My heart beat like a drum inside my chest. I was looking this way because I was conflicted. I had too many emotions piling in that I’d forced away for so long. The resentment, the fear, the loneliness, the uncontrollable need for love and safety and hunger for someone’s help.
“What can I do for you? Let me help you.” It was as if he’d read my mind.
I glanced away as footsteps began to come down the hall. I knew I needed to open the door that sat behind my back and go to class, but I couldn’t move. I was stuck. My mouth was glued shut even though there were screams for help pounding inside my head.
Eventually, I opened my mouth, knowing very well that we needed to take a step away from one another. I was becoming too attached. Too lenient. “You are helping me, Isaiah. You’re giving me a way out.”
He shook his head angrily, dropping his hands. “No. I’m giving you a way to run.” His jaw tensed as he sliced his eyes to the teacher that was walking down the hall. “Tell me what he’s done, and I’ll make him pay.”
Fear flashed within as I knew very well who he was referring to. “I don’t want you anywhere near my uncle.” I hardly recognized my voice. It attributed strength, and my determination to keep him far away from anything even coming close to Richard was unsparing. It surprised me.
“I am not afraid of Judge Stallard,” he said point-blank, features unmoving.
“You should be.”
A throat was cleared, and Isaiah and I ended our conversation abruptly, which I was more than thankful for. “Gemma, if you’ll head into class, I’ll be right behind you.” Mr. Hobbs raised an eyebrow at Isaiah as he backed away from me.
Isaiah’s expression told me that he didn’t think the conversation was over between us, but it was.
Later that day, Sloane and I sat on the bleachers with the sun dipping behind the clou
ds every so often, watching the boys at lacrosse. My sketchbook sat in between my knees, and the phone Isaiah had given me was clenched in my fingers as I revisited the Covenant Psychiatric Hospital’s website again.
“You and Isaiah were a hot subject matter on the blog today,” she started before tearing into a bag of Twizzlers. We were both still in our school uniforms, but I suddenly wished we would have changed, because now that we were nearing November, the weather was drastically getting colder, day by day.
“We were?” I asked, glancing at the side of her face.
She nodded, eyes still on the field. “No need to pull it up on your phone. The blog is already down.” Sloane ripped some of the red rope candy from the pack and handed it to me. I glanced at it with suspicion but ate it anyway, and I almost moaned at how good it tasted.
“The blog is already down?”
“Yep.” She laughed. “It seems every time you’re featured on it, it gets taken down immediately.”
I swallowed the last of my Twizzler, and Sloane put another one in my hand. I smiled. “What did the blog say?”
Someone yelled from below during the boys’ practice, and I was pretty certain it was Mica. He was jogging with his stick and laughing at something, his bright-white smile so contrasting to his rich skin. Sloane shifted beside me, but I kept my eyes on the field. “It was just talking about how you were able to save Bain from an epic beating, and…it questioned your friendship and tutoring obligations with Isaiah. Oh, and there was some speculation as to why Bain and Isaiah hate each other so much.” She paused before asking, “Why do they hate each other so much? Do you know?”
I stilled for a split second, not really knowing what to say. “Something that happened in the past, I think.”
“Interesting. So you and Isaiah don’t talk about that kind of stuff during tutoring? Or when he claimed you the other night, which by the way, I’m still not forgetting that you have yet to fill me in on what you did for the rest of the night. You two were long gone by the time the party lights came back on.”
I opened my mouth, but she cut me off. “And do not tell me you two were studying. I’m not stupid. Isaiah is probably making you keep secrets…” She let out a sad laugh. “Those Rebels have too many secrets. And they’re arrogant about it too.”
I eyed her from the corner of my eye. “Why do you hate them so much?”
Sloane’s fingers clamped onto the Twizzler bag, and I instantly felt bad for calling her out, but Sloane was sort of a closed book. Anytime Mercedes or I would ask her a question that had some substance, she was quick to change the subject. It wasn't obvious, but I was observant when I needed to be.
“I don’t hate them. I only hate Cade.”
“But why?” I asked, now fully seated toward her. I put my phone down, and she looked up at me briefly. Her eyes were troubled, and without knowledge of even doing so, I found my hand on her knee. “You’re right, Sloane,” I said, whispering even though no one was even close enough to hear us. “Isaiah does have secrets. But everyone does.” I took a deep breath. “You can trust me with yours—if you want to, I mean.” The conversation was beginning to make my skin itch. I wasn't sure if I was saying the right things to her or if she knew I was being genuine. And how fair was it for her to tell me her secrets, but for me to keep mine?
Her hand fell on top of mine. “I know that.” Her pink lips tugged down. “I just feel…” She looked back out to the lacrosse field, and I followed. I immediately caught Isaiah’s stare, and my heart flip-flopped. How does he make me react from so far away?
Sloane cut back in. “I don’t want to put anything else on your shoulders. You are already…”
“Already what?”
“Troubled. I can just...tell that you’re troubled with something.” She looked at my covered wrist, and I shamefully pulled my hand away from her leg, but she was right.