One Small Thing(68)

“That’s enough.” His tone is low, rough and dangerous.

Troy leans away and folds his arms defensively across his chest. “Or what?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Jeff’s entire face turns into a thundercloud as he turns toward me. “You’re screwing Manson?” he hisses.

The deadly glint in his eyes sends a shiver up my spine. Meanwhile, Scar looks horrified, and everyone else is hanging on our every word in greedy interest.

My gaze meets Chase’s, briefly, and he gives an imperceptible shake of the head that only I see. I know what he’s telling me to do. And as much as I don’t want to, this Jeff bomb needs to be defused, ASAP.

“Of course not,” I say flatly. “Troy’s just talking out of his ass, as usual.”

Jeff relaxes. Barely.

Troy smirks at me. “Sorry, I forgot—you screw drug dealers, not killers.”

I frown, because what the heck is up with this drug dealer thing? Scar accused me of the same thing out in the hall. I don’t know any dealers, except for that kid Jay’s brother, whom I never even met.

But Troy’s remark takes the heat off Chase and causes Jeff to relax, so I force myself not to argue.

At the front of the room, Mrs. Russell taps her pen against the desk.

“Everyone take their seats.”

“Mrs. Russell, the class felon is in my space,” Troy calls out, suddenly brave again.

“I heard. Mr. Kendall, you can either respect your classmates or leave. Mr. Donnelly, sit down or you’ll get another mark in your record. Ms. Holmes, you can argue about desks with Ms. Levin after class. As for you, Ms. Jones, can you stop disrupting my classroom?”

We all take our seats. Jeff scowls. Scar stares at her desk. Chris spreads her things to every corner of the desktop, as if she’s staking the boundaries of her claim. Troy’s giggling behind me about some Manson shit again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chase shake his head in warning again. He’s probably upset I challenged Troy at all.

One small thing, I tell myself. Concentrate on one small, good thing.

I make a T with my fingers and after a moment, Chase gives me a brief nod. He’ll meet me tonight at the swing.

One small thing.

*

“Do you think Ms. Dvo?ák is the worst or Mrs. Russell? And don’t say that they’re not bad and that they’re just doing their jobs, because I’ll hit you.”

“I’m not a fan of Ms. Dvo?ák. Mostly because she doesn’t play enough pop music. I think her playlist is stuck in the sixties. Not that ‘Mashed Potato Time’ isn’t a fire song.”

The laughter flies out before I can stop it. I slap a hand over my mouth and we both send worried glances toward the house.

“Sorry,” I whisper to Chase.

He gives me one of his half smiles and leans back against the tree. We’re both clad in jeans and hoodies tonight, and I almost wish I’d worn a jacket, too. It’s October—the weather’s getting chillier. Soon it’ll be too cold to meet out here, so I’m already thinking up ways to sneak Chase into my bedroom. I’d go to his house if I could, but my parents get an alert every time a door or window is opened. Jerks.

“What are you going to do when you’re out of school?” I ask.

“Dunno. I haven’t given it much thought. I need to get my record expunged, but I can’t do that until my probation ends.”

“Which is when?”

“Next May.”

“Graduation will be a good time for you, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you thinking of college?”

“Community college, maybe.” He throws a pinecone toward his feet. There’s a pile of about six of them.

“Is the mayor refusing to help out?”

“I’m not taking money from him.”

This guy is way too proud for his own good. “What about your dad?”

Chase snorts softly. “What about him? I told you, we don’t speak.”

I rest my hand on his forearm and play with the frayed edge of his sleeve. “Have you thought about reaching out to him?”

“No way” is the immediate response.

I raise both eyebrows. “Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me to make peace with my parents?”

“Yes, because your parents are good people,” he says wryly. “My dad isn’t. He was verbally abusive to my mom. He bullied me into making basketball my entire life. And after I got arrested, he cut me out of his life. His own son. I don’t want someone like him in my life, Beth. And there’s no reason why he should be. Why? So he can pay for me to go to college? Even if he did, the money would come with strings. I’m not interested in his strings.”

I nod slowly. “I get it.”

“Anyway, I was thinking of learning a trade. I heard welding pays pretty good.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” I conjure up images of torches and masks.

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you should look at schools near Ames. I bet there are good trade schools there.” I say it lightly, but my intentions are so obvious I should probably just make up a sign that says Go to College with Me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, tossing another pinecone.