The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet 1)

Della shrank into the wooden chair, her fingers twirling and twisting her ribbon.

I squeezed her again as I growled at the principal. “If you tell me what happened, I can give you the answers you need. Our parents are busy. They’d prefer not to be dealing with nonsense.”

The principal shifted behind his desk, his greying hair slicked with oil. “This is not nonsense, boy.”

“Don’t call him boy,” Della piped up, her girlish voice cutting through the tension. She cowered as all eyes landed on her, mumbling, “It’s not Boy. It’s Ren.”

I smiled softly, letting her know how much I appreciated her having my back. “It’s fine, Della.”

She bit her lip, tears welling. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologise.”

“But—”

I shook my head sharply. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I beg to differ,” the principal said. “She told her fellow students how to kill, skin, and cook a rabbit while holding the class pet. She’s traumatized most of them, and I already have parents demanding to know how this could’ve happened.” His brown, beady eyes narrowed at Della then slid to me. “Do you mind telling me why a girl of her age knows such things?”

I gave him the same condensing look. “She knows because I told her.”

“Why tell her such terrible—”

“Because she needs to know the cost of life and death. She knows if she wants meat, she has to kill. She knows if she wants vegetables, she has to plant. She knows if she wants to survive, then things must die to achieve that.” I crossed my arms. “Isn’t that what education is about?”

“That may be the case, Mr. Wild, but we still need to talk to your parents.” The waitress-deputy teacher smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, but we really must insist.”

The atmosphere in the room changed from inquisition to punishment. My arms uncrossed, and I reached down for Della’s hand.

She grabbed it instantly, wedging her ribbon between our palms.

“When our parents are back in town, I’ll have them call you,” I said smooth as ice. “But now, I’m taking my sister and going home.”

Della leapt from the chair as I tugged her toward the door.

The closed door.

“Let us out,” I snarled at the principal.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Not until Social Services have met Della, yourself, your parents, and investigated the type of home you are currently being raised in.” He steepled his fingers importantly. “This is for your own protection, you understand. We’re not here to be the bad guys; just making sure you and Della are in a healthy environment and are happy.”

“We are happy,” I snapped. “Now open the door.”

The waitress stood from her chair beside the principal’s desk. “You’re free to leave, Ren. Go and call your parents and let them know how urgently we need to see them. But Della needs to stay here. I’ll look after her. I promise.”

Della blinked up at me, her eyes huge and hurting. “Ren…don’t leave me.”

My ribcage squeezed, making it hard to breathe. “Never.”

A ghost of a smile twitched her lips, trusting me even though I had no idea how I’d keep such a promise.

My mind raced, charging ahead, doing its best with its limited knowledge and teenage capabilities to figure out a way to stop Della from being taken and to give us enough time to disappear.

A thought popped into my head.

A risky, terrible idea but literally the only one I had.

I wished I could tell Della.

I wished I could warn her.

But there were too many eyes and ears in the room. I just had to hope she forgave me once it was all over.

With gritted teeth and pounding heart, I pried her hand from mine and pushed her back toward the chair. “Sit down. Stay here. I have to go.”

It took a moment for my voice to worm its way into her ears and drill a hole into her young understanding. “What?….No! No, you said you wouldn’t leave me. No!” She launched herself at me, sobbing wet and loud. “Ren! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry I told them about the rabbit. Please. I’m sorry! Ren, please!” She dissolved into tears, wrapping her shaking arms around the top of my thighs. “No. Please. Please don’t go. Please, please, don’t leave me.” She looked up with blotchy cheeks and gut-wrenching sadness, and my heart literally cracked in two.

I bled a river inside, hot and red and painful.

I swallowed back the guilt and the all-powerful desire to stop her tears, and forced myself forward with the plan.

The only plan.

“Our parents arrive back today, remember?” I cupped her chin, willing her to understand. “The Social people will bring you to the farm, and they’ll sit down with Mum and Dad, and this will all be fine, okay?”

Normally, Della would read between the lines—her whip fast intelligence picking up on my lie and realising, if not completely understanding, that this was a lie and lies were our weapons.