By Your Side(17)

“I have one more chance, okay?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to end up in a group home. If I get one more strike, that’s where I’m headed. I wouldn’t last a day in there. They have curfews and rules. I need my freedom.”

I folded my arms across my chest and let out a puff of air. “So why are you here? Really?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Does it matter?”

“Yes. It could be the difference between me pulling that alarm when you’re asleep or not.”

“You’re blackmailing me for information?”

“Let’s call it sharing between friends.”

He shook his head and a smile stole across his face. There was something very satisfying about a smile that had to be earned. It was gone as fast as it had appeared. “My stuff was on the porch. I was heading toward the canyon when it started to snow. That’s it. Will you leave the alarm alone now?”

“Wait . . . what? Your foster parents put your sleeping bag and duffel on the porch?” Was that why he really didn’t have a charger for his phone? Because he hadn’t packed his own bag? “Why did they do that?”

“I don’t know. They’re probably having a members-only Tupperware party tonight. I don’t ask questions. I don’t care.”

“At least they packed you a toothbrush.” I was trying to find the positive in this when it was obvious there was nothing good about it.

“I always have my own bag packed, ready to go. I like to sleep up in the canyon sometimes. It’s amazing up there. But I don’t like sleeping in the snow.”

“So you came here.”

“Yes. Mystery solved. See, not as seedy as you probably imagined.”

No, it was actually worse than I’d imagined. Who did that? Who put a teenager out on the street to fend for himself so they could do . . . what were they doing that they didn’t want him there for?

“Will the whole school know about this on Tuesday or just half?”

“No. I mean, of course not. I won’t tell anyone.” But maybe I should tell someone. My parents or something. He shouldn’t have to live like that.

My thoughts must’ve been written all over my face again because he said, “Autumn. Do I look like I’m not taken care of?”

I looked him up and down. He was right. He didn’t look starved. He had a lean body but it was strong. His skin was smooth, no dark circles under his eyes or anything. His hair was thick. He looked really good, in fact. Really good. My cheeks went hot and I stopped my analysis of him immediately. “No. You look . . . It’s just—”

“Then let’s move on. I’m fine.” He pointed to the fire alarm. “Don’t touch.”

His story and the fact that I actually wasn’t sure that the whole library wouldn’t be soaked with the sprinklers if I pulled the lever made my decision for me. I could stay here. This was no big deal. He had way more to lose than I did. I held up my hands. “Fine.”

“Two days. You can last two days. I have a couple of protein bars in my bag. You can have them.”

I wasn’t going to eat those all by myself. I’d feel terrible. “Do you normally give yourself so little food when camping?”

“I’m normally not locked inside a building. I really hadn’t planned on the library. It was a last minute decision.”

I rubbed my arms. “Is this building really warmer than camping in the snow?”

He smiled.

“Can we at least try to turn up the heat?”

We stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the thermostat. Dax had used his knife to pry open the small lock. He was now pushing the On button, but it would only flash then turn back off.

“Maybe it’s programmed for certain hours,” he said.

“Let me try.”

“You can push a button differently than me?”

I nudged him with my shoulder. “Maybe.” I pushed the Up arrow several times, hoping to turn up the heat, but this time it didn’t even pretend like it was trying. I flipped open the panel. On the back side were instructions on how to program it, but even following them to the letter did nothing.

“You can wear this sweatshirt too if you want.” He pulled on the front of the one he had on.

“No, that’s okay. I’m fine for now. I just feel like it’s only going to get colder.”

“It’s probably not turned off, just down. They wouldn’t want the pipes to freeze.”

He was right—maybe this was as cold as it would get. “I hate being cold.” I turned toward him. “I especially hate cold ears. Feel them.”

“Feel your ears?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

When it was obvious he wasn’t going to do it himself, I took him by the wrists and directed his hands onto my ears. We were now facing each other. He was half a foot taller, and I looked up to meet his eyes. His hands felt warm, so I knew my ears must’ve been as cold as I knew they would be. “See. Cold.”

He didn’t say a word, just stared at me.

I felt stupid so I took a step back. “Socks. Maybe I can borrow a pair of your socks.”

“For your ears?”

I smiled. “For my feet.”