Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
“Thanks.” I stand next to the open door while he crosses the room and picks up a small, spiral-bound ledger off of a bookshelf. He doesn’t bother counting the money—just scribbles out a receipt, tears it out of the book, and returns to me.
“You covering her place and yours now?” He doesn’t ask it in an unkind way—more like concern that he might have to fill a vacant apartment, or two, one day soon.
“Does it matter?” I ask.
He pushes the receipt toward me. “I guess not.” His gaze narrows on my face and he taps his own forehead. “You all right?”
I reach up, my fingers flittering over the cut Molly bandaged for me. “Yeah. Took a kick to the head in the ring tonight.”
“Griff…” He shakes his head but doesn’t finish the thought.
I grab the receipt. “We good?”
“Yup.” He runs his gaze over me again. “Get some rest, kid.”
“Planning to. Got a long ride tomorrow.”
He shakes his head but a smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “God bless ya. To be young again and have your energy.”
There doesn’t seem to be a polite response to that, so I chuckle, thank him, then head upstairs to my own apartment.
As soon as I’m alone in my room, my thoughts return to Molly. Then Remy. How the fuck am I supposed to spend the day with him tomorrow without spilling my guts? He’s my best friend. Like a brother to me for more than half my life. We’ve never kept secrets from each other.
But I guess I’ll have to start now.
CHAPTER FOUR
Griff
Griff, nine years old.
Johnsonville Elementary School.
A ferocious roar rattled my stomach as I slid my tray toward the lunch lady.
Her uncaring eyes snaked over my bony shoulders. Contempt curled her sticky-looking orange lips. “One dollar.”
The stiff denim of my too-tight pants scratched my knuckles as I jammed my hand in the front pocket. There was nothing but a nickel, a pebble, and a ball of lint at the bottom, but maybe the money would appear like magic.
With a hesitant smile on my shaky lips, I held out the nickel.
“Not today, Royal.” She scoffed as she said my last name. “You still owe two dollars and fifteen cents in fines from last week.”
As if it wanted to consume the lump of meat covered in red sauce before it was snatched away, my stomach lurched.
“Royal.” Someone snickered behind me. “More like beggar.”
I’d pleaded with my mother to call the school and pay my lunch bill. Her answer had been to swear no one would let such a “cute face” starve.
“Get out of the way, beggar!” someone else yelled.
Heat crawled over my skin.
“Shut the fuck up,” a rougher voice said.
“Hey!”
“Watch your mouth, Holt!” another lunch lady behind the counter shouted.
Too embarrassed to turn around and check out the scuffle, I stood frozen. Maybe I could sneak away with my lunch tray without Orange Lips noticing?
A firm shoulder brushed against mine. I flinched and dared to peek at the intruder.
“Proud of yourself for lettin’ a kid starve over two bucks?” My defender sneered at the lunch lady.
He was tall, wiry, and brimming with energy and anger. A fifth grader, maybe. I hadn’t been at the school long enough to know everyone yet.
“It’s the rules,” she answered with an indifferent shrug.
He slammed his tray down in front of mine. Behind us, the crowd went silent.
“Here.” Coins jingled and clattered.
I glanced at the kid again. The corner of his mouth slid up and he winked at me. My gaze dropped to the pile of change in his palm as he slowly counted out enough to cover our meals and my fines.
“There. That should be enough.” He smirked at the lunch lady.
“Thank you, Remington.” She swept the change off the counter, deliberately examining each dime and nickel as she dropped them into her drawer. “Now, beat it. You’re holding up the line.”
“Come on.” Remington nudged me with his elbow and jerked his head toward the cafeteria.
Mortified, but grateful and curious, I grabbed my tray and followed. “Thank you for doing that,” I said as I fell in step with him.
“It’s bullshit.” He lifted his tray. “Dogs shouldn’t eat this garbage. Kids shouldn’t have to pay for it.”
“Uh, yeah.” I hurried to keep up with him.
He banged his tray onto a table in the back of the large, crowded cafeteria, not bothering to ask the other kids if we could join them. Everyone seemed afraid of his presence, either offering a quick, mumbled greeting or looking away. Remington didn’t seem to notice or care.
“How long you been here?” he asked, stabbing his plastic spork into the center of the glob of meat on his plate.
“Couple weeks.” Switching schools mid-year had sucked.
“Is Royal your first or last name?”
“Last. It’s Griffin…everyone calls me Griff, though.”
He nodded once. “What grade, Griff?”
“Fourth.”
“Sparks or Sheely?”