Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Chris smiled a touch bitterly, twisting at the cap without really opening it, squeezing it so tight his knuckles turned stark and ridged. “Little juvenile delinquents, huh. Bet you’re wondering what I did that was the last straw, aren’t you?”
“I’m not. And I don’t think Dam—Mr. Louis is, either.” Rian shook his head. “I worry about every last one of the boys here. I don’t think they’re bad kids. I think they need their parents, not us, but we’re all they have so we’re doing our best. And if we can give them a safe space to work through their growing pains, that’s...something. But I’ve looked at your records, your intake files...there’s nothing there. Nothing about problems you’ve caused, nothing you’ve done to create a scandal...nothing at all. You’re just... Chris. And you have a perfect disciplinary record. So I have trouble understanding why your parents would want to hide you away here.”
“Guess they didn’t put that part in my records,” Chris said reluctantly. “Probably so people wouldn’t treat me any different. I’m an alumni baby. My dad graduated from here, and his dad, and his dad before. I guess my great-grandfather got some lady pregnant way back when and they sent him here to shape up, and he came out such a fine, upstanding citizen that now everyone in my family thinks we gotta go here if we want to turn out decent or something.”
“Oh,” Rian said, blinking. “That’s...well, I suppose that’s not too terrible.”
“...maybe not for you,” Chris muttered. “I just... I just wanted to be...”
“Normal,” Damon finished softly. “You wanted to go to a normal high school and be a normal boy with normal friends. Not this secret hideaway where everyone caters to every tiny thing you want, and tries to keep your entire existence a secret from the world.”
Chris struggled out a weak, troubled smile. “Yeah. Something like that. I don’t hate it here. And my friends here are really cool. I mean...it’s not so bad I wanna leave, it’s just not my favorite place. But...well...what’s that old song? Can’t always get what you want?”
“Forgot the other half, though.” Rian watched Chris, the little subtle cues of body language that gave away just how upset he was—something that ran deep, something behind whatever he wasn’t telling them. “But if you try sometimes...you might just get what you need. So what is it you need? Can’t hurt to tell us. Try it out.”
Chris screwed his face up. “I mean... I don’t really need anything?”
“Those bruises say otherwise,” Damon interjected. “If you’re not going to fill us in, we might have to get the police involved.”
For the second time, Chris rasped out a garbled “What?” and this time nearly dropped the orange juice bottle, fumbling with the bottle with one hand and the cap on the other, juice splashing out over his fingers before he managed to scramble enough to thunk the bottle solidly down and sling the cap onto it haphazardly while still holding his IV-pinned arm stiffly straight. Clutching at the bottle with wet fingers, he stared at them with a look of such horrified betrayal Rian felt as if he’d kicked a puppy. “You can’t do that; it’s not fair! I didn’t do anything wrong, and I didn’t break any laws!”
The entire room fell silent, even Nurse Hadley’s movements beyond the curtains stopping.
Rian and Damon simply watched Chris—and Rian could see the moment Chris realized he’d slipped. Because Rian knew without even asking that Damon had meant calling the police to investigate whoever was hurting Chris...
...but Chris had assumed he’d meant calling the police to punish Chris for whatever he might be involved in.
That...was a little too telling.
And suddenly that feeling of worry inside Rian expanded from a tiny little frustrated knot into a massive, heavy, deeply tangled thing that felt like it weighed as much as Rian himself, and more.
This could be worse than they’d thought.
A lot worse.
Chris lowered his eyes sharply, biting his lip as he carefully screwed the cap back on the orange juice bottle, then picked up a folded white paper napkin and started wiping at his fingers.
“I don’t want to talk anymore,” he mumbled. “I’m really tired, and I just want to eat and go back to sleep.”
Damon started to open his mouth—but Rian reached across the bed to touch his wrist, shaking his head and mouthing No.
Let it be.
Damon stiffened, then sighed, nodded, and withdrew, standing with his jeans rasping against the sheets as he slid off the bed. “Okay, Chris. We’ll let you rest. But what do you want us to tell your parents, if they call back?”
Chris shrugged listlessly. “They won’t,” was all he said.
Rian hated how certain he sounded.
But Rian held his tongue, and he and Damon filed from the room. Nurse Hadley caught Rian’s eye, and gave up any pretense of “organizing” shelves to follow them; the last Rian saw of Chris was Chris forlornly shredding the edge of his napkin, before Hadley closed the door behind them as they congregated out in the hall.