Page 15 of The Fall Back Plan
Brooklyn’s eyes widen and dart from Jolie to me. “You were his teacher?”
“Tutor,” I correct. “It means she helped me with math.”
“He was bad at math?” Brooklyn asks Jolie.
Jolie’s scowl disappeared when Brooklyn joined me, and now she looks uncertain. “Your dad was . . .”
“He’s not my dad,” Brooklyn says. It’s an annoyed correction, and I get it. She has to make it often, but I’ll still have to chat with her about her tone later. Great.
“I just wish I was her dad,” I say, also used to this misunderstanding. “Brooklyn is my niece, and I get to raise her.”
“Oh,” Jolie says. “Okay.”
I wonder if she knows anything about my brother, who is two years older than me. He had dropped out before she started at Harvest High, but our reputations had preceded both of us back then. Maybe she’s already guessed why I’m Brooklyn’s guardian now.
“Is thatSea of Monsters?” Jolie asks.
I blink, not sure what she’s talking about. It definitely wasn’t the next thing I expected out of her mouth. But Brooklyn shifts from standing slightly behind me to take a half step forward.
“You’ve read it?” she asks Jolie. Oh, books. Got it.
Jolie nods. “The whole series. Twice. Is it your favorite?”
“Yeah.”
I listen to this with fascination. Brooklyn has gone from talkative to surly in the last few months, and this short exchange counts as a long conversation lately.
“You should tryKeepers of the Lost Citiesnext,” Jolie says.
“They’re always checked out,” Brooklyn answers.
“You can borrow mine.”
My eyebrows shoot up. This is not the JolieI’vebeen dealing with for the last week or so. Brooklyn is surprised too. “You would loan them to me?”
“One at a time, but yes. If you’re good at taking care of books. Are you?”
Brooklyn nods.
“Okay, then. Let me know when you’re ready for the first one.”
I wish Brooklyn would pull her hood down so Jolie could see her face better. Or just so I can. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it without a scowl. But she only mumbles a thank you and falls quiet.
It stretches for a beat or two before I decide to break it. “Brooklyn here isn’t feeling so well, so I picked her up from school. Brooklyn, go on in to the station. Becky will give you a place to work until Pops can get you.” Her backpack has slipped a bit more, and I can’t bite my tongue any longer. “Also, please put your backpack all the way on. It’s going to fall off and bust your stuff.”
Brooklyn makes a sound like a scoff. “It’s fine, Uncle Lucas.” She walks toward the station without adjusting her backpack or . . . no. “Walk” is not the word. It’s more than a walk and not quite a stomp. As she reaches to open it, the backpack slips off her shoulder and hits the concrete with a thunk.
Jolie winces. I press my lips together and wait. Brooklyn stands there for about three seconds, frozen, then reaches down, snatches up the backpack to hold it against her chest like her book, and walks into the station without looking back.
I turn to Jolie. “Sorry about that. I guess that’s another apology to throw on the pile. She’s been tricky lately. Thanks for being nice to her.”
Her eyes flash. “I’m not a monster, Lucas. I dislikeyou. I have no beef with your niece.”
“Okay. I deserve that.” I glance down the street toward her place, which I can’t quite see from here. “Are you heading back? Could I walk you over and buy you a cup of coffee along the way to apologize? Cataloochee makes great coffee.”
“I already got coffee this morning.”
I’m not sure what to do with the return of her icy anger. In my job, I usually deal with people whose tempers are burning white hot. I rest my hands on my gun belt, already worn out from navigating the moods of the female of the species this morning. “Right. Got it. Hope your day goes better than it started. I’ll let you know where I get with Hardin.”
