Page 17 of Revere

Nothing will.

Those words churn on repeat until my heart stops racing and I can once again focus on picking out cereal. I’m in LA, not Bristal. I need to pull myself together.

I glance at the end of the aisle, where Kole has his arm wrapped around Violet’s shoulders. They’ve been picking out granola bars for the last five minutes. And from the smile on her face, I have a feeling they aren’t talking about breakfast foods. Iwould have been better off coming here alone, given how much help they’ve been.

Grabbing the list and the cart, I leave them behind to work on gathering what we need. Violet might plan on wasting an entire day grocery shopping, but I have schoolwork to do. I want to review my notes before we’re back in session tomorrow, and I need to double-check something I read at the library.

By the time I’ve loaded the cart with everything on the list, Kole and Violet meet me at the checkout with a box of granola bars and coffee creamer. Clearly, I’m going to be the reason we don’t all starve this summer if that’s the most they could come up with.

“Thanks for grabbing everything on the list.” Violet eyes the cart.

“No problem.” I start loading the items onto the belt. “I could see you were distracted.”

She frowns.

I didn’t mean for it to come out as an insult. Especially when it was cathartic moving around the grocery store on my own. But the bite in my tone is as much a habit as throwing up my defenses. It’s no wonder I don’t have many friends.

Glancing at Violet, I consider explaining myself, but she’s already turned to face Kole again. Moving on because this is what she expects from me.

After the cashier rings up the food, we reload the cart and head into the busy parking lot. Cars speed around the corners, whipping in and out of spaces. LA traffic is an adjustment when Bristal roads are almost always empty.

Kole loads the groceries into the back of the car, eyeing me when I grab a bag and start to help. He pauses like he’s considering asking me to join Violet in the car since he doesn’t want to be around me any more than I want to be around him, but he doesn’t say anything when I grab the next bag.

“So…” I scramble for anything to cut through the silence as we load groceries. “Violet said you went to Professor Gray’s lecture at Briar a couple of years ago.”

Nothing is as forced as trying to play nice with Kole Christiansen, but I promised Mila I would try for Violet’s sake this summer, so that’s what I’ll do.

Kole hums in response.

“I didn’t realize that’s who I was sitting next to on the plane,” I clarify. “Kind of a strange coincidence.”

“Professor Gray doesn’t come to Bristal much anymore.”

My face pinches at his statement. “But he did? Are you saying you’ve seen him more than once?”

Kole slams the trunk shut, avoiding my gaze. “He’s a professor. It’s a college.”

That isn’t really an answer, but something about how quickly Kole shut me down makes me drop it.

“I’ll take that.” I grab the cart when Kole starts to wheel it away. “The cart return is just a few spaces over. I’m sure you want to start the car so Violet doesn’t get too hot in there.”

At the mention of Violet possibly overheating, he lets go of the cart, and I can’t help rolling my eyes at the back of his head. The two of them are ridiculous. He acts like any little thing might break her.

Turning with the cart, I’m thankful for the breeze cutting through the hot summer day as I walk it across the parking lot. Wearing long sleeves in LA in the middle of summer is going to be brutal. But at least it’s better than the questions I might get if I don’t.

I wheel the cart into the return and spin back toward Kole’s rental car. Right as I do, my foot catches on the metal base that stops the carts from rolling away. And before I can catch myself, I’m going down.

My hands fly out as my knees slam into the pavement, and pain radiates up my thighs. It’s so sudden—so sharp—it throws me back in time.

“Again.” Mom circles me, rubbing her rosary between her fingers and avoiding my gaze with every sweep.

The concrete floor of the basement digs into my knees, rubbing them raw. Blood pools beneath me, and it’s only getting worse the longer she forces me to stay like this. Every year, I get more numb inside, but my skin never thickens. It barely has time to scab before I’m right back where I started.

My ankles hurt from how they’re stretched as I sit on my shins, but Mom ignores my wince of pain that escapes as I try to shift into a more comfortable position.

“Back straight,” she snaps.

I pinch my shoulder blades and face the cross hanging on the wall in front of me. Candlelight casts deep shadows over it.