Page 6

“What was that?” Shane asked, chewing – or rather sucking on the dregs of – his inordinately soggy Froot Loops.

“What was what.” The girl was still watching her brother trail down the hall.

He flicked his spoon, droplets of milk flying at her.

“You two. It's like you speak your own language, or something,” he said.

The girl looked at him, one eyebrow arched, assessing him. He felt like a bug under a microscope. But she just shrugged at him, ignoring the droplets of milk now running down her neck, her slender arm darting out for another spoonful of cereal as she placed the bag of peas on the counter.

“What’s your name,” she asked. “Dusty never said.”

A pause. “Shane Mathers.”

She cocked her head to the side again, and he was wracked with the discomforting feeling of his skin being too small for his body. She was distracting. Pretty, he thought. But he shoved the thought away and cleared his throat.

“Do you have a name?”

“Well duh,” she said, arching an eyebrow at him.

Shane grimaced and flicked his spoon at her again. A droplet landed on her cheek, this time, just to the right of her mouth, which she also ignored.

“Laney Hawton.”

“Laney,” he repeated, letting it roll around in his mouth.

“Laney,” she affirmed.

“Short for… like… what?”

“Just Laney.”

“Your driver’s license says Laney?”

“I’m not old enough to drive.”

He double-dog ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach. “How old are you, exactly?”

“Fourteen.”

Fuck.

“How old are you ?” she parroted.

“I’m, um, seventeen.”

“Hmm,” she said.

“Hmm, what?”

“Shouldn’t you be in high school? A senior?”

“Nah. School was never my jam.”

“You do seem to lack basic life skills,” she muttered.

“I know how to do laundry and shower,” he snapped. She blinked at him, looking like he’d punched her.

Again , you fucking asshat. Like you punched her again.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t have said that, earlier.” She finally wiped the milk off her face with the back of her hand. “Are you homeless?” she asked in a much softer tone.

He stilled. Nobody ever had the balls to just ask. It was always ‘Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?’ or ‘It’s gonna be cold out this week’.

“I’m between couches,” he gritted out.

“You can stay in my brother’s room,” she said, her voice lilting at the end as if it were a question.

“Somehow I feel like Dustin wouldn’t really be up for sharing his personal space.”

“My other brother’s room. He comes and goes, but he’s not around much. He crashed here a few days ago, so he probably won’t be back for another month, maybe.”

Shane rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said slowly.

“Why not?” she asked, cocking her head to the side again.

That’s why not.

A wolfish smile snaked across her face, as if she’d heard him.

“It’s just a bed,” she said. He swallowed at the word bed and forced his brain to skip over the next forty-five seconds of completely inappropriate thoughts.

“What about your folks?” he asked. “Doubt they’d like some random guy hanging around their kid daughter.”

She visibly bristled at the word kid but put her spoon down.

“There’s been worse than you, in this house,” she said, her voice like razors.

“Worse than a guy who punched you in the face in a parking lot?” His gut curdled horribly at the words, his knuckles tingling with regret.

She sighed. “Look, my brother is…” a shadow passed over her face, but she shook it off, “not here right now. Ma’s around, sometimes. She’s… a lot. But she won’t care. Just buy her a carton of menthols.”

“I don’t have any money,” Shane said bluntly, for once not bothering to pussyfoot around the reality of his circumstances.

“Take Dustin’s job,” Laney shot back. “For now, anyway. It's vacant, in case you didn’t notice the giant cast he’s hobbling around on.”

“Was it those twats at the bakery?”

“No.” She didn’t elaborate. “Andy pays him twenty bucks a shift, from 3:00am till 7:00am. Sometimes 7:30 or 8:00, if Andy doesn’t show up, and Dustin has to wait for the counter girl.”

“Do I get extra for that?”

“No.”

“That’s basically slave labour.”

“Dustin is ten years old. He does it for cash.”

“I’m seventeen, and I need more than twenty bucks a shift.”

“Okay high roller, what are you making right now at your other job?”

Shane clenched his fists, but she wasn’t wrong.

“Right, well, that’s all sorted then.” No balk. She didn’t even blink. She just picked up the insanely large cereal bowl now full of sugar-milk with two hands and downed it like a keg stand.

“You’re very bossy,” he said with a grimace.

“I’m also very right.”

He chuckled, despite himself, and she smiled in earnest before she winced, slapping the bag of peas back to her face.

He hesitated for a moment before reaching across the counter, careful not to touch her hand, and pushed the peas up a little so that they were covering more of her cheek and eye.

“I really am sorry,” he said. His heart squeezed a little, thumping an uneven rhythm.

“I’ve had worse,” she shrugged.

And with a scowl, he decided it might not be such a bad idea for him to stay after all.