Free My Only by Sophia Duane Page A

about it. It was blunt and I had no right to ask it, but it was out there now.
    It took her a moment to digest it, her startled expression conveying what she was feeling. “I do okay.”
    “I didn’t mean,” I said, hurrying to backpedal or make up ground, but it fizzled. “I mean, I know you’re smart. What . . . why aren’t you better in school? Is that why you went to boarding school? Do you have some kind of . . .?” I trailed off. I hadn’t meant to ask that either. I hadn’t meant to imply that she went to that school because she had a weak mind or anything.
    Olivia took a deep breath and looked toward the window along the far wal of the library. “I don’t care about school the way you do. I mean, I want to do good, but it’s not something that matters to me al that much.”
    “What matters to you?”
    “Life,” she answered. Her gaze locked back on me, connecting me to her. I couldn’t look away. “Experience. People. Figuring things out. Being a good person. Those things matter to me. I didn’t go to that school because I was a disruptive kid or because I was special needs or whatever.” I had no right to ask, but I did anyway. “Why were you there?”
    “Because my grandparents didn’t know what to do with me after.” Olivia paused and flicked her gaze back toward the window. “After my mother was kil ed.”
    It felt like my heart stopped. I hadn’t known her long, but I’d never heard her voice so heavy like that. What did someone say after an admission like that? I thought about what people said after I told them about my own mother, but it wasn’t the same. I’d lived in Lakeside my whole life and everyone had just always known.
    “I didn’t mean to push you into tel ing me anything. I’m—”
    “Don’t say you’re sorry,” she said. “I hate it when people say they’re sorry. I know it’s just an expression of concern, but it’s just . . .”
    “I know what you mean. My mom died when I was born.” She was looking at me now. I felt a pul that I couldn’t explain, as if my attraction to her had just deepened within the past few minutes. “People can express concern, like you said, al they want, but I look at those who have moms and I wonder if they have any clue how lucky they are. My friend, Casey, is a great guy, but sometimes he talks about his mom like she’s such a drag, you know?”
    Olivia nodded. “The girls at E.R.—my old school, Emerson-Rousseau—were the same way. I couldn’t stand listening to how much they hated their mothers. Al for real y random reasons. Like one girl was pissed because her mother bought her the wrong designer handbag, and another one hated that her mother got remarried. She didn’t hate her stepdad, just her mother. I just kept wondering what they would do if they woke up one day to the cold hard fact that their moms just didn’t exist anymore.”
    I had a mil ion things to say, but I didn’t say any of them. I just sat there quietly as she returned her gaze to the windows. The bel rang a few minutes later and I sighed. “I haven’t helped you at al ,” I said as I handed her back the study guide.
    “Yeah, you have,” she said as she took the paper. As we stood up, she shoved everything into her backpack. “I know you have a game tomorrow, but do you think we can study on Saturday or something?”
    Thankful for another chance to hang out with her, I said, “Yeah. I have practice in the morning, but I’m done by eleven.” Olivia hoisted the bag onto her shoulders. “I work until one, but maybe after?”
    Nodding, I pushed in my chair, then hers. “Yeah. That’s awesome.”
    Knowing what I now knew about her, I felt closer to her and more relaxed about our friendship and I couldn’t wait to learn even more.
    With real hope that I’d made a solid connection, I parted ways with Olivia, wishing her luck on her history quiz. I made a silent vow to myself that if nothing else, I was going to help her care about