“Oh. Okay. What’s up?”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with the Lost Boys,” he said, the words coming out more like a statement than a question. I had gotten used to even the teachers referring to the trio as the “Lost Boys”. Even in classes, they ended up being a package deal in everything that they did. This was no different.
But why Mr. Tyson cared, and why he cared about my ties to the boys themselves, made me a little apprehensive.
“Um. Yes.” I rocked on the balls of my feet. “They’ve helped me adjust here well.”
He squinted slightly. “Is that what they’re doing? Helping you adjust?”
His keen interest was unnerving. I shifted where I stood, uncomfortable with the way he’d worded it. As if he knew every detail of our arrangement—maybe even that what existed between us had spiraled far beyond the original agreement.
“Yup. That’s what they’re doing,” I insisted, keeping my voice firm. “They’re my friends. Mr. Tyson, w
hat is the point of these questions—”
“You shouldn’t be associating with them.”
My jaw dropped open slightly. His previous comment about them helping me “adjust” had given me the distinct impression that he disapproved, but I hadn’t expected him to just come right out and say it so bluntly.
“You’re a smart girl, Cordelia,” he continued, gazing at me from across his desk. He had ash-brown hair and a slightly long face; he was probably in his early or mid-thirties, although it looked like this job had aged him a little quicker than maybe another career would have. “I don’t need to explain to you why those boys aren’t the kind of people a girl like you needs to be hanging out with.”
My cheeks heated with a sudden flash of anger. “A girl like me?”
He gave me an indulgent look, tipping his head to one side.
“Yes. A bright girl who has a future ahead of her. The Lost Boys run Slateview; I’m sure you know that already. But it doesn’t mean they’re on their way to doing anything good with the rest of their lives. Just promise me you’ll think about it, and please be smart. I know you know what’s truly best for you, and I know you know that their interest in you hardly started out with pure intentions.”
I couldn’t think of a single damn thing to say to that. How much did he know? How did he know?
With a small, satisfied nod, Mr. Tyson dismissed me, leaving our conversation at that. I still couldn’t speak to protest, and even if I did, what was I supposed to say to a declaration like that?
I didn’t tell the guys about my conversation with Mr. Tyson, though it stayed with me the whole day.
Why would he pull me aside to tell me to stay away from the boys when the most he’d ever spoken to me before was to tell me I had done well on a test?
Whatever the reason, it had left me feeling off-balance. I trusted the Lost Boys, but Mr. Tyson’s warning had been a reminder that, no matter how hard I kept treading water, I was in over my head. But between dealing with Mom, Dad, and figuring out what I needed to do about Flint, I didn’t have time to mull over his strange proclamation too much.
Just keep swimming. Just keep moving.
By the end of eighth period, I had finally shoved my strange conversation with the teacher to the back of my mind. I grabbed my backpack and swung it over my shoulder, nodding to Mrs. Hall as I left the classroom. At least she didn’t pull me aside and issue dire warnings about the guys I was hanging out with—although that might’ve been partly because she looked like she was half-asleep. She was a nice woman, but she always seemed dazed and exhausted, and her class was so poorly run it was basically like having a free period.
Ever since the day they’d picked me up and stopped at Burger King for breakfast, it’d become habit for me to ride with the Lost Boys to and from school. They were all waiting for me as I approached the beat-up convertible, which was parked in its usual spot. But something was different.
The three boys were lounging in a row against the side of the car, their gazes trained on me as I approached—as if they’d been waiting for me for some other reason than to just give me a ride. The conversation with Mr. Tyson popped back to the surface of my mind suddenly, and a small ripple of fear moved through me.
What’s going on? What’s changed?
But the guys didn’t look mad or upset. In fact, Misael was smiling broadly, and he held out a small box to me when I approached. It was black, just bigger than a ring box, with a small satin ribbon wrapped around it. I raised a brow as I glanced at it.
“What’s this?” I asked, taking the box. It wasn’t heavy, but I could feel the light weight of something inside. I held it, turning it over in my hands.
“Open it up. You’ll see. It’s from all of us.” Misael was practically bouncing on his toes with excitement, and even Kace and Bishop were watching me with keen interest.
Oh my God. They got me a gift.
The worry that’d been twisting my stomach evaporated. Screw Mr. Tyson. He didn’t have a right to get in my head about stuff he didn’t understand. I knew that from the outside, this thing between the four of us probably looked strange and messed up. But I was happier now than I’d been since I came to Slateview, and maybe even since before that. The Lost Boys made me happy, and I wasn’t going to let go of that just because a too-observant teacher with a need to fix his student’s lives had poked his nose into mine.
Smiling softly at Misael, I pulled the satin ribbon off and opened it. My jaw dropped slightly, and a small breath escaped my lips.