Page 48 of Forever We Fall

“He can if he gets the okay from Headmaster Bridgeport,” she whispers.

“No,” I growl. “Put the headmaster on the line.” When she hesitates, I bristle. “Now!”

“One moment please.”

The line goes quiet, devoid of life for several beats.

“It’s him.” Arlo reels, falling back against the doorframe.

“I won’t let him take you,” I snarl, strangling the hard plastic in my hand. My heart clangs against my chest, and my skin feels several sizes too small. It’s the feeling I get before a big matchup, when I know I’ll have to use my whole body and every bit of my brain to win. But win, I do. And win, I will.

For Arlo.

For me.

Arlo’s gaze meets mine. I pour every bit of confidence into my gaze. He nods. The confidence he has in me makes me smile.

“Hello?” A deep, but kind timbre flows through the phone.

“Yes, this is Hotaru Kido. Mr. Judge cannot return to his uncle’s home for the holiday break. He was not properly registered for the break, and we made plans for the time that cannot be broken.”

“Plans?” The headmaster reels.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sorry, but his uncle is adamant that Mr. Judge celebrate the holiday with him.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. They disagree on what connotes proper holiday celebrations. It would be a horrid time for them both. Besides, Father Oliver at The Holy Trinity is counting on us to set up the games for the orphans, help cook and serve the Christmas meal, and carol throughout the break.” I draw a breath, making up stuff as I go. “Arlo is counting on those service hours for a class grade. You don’t want him to fail and have a miserable holiday, do you, Headmaster Bridgeport?”

“It’s a valiant effort you’ve put forth for your friend, Mr. Kido, but?—”

“You can’t make him go.” Sweat slicks my freshly cleaned chest. All my charisma and smooth talking disintegrates. “His uncle?—”

Arlo snatches the phone from my grip. “I’ll be down in a few minutes, Headmaster.” There’s a short pause in which my brainstill scrambles to keep up. He’s talking to someone other than me. He’s talking to the head asshole.

“Yes, sir. I can speak. I prefer not to because of how my voice sounds and the ridicule I’ve received for being different.” My mouth gapes. It’s bullshit, but it’s believable. “I’m sure. I’m sorry about Hota.” Another pause. “Yes, sir. He was just joking around.”

I blink at him. My mouth hangs open, and I just stare, completely fucking confounded.

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your discretion.” Arlo sets the phone in its cradle. His jaw is set. All the joy that bled from him moments ago looks like it never was.

“I was going to tell him about the abuse.” I choke.

“I know.”

My hands fling toward the phone. “Then why did you take it away? Why didn’t you tell him?” My voice ratchets up a level with each syllable. “I have your back. I would vouch for you. He would have to believe you. At the very least, they’d have to open an investigation into the claim and wouldn’t let you go until it was completed.”

I step toward him.

Arlo’s gaze narrows. The skin creases between his suddenly sad eyes. “We can’t raise suspicion, Hota.”

“From the stories you’ve told me and from what I’ve seen…” My head shakes. “It wouldn’t be suspicion. It’d be a slam dunk. Lock his cell doors and throw away the key.”

My guts twist, but I push ahead. He needs to understand. He needs to see he can’t leave. If he leaves, I’ll crumble.

“They would find your blood all over that house. They would find the cuffs and the barred window. They would never make you go back there.”

“I have to go.”

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