Free Lacy's End by Victoria Schwimley

“Perhaps chemistry isn’t for you, Billy,” she said. “Everyone, please exit quietly.”
    They filed out, meeting in the parking lot, just as they had learned to do in grade school—all except Billy, of course, who spent another afternoon in the chemical wash station.
    “I hear Billy’s doing a bang-up job in chemistry.” Lacy looked to her right, not even surprised to see Jake.
    She laughed. “I thought you went to class.”
    He shook his head. “You assumed I went to class. I never actually said I was going.”
    Mrs. Horton blew the whistle, signaling everyone it was clear to return to the classroom.
    “I’ll catch you later,” Jake said.
    “Okay.”
    Mrs. Horton walked up to Lacy. “Who were you talking to, Lacy?”
    Lacy looked puzzled. “My friend, Jake,” she said.
    “There’s no one there, Lacy.”
    Lacy looked beside her. She shrugged. “I guess he went to his class.”
    Mrs. Horton eyed her warily. Lacy didn’t blame her. Even she was getting a strange feeling about her new friend.

Chapter Seven
    Brenda pulled into the driveway, and her heart started beating rapidly. “What the hell is he doing home?” she muttered aloud, “No doubt checking up on me.” Brenda opened the door slowly. There was no telling which corner he might be lurking in, or behind which bush he might be hiding.
    As she approached the front porch, she saw him stand up from the glider where he had been sitting.
    She mustered her best smile and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, trying to hide the evidence of her mirror attack. He had never come home the previous night, much to Brenda’s relief.
    He cupped her chin roughly. “What happened to you?”
    “Nothing,” she demurred.
    His voice turned gentle. “Brenda, honey, who did this to you?”
    She stared at him, not in the least bit surprised he would play the innocent when the ravages of the crime were not upon his shoulders.
    “I did it to myself,” she spat, daring to take a stand.
    “Why would you do such a thing, darling?”
    “It was an accident.” She stepped back, looking at him, assessing him with renewed eyes.
    Brenda had met Peter while she was still in high school. She had been working the concession stand for the football game, and Peter had come to watch his younger brother, Alex, the star quarterback, play in the playoff games.
    Her father, anxious to get rid of another mouth to feed, hadn’t batted an eye when she had strolled into the trailer with her arm around his waist. “Hey, Daddy,” she had said. “This is Peter.”
    Jason Trimble had looked up at the two of them standing there and said, “Hey,” and returned to his ballgame. After a moment, he looked at them again. “Well, don’t just stand there, honey, get the man a beer.” Then he had looked at Peter and said, “You like basketball, don’t ya?”
    “The Suns playing?” Peter had asked.
    “Wouldn’t watch if they wasn’t,” Jason said, cackling. “Sit down,” he said, and Peter obliged.
    Brenda ran off to fetch two fresh beers: one for her father, and one for Peter. She had tried to concentrate on the game, but she’d never been able to muster an interest in sports. She took a novel she’d been reading out of her backpack and tried to settle down next to Peter and read. The noise had proven too much for her to concentrate, so she stole out of the room, went into her room, and shut the door. She lay down on the bed and tried to read. She was tired, and soon sleep overcame her.
    She was awakened awhile later by a gentle nudge. “Hey, sleepyhead, wake up. Your dad sent me to wake you. He said he’s hungry and wants some dinner.” When she only moaned, Peter tried again, nudging harder, and then harder, until his nudges had become smacks.
    She bolted out of the bed. “What are you doing, Peter?”
    He sat down on the bed, pulling her closer. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked nuzzling her neck.
    “That hurt,” she protested, looking like a child pouting after a