Free The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things by Ann Aguirre Page B

me in the past few years. I told myself it was fine because we were like two sides of a coin or something, but it was really just me letting go of the reins.
    After school, I hit Shane’s two last classes, and then I have a full list of his assignments, plus his address. Are you really gonna just show up at his house? It’s so unlike me. I don’t know what I’ll say, how I’ll explain it so I don’t come off like a total headcase, but I don’t even care. Hopefully he’ll be glad to see me, or happy not to fall behind on his homework. He said he couldn’t afford more trouble and bad grades qualify for most people, though it’s not the kind that gets you sent to juvie.
    Lila’s not at her locker when I get to mine after making my rounds. She probably got a ride home in the gray van today. Just as well. I’d hate to explain why I look like I’m about to vomit all over my shoes. Shouldering my backpack, I head out to the bike rack, where mine is the last one still chained up. Feeling like a spy, I ride over to the library to check the directions. I have his address, and I know it’s out in the country, but I’m not sure how far.
    Five minutes later, Google gives me an answer.
    Holy crap. Five miles. Do I want to see him that bad?

 
    CHAPTER EIGHT
    Yeah, I totally do. I’m worried he’s sick. I’m concerned he’ll fall behind in his classes and his grades will suffer. I’m … I’m … insane. Maybe I’ve caught some bizarre virus that causes unpredictable and uncharacteristic behavior. I don’t print out the map because clearly that’s too far when everything else I’ve done today is totally normal.
    I just make a mental note of the route and jog to my bike. Before getting on, I text a message to Aunt Gabby, telling her I’m studying at a friend’s this afternoon. She’ll assume I mean Ryan, and I squelch a frisson of guilt over that. I’ll explain things to her soon. I will. Just as soon as I figure out how much to tell her. And how.
    I swing by the Coffee Shop for snacks and drinks, then stow them in my backpack. Since I don’t want to arrive dripping sweat, I ride at a leisurely pace, so it takes me thirty-seven minutes to get to his place. And at first, I think the school must’ve gotten it wrong, but I recognized Shane’s handwriting on the form. So no. This is it. Nerves assail me as I walk my bike down the rutted drive, overgrown with curly dock, chickweed, and quack grass. I can’t even see a house from here, but I’m committed. At the end of the lane, there’s a decrepit trailer; the thing looks so run-down that I imagine it’s cold in winter, leaks during a hard rain, and must be an oven during the summer. It was once cream with brown trim, but that’s hanging off in rusty strips and the weather has discolored the lighter metal. The underpinning is loose, flapping in the breeze, and I’m nervous as I start forward.
    Cinder blocks have been stacked up in lieu of steps long since rotted away. I lean my bike against a pile of tires out front, climb up, and knock. My heart thunders in my ears. I must be crazy for showing up uninvited. Now that I’ve seen where Shane lives, though, I’m more worried, not less. I’m scared he might be mad at me for barging in like this, but I have to make sure he’s okay, echo of a time when I desperately wished somebody would’ve checked up on me .
    Mustering all my courage, I tap lightly on the door. Immediately, I hear movement inside and I brace for one of his parents to yell at me. Instead, Shane cracks the door, then freezes, staring at me in utter astonishment. The first thing I notice is that he has a second bruise, a newer one, to match the black eye Dylan gave him a few days back. And he didn’t get it at school.
    “What’re you doing here?” he demands.
    Yeah, he’s not happy. I decide only absolute honesty will serve. “I was worried about you. And I brought your homework.”
    “Thanks.” His anger blurs into confusion. Shane