"I won't do it," he says finally. "I just think about it. But I don't have it in me."
"I don't want you towantto do it either. I want you to want to live. Even if life is messy and horrible sometimes. It's still better than being dead."
"I'll try," he says quietly, and I know he's done speaking. We're quiet for at least ten more minutes.
The moon slides from behind a bank of clouds. Bright, oversized. I glance at Miles and realize he's staring at it, unblinking.
"Fun fact," he says. "Tonight's a waxing gibbous. Almost full. The next time it's this full, it'll be almost exactly four weeks from now."
"How do you know that?"
He shrugs. "I memorized the lunar cycle. I look at the moon every night." He wipes his eyes again. Not crying anymore, but close.
"We can come up here more often," I tell him. He shakes his head.
"Nah."
I know he doesn't want to get in trouble, and he doesn'twant me in trouble either.
I don't know how long we stay. I don't want to leave. But eventually he stands and glances back at me. "Let's go." I know he feels better, and that's all I want.
I also know we've been up here over an hour. Way past bedtime. Giant chance we're fucked. I don't say anything. He knows too.
The climb down is a hundred times harder than the climb up. Gravity is an asshole. Every muscle in my arms screams as I lower myself, trying not to fall or break a bone. Miles barely needs help. He just jumps down, maybe hoping the hospital stay thing becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.
We almost make it to our room. Almost.
Everything is silent and dark, which isn't good, it's terrible. They always do roll call before bed, going to each room. Sometimes they're lazy, don't count properly, just peek through the little window. I pray again that tonight is one of those times.
Then there's a flashlight.
"Stay right there." Night shift guard. Steve, or Stephen, I can never remember. Tall, bald, dark skin, dark eyes. Not happy. He keeps the light in our faces as he closes the gap. "It's past curfew. Why aren't you in your room?"
Miles stares at his feet. I open my mouth, try to think of a lie, but my stomach is burning, and I forget how to speak. This is on me. I took him up there. I didn't watch the clock.
That's when I spot a shadow. Small, instantly familiar. Liam. His hair sticking up in all directions, wearing the same sweatshirt from after dinner, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The doors are only really locked during Quiet Time, for safety reasons.
"It's my fault, sir. I was with them," he says before the guard can ask. "We were in the library. I took them there."
Steve-Stephen is unconvinced. He flicks the light betweenus. "Three of you, out after lights? What the hell were you really doing?"
Liam doesn't hesitate. "We lost track of time." He looks at me, then at Miles, and I know exactly what he's doing. He's going to own the whole thing. "I'm sorry, sir, please let us go this time," he adds. Best puppy eyes. His voice so smooth, so practiced, I almost believe it.
The guard gestures us forward. "Let's go. You're all going to explain this to Griff."
The three of us walk the hallway. Miles and Liam keep their eyes down. Liam knows if he looks at me, I'll glare at him. How dare he put himself at risk like that.
Griff's office door is slightly open, lights on. He's working late. Almost 10 PM. He should be heading home soon. He doesn't want to deal with our shit.
"What's this?" he asks.
"Caught these three out after curfew. They claim to have been in the library."
Griff folds his arms. "That so?"
"Yes, sir," Liam says, and looks Griff dead in the eye. "It's my fault. I said I needed help, and they followed me. Sometimes I get, like, claustrophobia if I'm stuck in a room too long. We lost track of time. It's all on me."
He delivers it like a script. Griff doesn't buy it for a second, but he lets the silence stretch, seeing who cracks first. Miles keeps his eyes on the floor. I glance at Liam, trying to signal that I'll take my share, but he shakes his head. Almost imperceptible. He wants this.
