Underneath the Sycamore Tree(31)

“He gave up his room, you know.”

His words stop me again from walking further away. I want to go to my room, change into my pajamas, and go to sleep.

“What do you mean?” I ask instead.

Dad walks over to me. “When Cam and I told him you were moving here, he moved into the spare bedroom. It’s smaller than the one you have and doesn’t come with its own bathroom.”

My lips part in shock. The room’s colors are mild enough to fit Kaiden. All dark tones. I’ve seen his bedroom before to know he’s got all black bedding and sheets, posters of people I don’t know on his walls, and dark furniture. I wouldn’t have guessed my room ever housed him, much less that he’d be willing to give it up for someone he dislikes so much.

“Kaiden is troubled,” he tells me when I make no move to answer. “But there is far more to him than any of us gives him credit for. We try giving him space thinking it’ll help, but I know we might be giving him too much. I don’t think he’d accept me trying to build a bond with him at this point. But you…”

He gave up his room for me?

“I can’t offer him anything.”

“That isn’t true.” His tone is firm, confident in the statement I’m sure is false. “If there is anyone in this world who can break past his shell, it’s you. You’re strong, Em. Stronger than me and your mother combined.”

I don’t say anything.

I go to my room.

Or…not my room.

Kaiden’s room.

But before I can enter, I’m pulled back and pushed against the wall. I’m too startled to make a noise and freeze in the grip Kaiden has on my upper arm. My elbow aches despite his palm barely squeezing me, but my joints are tender, and he isn’t exactly being gentle either.

“You don’t know shit about me,” he hisses so low I almost miss it. His hot breath hits my face and makes me wince further into the wall behind me. “Don’t talk to your father about me, and don’t assume you know what’s best. You don’t and you never will.”

Holding my breath when he lets go of my arm, I count to five before letting it out. The area he grabbed me stings, but I push it away. “I know you gave up your room for me.”

Nothing.

“And I know your father passed away.”

Still nothing.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” he warns.

“—sorry.”

His nostrils flare as he steps back. “I don’t want your fucking sympathy.”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to go home.”

I frown.

“Your mother needs you,” he states.

My eyes narrow. “Funny,” I retort. “So does yours.”

He looks like he wants to say something but chooses to smack the wall before turning back to his room. His door slams again, leaving me standing abandoned in the hallway.

I look at my arm.

It’s already starting to bruise.

I need more iron pills.





Chapter Thirteen





Annabel from Book Club tells me about what I missed, which was a whole lot of nothing. It’s nice though, even if Mr. Nichols told her to catch me up. She didn’t have to.

I tell her I like her shirt. It has the Superman emblem on the pocket. Lo and I would sometimes catch Mama watching Smallville, but neither of us followed what was happening. We’d go outside and play instead.

Annabel and I don’t talk much after that. It isn’t like I expect her to keep the conversation flowing. I’ve never really had friends before. I used to think it was because nobody knew how to deal with the sick girl or the girl who lost her twin, but no one here knows any of that.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s better. Kaiden is doing me a favor by making sure everyone leaves me alone.

When I’m changing in gym, one of the girls whispers when she sees the light purple bruise on my arm. Nobody can tell it’s a palm print, but it wraps around the skin like one.

I never bruised so easily before. Once I fell out of a tree Lo and I were climbing and only got a little scratch. Now it takes someone accidently bumping into me in the halls for little ones to pop up on my body. The first time I noticed them was a few weeks before moving in with Dad. I bumped my hip into the wall and noticed a large blue and purple mark that night. Grandma playfully swatted me with her crossword puzzle one time. An ugly brown bruise formed.

Frowning, I tug on my sleeve until it’s hidden. The last thing I need are rumors spreading about some sort of abuse at home. There was a boy at my old school who lied about his mother hitting him and when Child Protective Services got involved, a lot of bad things happened.

I may not be happy where I am, but I’m content. Sometimes that’s better than nothing.

The gym teacher has us do four laps around the room. I’m out of breath by the first one, while everyone speeds past me. Girls laugh in their groups over unknown gossip, boys joke about the girls. They mostly ignore me other than to move around my turtle-pace form.

I walk the last two despite everyone else moving on to the lesson. My last gym teacher wouldn’t have allowed that, but I’m grateful they pay my red face and heaving body no attention. I could get a note and excuse myself from even bothering with this class, but I don’t want to.