Free Handcuffs by Bethany Griffin

who said it.
    “What?” The little asshole almost died of shock. No one had ever said anything to him before. His Chihuahua eyes bulged with disbelief.
    “I said back off. Get away from her, you little pissant.” Then I recognized his bored drawl and I could see the toes of his scuffed black boots even though I was still afraid to look up. What if he was going to say something perverted now? What if he was judging me over all those things they said to me and my inability to defend myself?
    “What’s your problem, man?” Gruesome Twosome Guy Number One sounded irritated but also a little nervous, like a person who knew he had been doing something wrong and had been expecting to be called out on it.
    He laughed. “You wanna pick a problem? I have several. How about you acting like Parker Prescott would give you the time of day, much less touch your shriveled, diseased, and probably microscopic balls? Is that a good enough problem for you?” His voice softened and I knew, even though I was still staring at my notebook, that he was saying this for me. “I know you guys get a rise out of trying to heat up the Ice Princess, but let me tell you dumb fucks something. Making a girl blush is nothing.” I risked looking up really fast. He wasn’t looking at me. He was standing in front of me, keeping them back. He was protecting me.
    “Parker Prescott is beautiful, in a way that you three don’t understand.” His voice went low. “If anyone is going to thaw her, it’s going to be me.” I felt a flush of embarrassment. He knew about the Ice Princess thing. He knew what people said about me. And yet there he was protecting me, watching me with something like fascination. There was something dark in the way he said the thing about thawing me, something that made me forget to breathe, but there was also a certain softness in his voice that made me curious about what he saw when he looked at me, curious about the interest that I thought I detected in his eyes.

 
    13
     
    I n my bedroom prison I glance at the right-hand corner of the hulking computer screen where it tells the time. It’s just Thursday morning. Who knew Christmas vacation could be so long? I’ve never been grounded like this, not during the holidays. I mean, this is the part that usually flies by. The first week you’re always looking forward to the big present stash, the second week you’re totally loving the break and totally dreading going back to school. But not this year.
    “Do you want to play Tetris?” Preston asks.
    “I guess so.”
    We play Tetris for like half an hour. When he doesn’t get the blocks in the places he wants them, he gets agitated. Then, because he’s so jumpy and pacing back and forth, he misses where the other blocks should go. I beat him every time, even the last few times, when I’m really trying to let him win.
    “Will you draw me a castle?” he asks.
    “What?”
    He asks me some crazy stuff sometimes.
    My miracle brother trots into the kitchen and comes back with this big pink sheet of construction paper with the outline of a castle and, get this, pink cotton balls glued to the turrets.
    “Why did you make it pink?”
    “Kristi likes pink.”
    I don’t ask him who Kristi is. Or if she was the reason he glued a row of Rice Chex above the purple door. Sometimes it’s better not to ask him things. My parents are always in his business, like, Who did you talk to today? And, Did you make any new friends? Did you remember to go to the bathroom?
    I never ask him any questions. I find this a more restful way to interact with such a hyper kid, and I think he appreciates it.
    “Wow, this door folds down.” I bend it down a couple of times. Pretty creative.
    “That isn’t a door, it’s a drawbridge. I want to do a not-pink one. Will you help?”
    “Yeah.” I mean, it isn’t like he asks for a lot. When he’s focused he’s easily pleased. I walk up the stairs, get my sharp pencil, and carefully ease a sheet of