Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
The problem was this: once Jean started with Wayne, it was easy to talk about Sergio and Brayden and Louis. Maybe it was to fill the silence so his new teammates wouldn’t ask him for more than he wanted to give, but if he talked about the Ravens he couldn’t think about Grayson. The Trojans listened with an unwavering, keen interest that was deeply unsettling, as Jean had learned years ago that he had nothing of value to say. Jean was almost grateful when he ran out of things to dice and slice and finally had a reason to leave them all behind.
He made it to the kitchen doorway before Jeremy’s quiet voice stopped him: “You genuinely care about them.”
Jean went still but didn’t look back. It took Jeremy a moment more to find his voice again, and then all he managed was a hesitant, “Despite every unkind thing they’ve said about you this spring, you still care about them, don’t you?”
“I hate them,” Jean said, and left. It was the cold hard truth; it was a blatant lie. How could he possibly make these free-spirited children understand?
He almost went to his bedroom, but the thought of that quiet space with its single bed was so repulsive he turned toward the living room instead. It was cluttered and chaotic, but it felt lived-in. He could sense the others’ presence even if they weren’t around to bother him, and that was enough to take the edge off the loneliness eating at his heart.
He went straight to the bay window and pulled the blackout curtain open with a hard tug of his hand. He’d wanted light, but it still startled him a bit how bright it was outside. Jean settled on the cushioned seat, content to watch the world outside for a minute, and then finally dug his phone out of his pocket.
Jean tapped through his short list of contacts until he found Renee. His thoughts were too loud, but he didn’t bother putting any of them into words. Instead, he typed out the same message he’d sent her more times than he could count last semester when he needed her words to pull him out of his head: “Tell me something.”
It only took her a minute to get back to him, and Jean sat there and watched as a flurry of texts came in. She told him about Stephanie’s new house, with its corner lot backing up to a wooded park. She’d seen deer in the backyard from time to time but had yet to get a good picture of them. The squirrels and birds were apparently in an all-out war over the feeders in the yard, no matter how many Stephanie and Renee installed to appease them. On and on she went, offering tidbits of her life, and he used them like a lifeline to get away from his thoughts.
When Renee ran out of things to say, she didn’t send the same question back to him. She knew he’d messaged her so he wouldn’t have to think, so she wouldn’t set him back so carelessly. All she sent was, “It’s Friday, May 18th. Where are you now?”
She would take either answer, he knew: where were his thoughts, or where was he literally. Jean opted for a bit of truth and sent back, “Wayne Berger killed himself in therapy today.”
He looked out the window again, tracking the way the evening sun glinted off windows and cars. He couldn’t see bodies from here, but he could hear distant, exciting yelling from where someone was having a party. The blue house two doors down, most likely; they seemed the most popular residence when he and Cat were going back and forth to the grocery store.
Los Angeles was a monster, too big and too loud and too hectic. The Trojans were strange and misguided. There was a cardboard dog in his bedroom that Jeremy treated like a de facto member of the household. Jean didn’t understand any of it, but he knew on a bone-deep level that this was better than anything he’d ever had. It was worlds more than he deserved. He feared it as much as he wanted it; the thought that this was his life now was terrifying.
He wondered where Wayne lived and what he’d gone home to. He’d lost his ranking, his master, and his King, but was there no sunlight where he lived, no open sky to consider in dizzying wonder? Was Wayne running from what he had become, or was it the thought of returning to Evermore after this taste of freedom that killed him? Jean didn’t know. He’d never know. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t bring him back.
“He only had one year left,” Jean sent Renee, “and he couldn’t do it.”
coward washout traitor sellout reject whore
Why should he care if the Ravens fell apart?