Page 74 of Reasons We Break

“Oh, is that all?” She sounds surprised. “Don’t worry. You can take one of TJ’s.”

“Thanks,” Simran says without taking her eyes off the grid. “I’m going to give it one more try.”

Her masi’s footsteps fade, and Simran takes a deep breath. She’sso close. She can feel it, the frantic energy of an approaching epiphany, gripping every cell in her body.

With trembling fingers, she draws a six-by-eight grid. Runs her eyes over it, column by column.

Her breath catches.

TJ knocks on the door. “Simran, I’ve got—”

Simran stuffs the wad of toilet paper into her pocket and opens the door. “I have to go.”

TJ stares. She’s holding a blouse in her hand. “What?”

“I just remembered something I have to do.” Simran brushes past her, to the door.

TJ follows. “Where’re you going?”

Simran’s so frazzled by her own discovery, she can’t even think of a lie. “I’ll tell you later.” She shoves her shoes on. Distantly, the conversation between TJ’s parents pauses in the kitchen. Soon they’ll come too, and Simran can’t handle more questions.

“But—you said you’d stay.” TJ sounds bewildered.

Simran pauses. Right. She promised she’d stay overnight. And yet...

“I can’t.” She finds herself rationalizing it as she goes. The dinner’s goingwell. Simran staying would only delay the inevitable, big questions TJ’s parents want to ask her. Well, TJ can’t avoid the big questions about life all the time. Simran’s never had that luxury.

“You forgot your jacket!” TJ shouts as Simran flees out the door, but Simran doesn’t turn back. She half jogs to her truck, ignoring her masi calling her name. She starts the vehicle.

While turning out of the cul-de-sac, she calls Nick.

He answers after a few rings. “I don’t have time to babysit right now. This better be good.”

“It’s better than good.” Simran swerves onto the main road, causing a passing truck to honk. “How do you feel about intercepting that huge shipment the Aces were talking about tonight?”

PREDICTABLY, RAJAN HATEShis new job.

It’s only been three days and he’s almost looking forward to returning to jail. At least behind bars, he can cuss people out who irritate him. Here? He has to keep his mouth shut with customers or risk this all being a waste.

He’s in the back of the convenience store mopping the floor when his coworker walks by, black ponytail swinging. There she is. The reason he’s enduring this hellhole.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t learned much about Maya other than her name. She works in the back. She’s in her mid-twenties, newly emigrated from India, although he can’t tell where specifically. Hard to pin down accents when someone barely talks.

“How’s it going?” he asks. She side-eyes him before heading to the front to watch the TV. She probably thinks he’s hitting on her, given the number of times he’s attempted conversation. With a frustrated sigh, he takes his mop to the back. Nick would laugh his ass off if he knew what Rajan was up to. Three days in, and he’s already out of patience. It’s incredible, really. If only there were some way to cope with his failure, to take the edge off his anxiety...

No. He drops the bucket and, in the dark of the closet, squeezes his eyes shut. He won’t, he can’t let himself think about—

Too late.Would it really be so bad?some part of him (sounding pretty reasonable, really) questions.Just for now. You’re not like that Oliver guy—once Simran is out of the LS, of course you’ll stop, but for now, it’ll help you focus. You know where to get it. Take your break and go to the café. You can use some savings on it, it doesn’t have to be on Simran’s tab.

Rajan clutches his head.Distract, distract, he thinks wildly. But he hasn’t used those techniques since juvie, and the impulses are a helluva lot stronger suddenly. What did the shrinks used to say? Something about how cravings shouldn’t be seen as something bad, but a natural part of getting clean? It’s normal, it’s fine. It’ll pass. He just has to wait it out.

With fumbling fingers, he reaches into his pocket only to find his toothpick case empty. Jesus. All the stress lately is turning him into a fucking beaver. Well, he’s always known that’s a shit habit, too. Maybe today music will work.

He jams his earbuds into his ears, but totally blanks on what to play. He needs something new to distract himself—something totally different than his usual.

His mind reaches back for any ideas. And, as often is the case, it lands on a high school memory.

Grade ten, the first time Simran asked what he was listening to during tutoring. Rajan told her to take an earbud and find out. Then he put on a song with extremely offensive lyrics. But she nodded along wisely, the slight uptick of her mouth the only indication she knew she was being messed with.