Free Foxes by Suki Fleet Page A

lips. I’m not even sure if he’s joking.
    “No charge,” I say quickly.
    “That’s not a fair exchange at all!” he protests.
    I disagree for reasons he’s never going to know. “Just borrow it, then,” I say. Indefinitely.
    “I still need to pay you back.”
    He picks up my phone, turns it upside down, and strokes it gently. He looks at it as though it’s something precious. I watch him through my hair. An electric charge is running through my body, up and down my spine, fingertip to fingertip, a complete circuit with nowhere to discharge itself.
    “If I borrow this, what phone will you use?” he asks.
    “I have lots of phones.” That don’t work.
    “But this is your, like, main phone.”
    I shrug. I have this skill of being able to watch people’s faces with my head down so they can’t see I’m watching them. Micky chews his lip. I’m not sure he believes me about having a phone. If he doesn’t agree to keep borrowing my Frankenstein, I know I’m going to have to watch over him tonight. My gut clenches with how suddenly scared I am for him. A shark is out there, hunting boys like him. I’m going to have to make sure he doesn’t get picked up by any creeps. Or maybe I should make sure he doesn’t get picked up by anyone. But then, I guess he needs the money. He wouldn’t be out on the street if he had any other choice.
    I bite the inside of my cheek. How have I managed to make something as simple as fixing a broken phone screen so complicated? Why are my feelings so complicated? I don’t want good things to hurt. But everything hurts.
    “Promise me you’ll let me pay you back.”
    Micky’s eyes are so clear. I’ve never seen anyone with such clear blue eyes. If his eyes were the sky, I would never look at the ground.
    Promise me , they seem to echo. I nod. I can’t do anything else.
    “Phone might need a charge soon.” He winces as he says it, as if it’s something he doesn’t want to admit. It makes me smile—he’s going to take it.
    This doesn’t make me feel any better about him being picked up on the street, though.
    I take a spare USB lead and a plug out of my pocket and hold them out. I’d meant to give them to him the other day.
    “You’re prepared for every eventuality, aren’t you?”
    I shake my head. I wish I were.
    Micky stares back at the phone, lost in thought.
    I take a deep breath and push my chair back. I should go. As much as I sort of like this weird electricity feeling, I need to run to discharge it.
    Being with Micky is unpredictable. Most people I meet act the same around me—uncomfortable, eager to leave. Dashiel told me I don’t make it easy for them. But Micky doesn’t seem to notice whether I make it easy for him or not. It’s as though he doesn’t see me like everyone else sees me. And because he makes my heart beat faster and I have this urge to follow him around and make sure he’s safe, I am absolutely terrified. I don’t want my heart to feel like broken glass anymore. Caring about someone is too terrifying. It takes my thoughts away from where they should be—from Dashiel and Dollman, from all the sharks out there.
    “Wait,” Micky says quickly. I hear him swallow, his eyes glancing everywhere but at me, as though he’s nervous. I’ve no idea what he would be nervous about. “Do you think you can show me where the clothing bank is?” he asks hesitantly. “I… I’d like a coat.”
    His expression is so unsure and yet so hopeful, I nod without even thinking. I feel kind of weak, like I’m under his spell, like I’ll do whatever he asks me. Like I want him to be pleased. Or something. Sometimes I felt like that with Dashiel—like I wanted to make him happy, or I just wanted him to be happy.
    I loved him so much.
    The clothing bank is the place I’ve been avoiding the most.
    I know there must be others nearby, but the drop-in center on North Street is where Dashiel and I used to go. It’s only open Tuesdays and Thursdays, but they