“So…?” I say expectantly to Riley.
He blinks. Is that Morse code? Not any language I’ve learned in it.
“So… I… went to class?”
I guess that’s reassuring even if he says it like he’s not sure. “Do you have friends?” Another nudge from Hades. “You’re not getting any more, you have food in your bowl.”
“No,” Riley says.
That answer’s a bit quicker. A lot more definite. “Not even one?”
“No.”
This is going splendidly, I think. “Do you like your school?”
“No.”
I’mprettysure those are all actual, truthful answers. Short but the truth. Sometimes full essays aren’t required. Short is boring, though.
I spoon in another mouthful of food and chew thoughtfully. I need a question that’s going to force him to answer with more than one word. No yes/no questions. Grady’s better at this than me, right? He’s a detective, he has to ask people questions all day and in a way that gives him useful answers.
I give him a look, and he asks the next question.
“How long have you been at the school?”
“I dunno, like… six months? Maybe seven. I moved when I changed districts to live with my new foster family.”
Seems like there’s more to it than that. Couldn’t he have taken a bus to his old school? Once he’s enrolled, they can’t just kick him out because he’s suddenly in a different district. I think.
“What’s your favourite class?” I ask, changing tactics.
“I like… sport.” The hesitation seems less like he isn’t sure and more like he isn’t comfortable admitting it. Why not? There’s no wrong answer to the question.
“Fitness is important.” I grin lopsidedly. “I hope it is since they make us do PT every morning.” Or as I like to call it, “torture time.” TT for short. No time for long words when we’re puking our guts up after laps around the oval.
“Doyoulike it?” Riley counters.
“Depends who’s running it. I might sit in a cockpit most of the day, but it’s hard, labour-intensive work, more than you’d think. So keeping fit is important.”
“Cockpit?”
“I’m a helicopter pilot.” Did I not say that already? Must have only mentioned the Army part. Details are hard to keep track of sometimes. There’s only so much room for things up there in my brain. And I like to leave a bit empty for important things. Like Grady and his dick. And flying. “I spend a lot of hours in the air.”
“Like really high up?” Riley looks a little queasy at the idea, and I can’t help but laugh. I’ve seen that look on many a person’s face when I talk about my job. The percentage of people with a fear of heights is weirdly high. But what is there not to like, being up there? You get to see everything, experience the world as a bird, and soar.
“Sometimes, yeah. We were up in the Blue Mountains just the other day for a training session. Those are my favourite. Not a fan of heights?”
“Uh, no.” He still looks a few seconds away from losing his dinner.
“I promise it’s not as scary as it sounds.” I never feel safer than I do when I’m in the air. No, that’s not true. I look over to Grady and smile in what I’m sure is a super-sappy way. I feel safest when I’m in his arms.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“And you, Grady, how was school?” I ask, my smile turning cheeky. I like the idea of starting this up with him. He could just tell me about what he ate for lunch; I’d be okay with that.
“You mean before I got stuck with this one?” Riley protests loudly, and we ignore him. “It was fine. Boring, even. We had a few interviews, Quinn ordered something new from the café around the corner for lunch and regretted it. He threw half of it in the bin and somehow managed to cajole one of his men to feed him instead.”
“Will, right?” That man would drop anything he was doing to feed someone. He used to swing by the base to eat with Peyton all the time.
