The Problem with Forever

It had come from Anna, who had held up her broken wrist and asked, “Have you ever broken a bone, Mallory?”

The spaghetti I’d been chasing around my plate had settled in my stomach as if each noodle was weighed down with lead. I’d gotten out a hoarse, “Yes.”

“Which one?” Keira asked, her dark eyes sharp.

The next two words were a little easier. “My nose.”

Luckily, no one asked how, probably because Jo’s boyfriend told us how his younger brother had broken his nose with a wiffle bat and ball, and I figured that took some talent. What I’d said during Thursday’s lunch wasn’t much, an accumulation of three words, but it was three words spoken in front of an entire tableful of people. As corny as it was, I was so...well, proud of myself that I told Carl and Rosa the moment I saw them late that night, after they got home from work.

They were proud, too.

And relieved.

There was no mistaking the quick, wordless exchange between them. I tried to not let it bother me. It wasn’t like they didn’t believe I could handle high school, but I knew they worried. I knew they were concerned that it would be too much, but I was doing it and I’d lasted longer than I had in middle school.

On Friday, Rider was hanging out by the entrance to the cafeteria, hands shoved in his pockets. Apparently, he’d decided to skip class again, and while I shouldn’t promote that behavior, I was happy to see him there. We didn’t get to chat much before speech or after, and he hadn’t made any impromptu visits. We went through the lunch line, and he grabbed what he had the first time—pizza and milk.

“Do you want to sit in here or outside?” I asked.

Rider’s lips curved up at the corner as he glanced over at Keira’s table. “Wherever you want. The world is your oyster.”

I grinned at that. I felt like if we went to the table, we wouldn’t have a chance to really talk. Plus, it had cooled down, as if summer had decided to make an early and hasty exit well before it was over. “Outside?”

No one stopped us as we headed out to the old picnic tables. Several of them were occupied, but we found an empty one. Rider sat beside me. Not across from me like some of the other students were sitting. He was close, his thigh nearly touching mine. I...I liked tha

t.

It made me super aware of him as he sat my tray in front of me. I caught each breath he took as he peeled open the milk carton and placed it on my tray, and I felt every shift on the bench as he rested his left elbow on the table.

I took a drink of my milk. “Do you get in trouble for skipping this class?”

He shrugged, causing his arm to brush against mine. I liked that, too, but I didn’t like the noncommittal answer. “Rider?”

Picking up his slice of pizza, he glanced over at me. “It doesn’t matter.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

He took a bite and once he’d chewed, he said, “I’ll pass the class in the end. So it doesn’t matter.”

Rider was smart. Even Keira had recognized that about him. As a kid, he picked up things faster than anyone else, but going to class did matter. I knew I sounded like a dork thinking that, but how did he not get in trouble? So I asked as I peeled off a piece of pepperoni.

He didn’t answer immediately. “Honestly? They don’t care.”

“Who?” I went to drop the slice of pepperoni on his plate, but he snagged it and popped it in his mouth. “The teachers?”

“Yep. I think what they expect from me is the bare minimum.” Taking a drink from his bottle of water, he grinned at me. “Like, showing up to class is enough.”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“The school doesn’t even call Mrs. Luna anymore. Stopped that back when...hell, when they realized I was a foster kid.” He snorted, and I couldn’t believe it. “Same with Paige and she’s not even in the system. It’s just because of where she lives. Hell, same with a lot of others. They see an address and they check out.”

Confused, I shook my head. “Your address?”

He shook his head. “Your address is the type that impresses them. Half this damn school? Hell no.” Stopping, he glanced at my plate. “You eating?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a child. I can...eat on my own.”

Rider raised a brow and there was no mistaking the slow slide that started at the top of my head and traveled downward. My cheeks pinked. “Trust me,” he said, his voice gruffer. Deeper. “I know that. Trying to wrap my head around it, but I know that.”