Page 47 of Fire Fight

Either way, it doesn’t really matter.

It might sting to be on the outside when last Monday was so comfy and warm, but it’s still better than what I imagined when Arnold first told me the news about school.

After all, I’m sitting next to a cute boy who’s taking me to the movies on Saturday. A real date. My first date if I’m being honest. A thought that sets my stomach fluttering with anticipation.

No. I really can’t complain.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CADENCE

The restof the day passes slowly, my head clouded with misery the closer it gets to final bell. Hudson’s easy chatter at lunch cheers me and there’s no lingering irritation over our postponed date, but I’m a wreck by the time I get home.

At school, I hadn’t noticed the lack of my phone as strongly, but sitting near my bedroom window, my hands long to hold its familiar weight, my mind a junkie for the bright jingle of notifications.

By the time we finish eating dinner, I’m desperate.

I borrow Mum’s phone to call mine, hoping to embarrass Drake into handing it back, but can’t hear the ringtone.

It might be a flat battery. It could be on silent.

Drake might have thrown it off the cliff, smirking as it tumbled down the path to total destruction.

The loss gives me jitters.

A state exacerbated by the taunt left in my locker. The aftershocks of the flashback and my close-to-disastrous reactionare fading but I’ll either need my pills to sleep or the comfort of mindless scrolling.

Ineedit.

But he won’t just hand it over. Not without claiming a prize. The hopeless churn of my thoughts continues until I want to scream.

Then Drake walks past the open doorway wearing swimming briefs tight enough to showcaseeverything, a towel thrown over his shoulder.

“Bit late for a swim,” Arnold says, and I stiffen, hoping he isn’t ruining my opportunity.

Drake shrugs. “Just need to cool down before going to bed. Otherwise, I’ll never sleep.”

The moment the back door snicks closed, I’m off the sofa, heading upstairs, taking the golden opportunity.

If I can’t find my phone, hopefully I can find my pills.

With time ticking, I don’t bother to replace things exactly as they were. If he sees I’ve been in here,good.

It can be his turn to feel violated.

There’s nothing under his pillow. Nothing in any of his uniform pockets. If his bedside cabinet hides any secrets, they’re still intact as I finish my cursory search, pulse pounding in my ears throughout, frustration growing.

It feels like longer, but when I check his bedside clock, it hasn’t even been ten minutes.

There’s still plenty of time.

I go back to his wardrobe, hunting amongst the neatly folded clothes on the shelves, tipping up his shoes to check he hasn’t stored the pill bottle in the toes.

There’s a shoebox in the back and I lift it out, surprised by the weight. It’s crammed full of old photographs and folded paper. Birth certificates. A baby passport with a toothless, grinning Drake.

Beneath that, a tarnished silver locket holds two faded his and hers photos that bear just enough resemblance to conclude they’re his maternal grandparents.

An old class photograph from primary school has his now-permanently-sullen face beaming a smile from the middle row. I’m in the front, my knees covered by a blackboard with the teacher’s name and the year.

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