Page 81 of Even Exchange

Another twenty minutes of improving their offensive line, and we get to break for lunch. I shove the clipboard in my backpack on the metal bench. My eyes scan for Charlotte, but the cheerleaders had weight training this morning so she must still be at the gym.

“What the hell, Cap?” Theo says, gripping my shoulders and shaking me. “Heard you made our boys look like fools.”

“Well, if they can’t tighten up, that’s not on me,” I say with a smirk.

“We’ll give you a pass since it’s your birthday,” Elijah says, joining us.

I throw my backpack over one shoulder and rotate the hat I was wearing backwards. “How kind of you.”

“Happy birthday to you!” they sing in unison, Elijah throwing an arm over my shoulder.

“Oh my god, stop,” I beg.

“Happy birthday to you!” they screech, others around us joining in as we walk toward the cafeteria. “Happy birthday to Noahhhhhh. Happy birthday to you.”

“Thanks, guys,” I say, nudging Elijah off me. “I gotta head back to my cabin and drop my bag off. I’ll meet you in the cafeteria?”

“Yeah, right,” Theo says. “You’re probably headed for somebirthday sex.”

“Dude.” I glare at him.

“Later,” he says, with a brow waggle.

When I enter the cabin, my phone buzzes. I shut the door and pull it out.

Tri County Correctional Institute.

Rolling my eyes, I ignore the call, shoving the phone back into my pocket.

Every year he tries, and every year I ignore him, hoping it’ll be the last time.

Why won’t he leave me the fuck alone?

Does he really think I want to talk to him?

It’s been eight years, and every single time, the phone rings, my muscles seize up, and I’m fourteen years old, the cold metal in my hand.

I fight the urge to spiral, tossing my backpack on the bed.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Blowing out a breath, I walk over to the door and throw it open. The weight on my chest is instantly lifted at the sight of Charlotte with a full-toothed smile, holding a hand behind her back.

“Close your eyes,” she says, and I eagerly oblige. “Hold out your hands.” I do as instructed, and after a minute of shuffling sounds, a small object is placed in my palms. “Okay, you can look.”

My eyes pop open to the sight of a plastic container hosting one of my favorite desserts, albeit store-bought, and a lit candle sticking out the top.

“Make a wish,” she tells me.

Without a second thought, I blow out the flame.

“It kills me I couldn’t bake you a cake from scratch, but I tried to at least find something I know you like,” she says, shifting in place. “And you’ve mentioned a few times how good your mom’s tiramisù is. I’m sure this doesn’t even come close to live up but?—”

“It’s perfect,” I say, my heart squeezing at the thoughtful gesture. “Thank you.”

“Ready for lunch?” Charlotte asks, and I close the plastic lid to protect my little treat.

“Starving,” I say, reaching out my hand, and she looks down at it, smile deepening as she takes it.

---