Page 123 of Reasons We Break

“Oh, you know.” TJ’s voice lightens. “Some people think you were on drugs. Some people think you’re pregnant with Rajan Randhawa’s baby, which is why you threw up. And then there’s the one where you’ve been partying a lot this year, which is why you didn’t win some academic award. In other words, Simran, the usual whack rumours people always make up.”

Simran releases a relieved breath. Not only because TJ’s taking it as typical gossip, but because she’s teasing her again. Simran doesn’t know why, or how long it’ll last with everything still left unsaid, but she’s grateful. “I was sick and having a rough day. I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“Like roasting an uncle for talking shit about your Hillway people?” When Simran grimaces, TJ claps her hands in glee. “So it’strue? Why’re you embarrassed? That’s metal.”

“Well, TJ, I’m not you. I don’t enjoy making a scene.”

“What’sthatsupposed to mean?”

TJ’s affronted voice almost—almost—brings a smile to Simran’s face. “Isn’t it getting late? Shouldn’t you go home and get ready?”

TJ begins clipping up sections of Simran’s hair. “I’ve got lots of time. Charlie’s going to come over and curl my hair for me while I do my makeup.”

“Oh.” Must be nice to be able to get ready for a party with her boyfriend. Simran pushes down her jealousy as TJ starts curling, though. That’s not fair. Simran’s truly glad she’s happy with Charlie. He’s a great, trustworthy guy. Just the fact that he defended Rajan that day at TJ’s makes her trust him even more.

Simran sits up straighter, struck with an idea. “TJ,” she says, “is Charlie coming to the reception?”

TJ pauses with a section of her hair in hand. “I mean, secret’s out, so he was going to be my plus-one...Why? You think I shouldn’t?” She sounds uncertain, and it occurs to Simran that the whispers about her have bothered TJ more than she lets on.

Simran settles into her chair. “You absolutelyshouldbring him. Give them something real to gossip about.”

TJ’s smile returns full force. “Now you’re talking.” As she gets back to work, Simran glances at the drawer holding her USBs. She now knows exactly what to do with them.

RAJAN’S BEEN TALKINGto his mother a lot lately.

This should probably alarm him, given that she’s dead, but instead, it’s the only comfort he’s had these last few days. Some time ago—a day, maybe two? It’s hard to keep track—they left him alone and shut the door. His mouth is dry. Head pounding. His ribs hurt with every breath. His nostrils are pretty much dead from the scent of gasoline.

“You should eat something,” his mother says from the corner.

“They didn’t exactly leave me a buffet, Mom. Also, I’m tied to a chair.”

She goes on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I stopped eating, too, near the end. Especially when I got more worried about you. If I’d eaten more, I would’ve lived longer.”

He shakes his head. “You were always going to die.”

“And so are you,” his mother says. “As we’ve talked about.”

He sighs. That’sallthey talk about.

She hasn’t been here the whole time. But at some point, Hat Stealer got tired of kicking the shit out of him, the waterboarding, and the other stuff they tried. They tied him back into his chair. Hat Stealer turned to one of the shorter Aces and handed him a yellow gasoline can.

The Ace looked at it. “What do you want me to do?”

That broke Rajan out of his haze. The boy’s voice sounded...young. Cracking with puberty.

“Fucking drink it. Obviously—” Hat Stealer gestured to Rajan. “He’s not gonna crack.”

“But...Zach said—”

“I don’t care what Zach said,” Hat Stealer snapped. “Do it.”

“Do it yourself,” the kid said. “I thought we were going for a drive tonight, not setting people on fire. This is fucked up.” He dropped the can and started walking toward the door.

Stupid kid, Rajan thought, even before the others turned on him. He should’ve just done it. Now he was going to be punished for having a conscience.

While the boy’s cries of pain sounded in the background, Hat Stealer poured the gasoline over Rajan’s head. The smell filled his nose and made him even more lightheaded.

It was at this point, with rivulets of gasoline dripping into his vision, that his mother appeared behind Hat Stealer. Her hair was thick and shiny, cheeks rosy. She wasn’t coughing, she wasn’t hooked up to a dialysis machine. She was smiling. He could not take his eyes off her.