Page 73 of Broken Pieces
Sneakers on cracked asphalt. Eyes too familiar.
Cassie. Skylar’s friend.
The one who always watched too much. Who knows shit she shouldn’t.
No one moves the way she does.
Chin high, like the world can go fuck itself for staring. She’s small, sure, smaller than most of the kids at school, but carries that kind of fire that grabs you by the throat. That kind of spark you don’t mean to notice but can’t ignore. She walks ready to fight. If you knock her down, she’ll bleed on your shoes and come back swinging.
She’s not soft.
Not beautiful in the way Skylar is.
There’s nothing delicate about her, but she’s fucking tough and all edges.
She storms straight across the floor, sneakers squeaking against the concrete. Eyes locked on me.
I catch it in the corner of my eye. Pretend I don’t. My hands stay busy with the torch, twisting the valve that doesn’t need adjusting.
I don’t give her the satisfaction.
Not yet.
Her shadow slides over the floor, until it’s brushing my boots. She doesn’t say shit, just stands in it, letting the silence cut.
Then comes the cough.
Short. Sharp. Designed to get my attention.
I let the silence drag a little longer than I need to before I turn.
Cassie waits, arms crossed, chin lifted.
The girl’s got more backbone than half the assholes I’ve met. I’ll give her that.
“What the fuck do you want?” My voice is flat. Dry. Scraped of anything that might give her the wrong idea like I give a shit.
Her eyes narrow, arms still crossed.
“Well, that’s just fucking rude.”
I turn back to the bench, grab the rag, wipe grease from my palms.
“I’m working. Spit it out or leave.”
Cassie takes a step closer. “It’s Skylar.”
I freeze.
Only for a second. Barely long enough to count. I keep my expression bored, detached.
“What about her?”
“She’s not okay,” Cassie snaps. “Four days until she leaves Dolores, and she’s got nowhere to go.”
I keep my eyes on the bench, toss the rag aside, and reach for the socket set.
“Not my fucking problem.”
