The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(80)

“That poor boy,” she says softly. “I don’t know what kind of record he brought with him from Michigan City, but I’ll call the station right now.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Half an hour later, my aunt sighs, her shoulders rounded in disappointment. I already know she has bad news. “I tried, Sage. But I’m not his guardian, and apparently, he has a list of offenses.”

“Did they tell you what?”

“He wasn’t supposed to, but I’ve known Officer Delaney since grade school. Breaking and entering, theft, damage to private property, vandalism, possession of an illegal substance, and there would’ve been an assault if the other kid had pressed charges.”

That’s no worse than I expected. He did tell me he was out of control when he lived with Mike, his mother’s friend. Since his mom had just died, I can understand why he lost it. I suspect he thought it didn’t matter what he did. Who would care? I wish he had gotten to tell me about this stuff himself, but maybe he’s like me, thinking I wouldn’t want to be with him if I knew exactly who he is. Or more accurately, who he was.

I sigh audibly. “Dylan’s not the type to let this go.”

“Then … I’m sorry, honey.” She sounds genuinely regretful that she can’t fix it.

This is a lesson, huh? Some actions have consequences that can’t be waved away. Guilt squats in the pit of my stomach. If I hadn’t tried to fix everything for Shane and Lila, it would’ve been fine. I started this by challenging Dylan. And now things are just so screwed up.

“Is there anything I can do to help while I’m here?”

“If you don’t mind. You can wrap those crystals in tissue paper, then pack them in the boxes with the biodegradable peanuts.”

It’s mindless work, but Aunt Gabby and I parcel up like thirty Internet orders by the time the shop closes. As she locks the front door, I say, “I’m heading home if that’s okay.”

“Why don’t you wait for me? It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“Yeah, it has, but … don’t put me on lockdown. I’m coping. Trust me, okay?”

She stares at me for a long moment before offering a reluctant nod. “Fine. But be careful. I just have to balance the cash, then I’ll be there.”

I nod, slipping out the back. A few minutes later, my legs pump mechanically, making the wheels of the bike turn. It’s good I could find our house in my sleep because my brain is mostly turned off. I can’t believe Shane’s gone. He won’t be at school tomorrow, or on Monday. The worst part is, I can’t even imagine what it will be like for him. I’ve never been to juvie, so I picture it like prison for young people with bars on the windows or maybe even cells for them to sleep in.

The group home was a cluster of brick cottages. Each one housed ten boys or girls, and I shared a room. Our bathroom time was tightly scheduled and supervised. During the week, we ate in a big hall together, but on weekends, the workers cooked for us in the cottages. Depending on who was on duty, this could be better or worse than institutional food.

Shane’s probably still in lockup, though. How long will they keep him there while they try to get in touch with his dad? Before I know it, I’m outside our house. Part of me wants to keep riding, keep the wheels moving until I’m lost. I don’t deserve to sleep in a warm bed tonight. Though I didn’t ask Shane to do that, he decimated Dylan because of me. It kills me that he could shake off their shit all day, but he lost his mind over me.

It hurts to breathe.

For a few seconds, I consider asking my aunt to call in a refill for my prescription. I had no problems with unruly emotions then … mostly because I didn’t feel anything at all. But that seems cheap, like I don’t care enough about Shane to feel this way for him, after what he did for me. Nobody’s ever fought for me before. Aunt Gabby can say what she wants about violence not solving problems, but a tiny part of me is elated. Not that he’s gone, never that. But that he cared enough to do it.

So I go inside, determined to cope without chemical aids. Over dinner later, I ask my aunt to find out what she can about juvie rules, if Shane can have visitors, if so, when. I don’t even know where the nearest juvenile detention facility is.

“It’s about an hour away,” she tells me. “I could drive you.”

Silently I shake my head. If my first trip in a car is to see Shane while he’s locked up, it’ll just be another awful association. The boycott stands.

I tilt my head, considering. That’s sixty miles or so. It’ll take at least five hours to ride that far. And then there’s the return trip. But I’ll totally do it. I can start at daylight, get there in time for a visit, then make the return trip before it’s too late.

“I’ll make some more calls tomorrow, see what I can find out,” my aunt promises.

“Thanks.”

I don’t sleep much that night. Ryan and Lila both text me, but Shane’s number is silent. They’ve probably confiscated his phone. I can’t help being glad that his guitar is at the trailer, where nobody can take it. I don’t reply to my friends, mostly because I don’t know what to say. Maybe I’ll have some idea in the morning.

School is quiet the next day, like everyone’s trying to pretend things are okay. I’m back to being invisible. Nobody calls me princess, but they aren’t shying away, either. I’m tempted to give up on the Post-its, but then I remember Shane said he liked that about me—that I care if somebody’s having a bad day. I notice the jocks knocking the books out of this freshman’s hands, casually, not intentionally, so even though my heart’s not in it, I write a note and stick it on a her locker. You have a nice smile. True, as her braces came off recently, and it seems to cheer her up.