around on your foolish errands.”
“Foolisherrands?”
“Yes.”
My fingers claw at the lemonade glass as I say, “The reason I have to run thosefoolish errandsis because I’m stuck at St. Mary’s. And in case you forgot, it’s areformschool. Meaning they don’t have a ballet teacher. Because apparently, ballet doesn’t rank so high when it comes to restoration and reformation of teenage criminals.”
“Well now you know, don’t you?” he says with a harsh jaw. “Next time you’ll think twice before stealing someone’s car withthe intent of destroying it. Almost wrecking your future in the process.”
I bite the inside of my cheek at his words. I bite it so hard that I think I taste copper.
I taste the broken pieces of my heart, my foolishness.
My recklessness.
And I gulp it all down with a hard swallow. “Yeah, you’re right. I will. I will think twice about it. At least then I won’t be stuck in a cage, trying to chase my dream. Trying to break into the one place that was supposed to get me there but they kicked me out instead and —”
“What?”
I flinch at his severe tone. “What?”
