“Jesus, stop,” I told the runaway train of shit talk as I pocketed my phone. “Can I have a little hope for one fucking minute?”
“Talking to yourself again, Stratton?”
I looked up to see Frankie Dowd standing a few feet away,
“What do you want, Dowd?”
“Who me? I got nothing to say to Evelyn’s bitch.”
I snorted a laugh. If only he knew. I started to push past him, but he stepped in front of me.
“Where you going?”
“None of your fucking business.” I balled my hands into fists. “You going to move, or I do I have to move you?”
“How? You gonna sic your rabid dog on me?” He grinned like a loon. “Oh, that’s right. Wentz isn’t around, is he?”
Something in his knowing tone dripped down my spine like ice. I gripped Frankie by the collar and yanked him to me. “What do you know about it?”
He tore out of my grip and walked backward, hands outstretched. I wanted to punch the shit-eating grin off his face. “Don’t know a thing. See you around, bitch.”
When he was gone, I pulled out my phone again and shot a text to Ronan as I walked out of the school. Fuck going to gym.
Where U at?
I’d walked halfway home when the reply came.
City Hall picking up my citizenship award.
I gave a short laugh. Ronan was so much fucking smarter than anyone knew. Street smart and a smartass. But I recognized his deflections.
For real. U OK?
It was risky, prodding him even that much. He might go radio silent on me as a signal to mind my own business.
Stay out of my shit, Stratton.
Case in point.
But Ronan was being Ronan. I sighed with relief that he was okay, but I needed more assurances, and Evelyn’s news was like an electric current, zipping around my nerves and balling in my stomach. I needed to talk it out before I puked. I wanted to sit around a fire at the Shack with my friends. Ronan would give me no end of shit, while Holden would want to throw a party. And both reactions would mean everything to me.
And Violet…Violet would cry and tell me she’d known it all along. Because she’d believed in me since the beginning. I blinked hard until the phone came back into focus.
Shack 2nite? I texted.
I walked another block before the reply came.
Busy. Can you tell Lord P to put the fucking weights back when he’s done?
Another deflection. Ronan would never ask for a favor. Ever. Even one disguised as a gripe. I tried another tack.
Haven’t heard from H. U?
But I already knew Ronan was done talking.
“Fuck.” My concern for him ratcheted back up. I texted Holden, but there was no answer with him either. There wasn’t anything to do. My friends would talk when they wanted to talk. I had to respect that; I demanded the same from them.