Page 22 of All Your Pucking Secrets

“Are you okay?” she asks, her fingers toying with the edge of the textbook on her lap.

“Fine,” I bark.

She flinches, and guilt flashes through me. I can’t show any weakness now. Not after what she witnessed earlier.

“I needed motivation, and Dad gave it to me,” I say, hoping to explain it away without any future questions. “If you mention a word of this to anyone, I won’t help out with my teammates like I said I would. I’ll make sure your life is hell.”

Her porcelain skin blanches. Her eyes drop to her knees, and for a moment, I think that’s the end of the matter, but then her gaze lifts and she determinedly thrusts her chin forward.

“It isn’t okay for parents to hurt their children.” Her voice is shaky. “No matter what the reason.”

A breath gusts between my lips. For some reason, her certainty soothes a hidden pain inside me. Logically, I know it isn’t right that Dad hits us, or that he controls every aspect of our lives, but he makes it seem inevitable. As if it’s just the way things are. It’s nice to know that not everyone believes that.

My silence must worry her, because she starts skimming the pages of the textbook, running her finger over the end of the paper, her gaze no longer on me but staring into space, somewhere past my shoulder.

“I won’t say anything,” she adds. “But you deserve better.”

I grunt as her words land with the precision of an arrow. How can she say that to me when I just threatened her? How can she look at me and see someone worth protecting?

I don’t know how to respond, and unease is slithering up my spine.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

I get the hell out of there.

ECHO

I fold over the corner of the textbook, trying to make sense of everything I’ve seen and heard since I arrived at the Kinsey’s house this afternoon.

I’m having a hard time merging my idea of who Tyler is with the fact I saw his father strike him and he didn’t retaliate or even seem shocked by the blow.

Come to think of it, the way they each behaved gave the impression the encounter wasn’t out of the ordinary for them, and I don’t know what to do with that.

Tyler is an outgoing, confident guy. Or at least, that’s how he comes across at school. It’s difficult to believe he’d let his father hit him.

Let.

I roll my eyes at myself. As if victims of domestic violence are somehow at fault. I know better than to think something like that. Victims come in all shapes and sizes, and just because they’re physically capable of fighting back doesn’t mean they aren’t still being abused, or that there aren’t other ways to control them.

Whatever the case, Tyler is obviously afraid I’ll tell someone.

I won’t. I can’t do that, especially knowing how much his reputation probably means to him. But I want to help him. How can I when he’s clearly determined to pretend I never saw anything and that nothing ever happened?

I run through options in my mind. If I was looking at this in black and white, the most reasonable thing to do would be to tell the police. But Tyler would never forgive me, and despite the tentative truce we reached during our last tutoring session, I believe him when he says he’d make my life hell.

Is there someone I could quietly mention it to? One of the teachers, perhaps? Or maybe the coach? Tyler is the star center on the ice hockey team. Surely, he has a good relationship with his coach.

But what if I did and then word got back to his father? Mr. Kinsey seems like the type of man who’s very involved in his children’s lives. It’s possible the coach wouldn’t believe me.

I can’t risk it.

I grit my teeth, frustration making me edgy. I’m supposed to be smart. My teachers are always telling me so. Mom, too. Why is it so hard to figure out what to do?

My eyelid twitches, reminding me that I was up late studying last night. I need coffee. Tyler could probably do with one too, after all of that running in the rain. I don’t know when he plans to return, if at all, so I don’t know how much time I have, but keeping him caffeinated won’t take long and it seems like the least I can do.

I place the textbook on the coffee table, straighten, and tiptoe into the foyer. Tyler is nowhere to be seen, but his mother is leaving a room opposite me with a damp towel slung over her shoulder.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Kinsey?”

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