Page 12 of A Scandal in Homeroom
I keyed my password, then did the first thing I always did when I opened up my laptop: I checked my bank account balance.
The numbers made me smile. There were times I wish I could actually physically go to the bank and demand they give me what was mine in cash. So I could touch it, feel it, know it was real.
Some might call it an obsession, but I didn’t care. People in this town who had money took it for granted. They didn’t understand what I did.
Money was power.
Money was freedom.
Money was the absence of fear.
If someone ever asked me how much money I wanted? My answer was always the same.
All of it.
Because the more I had, the more distance it created between me and the eight-year-old girl huddled in a corner of a room with her eyes closed. Not watching her mother have sex for more drugs.
Distance from the hunger, the cold, the ever-present fear that lived in my cells.
Did Moriarty worry me? Sure. I didn’t like some unknown entity moving in on my action. I definitely didn’t like the threats he dangled over my head.
Did I fear Moriarty?
No.
Because a long time ago, I’d worked to control it. To cage it. To shrink it down to size. Then I built a wall around the fear, one dollar at a time. Now, looking at my account, I felt this sense of hope. Like maybe there would come a day when the fear would be gone for good, and I would never think about it again.
Satisfied all the money wasallstill there, I closed my laptop and thought about what to do. There was homework, but it bored me, and dinner wouldn’t be for at least another hour. Mr. Sumner was a bus driver in Philadelphia and his shift didn’t end until six, which meant he wouldn’t be home until seven or so.
I reached for the phone on my desk and thought about my interaction with Locke earlier today. That hadn’t been boring. In fact, that had been intriguing.
Fun, even.
I didn’t normally have fun with boys.
I used them. They were tools. To be manipulated, guided and then discarded when I was done with them.
Locke was different.
No oneknowsme.
I understood the sentiment. For sure. I was the same way. But for some reason, it also made me sad.
That didn’t make sense. I didn’t need anyone else to know me. I had Janie for that.
Which made me wonder who Locke had? His brother maybe?
He’d told me earlier to go away, which some girls might interpret as a rejection, but I was way too stubborn for that. I also had a shatterproof ego.
Instead, I decided to text him.
Me: Want to play a game?
Seconds later he replied.
Locke: I don’t think you’re getting the message.
Me: For real this time. Just for fun. No agenda.
