Page 40 of Ghosts Don't Cry

He finishes the first bar, and carefully folds the wrapper into a small square before tucking it into his pocket. Then he looks at the second bar in his hand.

“You should eat it.” My throat is so tight I have to force the words out. “I have more.”

Relief and shame tangle together on his face, and he looks down. He doesn’t thank me, just opens the second bar and eats it the same way.

I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to demand answers.

Where are his parents? Where is he staying? Why isn’t anyone helping him?

But I don’t. I swallow them down, and just stand there, watching him eat.

“The library is still open. If you need somewhere warm to … study.”

His eyes cut to mine. “Why are you telling me?”

“Because it’s getting cold.” My hand twitches toward his hoodie, while I fight against the urge to take off my jacket and wrap him in it. “And sometimes people need somewhere like that.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough.”

He pushes away from my car, the bottle of water clutched in his hand.

“I should go.” He walks away before I can say anything more.

I move around to the driver’s side and get into the car, where I sit and watch as he makes his slow way off the school property, and turns left outside the gates. I shouldn’t follow him. Iknowthat. My parents would have a fit. I shouldn’t care where he goes once school is over, but as his figure grows smaller I turn the key in the ignition, and instead of turning right, I turn left and drive along the road he took.

He walks slowly, keeping one hand against the wall that runs along the left hand side of the path, passing the houses near the school, and further away from the safe parts of town, and into streets that have seen better times. When he turns and climbs through a gap in the fence that leads to the old textile factory, my teeth sink into my bottom lip.

That building has been abandoned for at least a decade, maybe longer. Graffiti covers the lower walls. The upper windows are dark, while the lower ones have all been smashed. One corner of the roof has collapsed inward, exposing rusted beams to the sky. The place isn’t just abandoned, it’sdangerous. It should be condemned. And he’s just walked inside like he belongs there.

Is he living here?

I can’t breathe. I can’tmove. I can barely process what I’m seeing.

My phone’s ringtone shatters the silence, and I glance down to see Mom’s name on the display. My hands are shaking so badly, I almost drop it.

“Lily? Where are you? You’re usually home by now.”

“I—” My voice breaks. I clear my throat. “I lost track of time. I’m on my way home now.”

“Are you okay? You sound upset.”

“No, I’m fine.” I close my eyes. “Just tired. I’ll be home soon.”

I stare at the factory for a couple of minutes longer, looking for shadows moving behind the broken windows. I don’t see anything, but I know he’s in there. Alone and cold. And I have to drive away to my warm house, my soft bed, and a hot mealwaiting for me. I have to go home to a life where I’ll never have to wonder where I can sleep, or whether it’s safe.

The drive home is a blur, except for the moment I pass the diner on Fifth. Its windows glow warm and golden, full of families eating dinner together. The smell of burgers and fries drifts through my vents at the stoplight.

My stomach turns.

He’s less than two miles away in a building with no heat, and I’m upset because the smell of food makes me sick.

I don’t remember speaking to my parents. I don’t remember walking upstairs, stripping out of my clothes, or stepping under water hot enough to scald.

That’s when I break.

The sob tears out of me, a feral, ugly sound I’ve never made before. My legs give out and I slide down the wall, pulling my knees to my chest. The water beats down on my head, too hot, but I don’t move to change the temperature. Another sob breaks free. Then another. Until I’m gasping, my chest heaving as it tries to suck in air.