Page 57 of Wicked Sins

“I miss you, Jo.” Emma’s voice is muffled, barely audible.

“Me too. But sis, why is Dad fighting with her?Whatis he fighting about? Can you tell me, huh? Em.Emma?”

But she’s not on the call anymore. The receiver could be lying on the floor by her feet, she could be holding it absently in her hand as she makes her way to the kitchen for a snack.

I slam the receiver back into the cradle and pick it up instantly. I press redial. The aftercare’s phone rings.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sara. Is Emma there?”

The woman sounds surprised. “You get disconnected? Hold on.”

Muted voices. A thump.

“Josiah, your time is up.”

When I swing to face Brian, the fucker actually pales. But a second later, his shoulders straighten, and he juts out his chin. “Time’s up,” he repeats coldly. He cocks his head. “It’s lights out in fifteen minutes anyway.”

“One minute,” I say, forcing the words through.

“Not tonight, buddy.”

Buddyis Brian’s way of calling us cunts when we’re being difficult.

Christ, but it’s almost impossible for me to put the receiver down, especially because I’d rather smash it against Brian’s jawbone, and then use it to break his nose. I stand, and when I get closer to him, he reaches out as if to lay his hand on my shoulder. I’m taller than him by an inch, and nearly twice as wide in my shoulders. But I guess he sees a lot of troubled jocks pass this way, because for once he doesn’t back down.

“Long day, I know,” he says, sounding as if he’s just run a marathon. “But don’t mess it up now, slugger. You’ve only got another two weeks, then you’re home free.”

I duck my shoulder before he can touch me, say nothing, and head for my room as his eyes drill into the back of my skull. Thank God he can’t read minds—I’d be thrown in solo for a week if he knew how much I wanted to smash in his head.

Keep it together, fucker. You’re in herebecauseof your temper.

Oh no, notjustmy temper. There’s a list as long as my arm, compliments of one Wayne fucking Bale.

Insubordination.

Disrespect.

Truancy.

And last but not least, the most shocking of all.

I’m asexual deviant.

In general, guys at Happy Mountain aren’t encouraged to socialize with the opposite sex. Distractions, and all that shit. But me? I can’t as much aslookat one of these girls…especially Candy.

I told them it wasn’t true, but they never believe the kid, do they? After all, what possible reason could someone as upstanding a citizen as Mr. Wayne Bale have for sending his two eldest kids to a ranch for troubled teens?

Two of my three roommates are already in bed. A faucet’s on in our en-suite bathroom, and I assume Sylvester is in there. Since the door is halfway open, I head in to take a piss before bed.

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