Page 68 of Broken Pieces
“I turn eighteen in two weeks. You get what that means. What if I have to sleep on the fucking street, Cass?”
“I won’t let that happen. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that?” My voice cracks on the last word. “You gonna pull a spare bedroom out of your ass?”
She blows out smoke, flicks ash against the wall, after that shifts closer, nudges her shoulder against mine.
“I don’t have a place either, Sky. You get that. But if you end up on the street, we’ll be fucking roommates under a bridge.”
“Great,” I mutter. “We’ll start a girl gang. Fight raccoons for snacks.”
“Exactly. You, me, and a sharp stick. We’ll survive.”
I laugh, my shoulders easing a little. Trust Cass to drag me out of the dark with zero effort.
She chews the inside of her cheek before exhaling hard. “You’re gonna hate me.”
I tense. “What now?”
She won’t look at me. Keeps picking at a crack in the brick wall instead.
“I heard where he went.”
Heat pulses under my skin. “Who… Zane?”
She nods once. “He’s not coming back to school.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“I heard he’s working full-time down at that grimy mechanic place on Harris Street.”
I stare at her. “And you’re just telling me now?”
“I wasn’t sure if it was true. But I saw him yesterday.”
“What?”
“He looked… rough. Tired. But free.” Her gaze softens. “He got out, Sky.”
“Right. Good for him.” I laugh, bitter.
“No,” she says, grabbing my arm. “You don’t get it. If he got out, we can too. You don’t have to end up couch-surfing. There’s still a way.”
“I don’t even know anyone with a fucking couch.” I huff out a laugh.
Her grip tightens, and for a second, I think she’s gonna hit me with some speech about hope. About how things get better if you just want it bad enough.
But she doesn’t. She sits there watching me.
“You’ve got me, ride-or-die, you know that.”
“You live with the Romeros, Cass. Ten kids in that place and a curfew stricter than prison. Where exactly do I go? The floor under your bunk?”
“Then we find something together,” she says. “A squat. A busted caravan. A sugar daddy with a limp and low standards.”
I snort, but my throat still burns.
“Cool. Can’t wait to trade blowjobs for power outlets.”
