Free Rogue by Lyn Miller-Lachmann

school. What will Dad say if I get arrested? Will I end up in reform school because I’ve already been in trouble?
    A scream rushes up my throat. “Don’t!”
    The kid takes a step back and holds out his hands. “Whoa. Calm down.”
    But panic has seized my voice. “I can’t go to juvie!”
    â€œWhy would
you
go to juvie?” The kid nods at Chad. “This little turd put you up to it. And whoever he works for.”
    â€œDon’t call the cops, okay,” Chad says quickly. “We’ll leave.”
    â€œWait a minute.” He squints at me. I notice my UVM lanyard, twisted around my index finger, cutting off the circulation. My finger is swollen and red.
    I shake my finger loose and rub it with my other hand.
    â€œThat a UVM thing around your neck?” the kid asks.
    â€œYeah,” I mumble, eyes fixed on the ridges the lanyard cut into my skin. I wish he’d let us go because, like Chad said, we’ll never come here again.
    â€œLemme see.” The kid holds out his hand and adds, “I’m starting there this fall.”
    I take the lanyard from around my neck, key dangling from the end, and hand it to him. Now he knows I’m a latchkey kid wandering the town, getting into trouble . . .
    But then he says, “Hey, I know you. You’re Max’s sister.”

CHAPTER 12
    NOW I’M REALLY IN TROUBLE. MY LUNGS DEFLATE; HOT AIR rushes past my lips. I can barely get out the words. “Don’t tell Max about this.”
    â€œWhy would I?” the kid says. “Max would just love to hear that his little sister blew herself up doing something stupid.”
    â€œHe . . . would?” My voice cracks. Of course. I’m the accident. The one who shouldn’t have been born.
    â€œNo.” The kid cuts off a laugh. “Big brothers don’t like their younger sisters to blow up.”
    He gives me a funny expression. A smirk, which is supposed to mean he’s joking about big brothers and younger sisters. But he hasn’t told me whether or not he’s going to rat me out to Max. Maybe if I’m extra nice to him, he’ll let me go.
    â€œSo which of his friends are you?” I ask after a long moment. I don’t recognize faces and have no memory for them, though I have a photographic memory of everything I read.
    â€œAntonio. Trail name’s Wheezer.” He pulls an inhaler from the pocket of his cargo shorts. “For this, not the band.”
    â€œI’m Kiara,” I say, my manners on automatic.
    â€œYeah, I know. Sure didn’t expect I’d run into you like this.”
    I swallow the lump in my throat and dig my toe into the ground, defeated. Busted. I have nothing more to say. My gaze jumps to Antonio’s wavy hair that falls over his forehead, to his brown leather necklace with a tooth pendant at his throat, to his shirt, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, and lower, where he’s tucked it into his jeans. His body is solid, pure muscle. The body of Wolverine. His gloved hands like Wolverine’s retractable claws.
    â€œHow’d you get mixed up with”—Antonio jerks his thumb toward Chad—“that loser?”
    Chad hides his face behind his hands.
    â€œHis family moved in across—”
    â€œDon’t tell him where I live, Kiara,” Chad interrupts.
    Antonio shoves his gloved hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Kid, what you and your people do is your business. Long as you don’t mess up my backyard. But she’s my amigo’s baby sister, and I gotta look out for her.”
    â€œHe told me he was my friend,” I continue, trying to explain to Antonio how Chad and I ended up here together with four bottles’ worth of chemical reactions.
    Antonio touches his thumb to his own chest. The bare part, below the tooth pendant. “
I’m
your friend. He’s trouble.” He starts walking toward