Page 13 of Every Broken Thing

“No need. Battery’s dead.”

“I might have cables. Just pop the hood.”

Rolling my eyes conspicuously, I pulled the lever, then hopped down from the cab, wincing at the twinge in my side. I rounded the nose of my truck as Ben jogged over to a silver Chevy Impala parked nearby. He rooted around in the trunk but returned empty-handed.

“Sorry, no jumper cables.”

“I’ll call a tow. It’s no big deal.”I turned to retrieve my phone from the cab.

“What about your parents?”

“Dad’s out of town, and Mom’s spent the last six years buying cigarettes,” I said, and he bit his bottom lip before pulling his own phone from his back pocket.

“My uncle and aunt live like ten minutes away. He’ll have cables.” He brought his phone to his ear as I sputtered refusals, but he ignored me, an infuriating smirk plastered on his face. “Hey, Uncle Henry, you home? Cool. I’ve got a friend who needsa jump, but I don’t have cables.” He paused, his cheeks pinking as he smiled ruefully. “Yeah, I know that every person with average intelligence has a pair of jumper cables in their car. Yes, I’m a failure to the male gender. Are you coming or not?”

I tried not to laugh at Ben’s side of the conversation, but a few snickers escaped as he winked at me. “Cool. Thanks.” He hung up. “He’ll be here in fifteen.”

We stood in tense silence for several minutes as I leaned my butt against the nose of my truck and stared at my shoes. Ben, of course, was entirely unaffected by the uncomfortable stillness around us as he sank his hands into his pockets and watched me. I wasn’t one to be found speechless often, but I had no idea what to say to him. The only thing connecting us was the event I pretended never happened, and there was no way in hell we were rehashing that.

“So”—he finally broke the silence—“what are you doing here after school?”

I scuffed my shoe against the pavement as I said, “Rehearsal.”

“You’re in theater?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t seem the theater type.”

“You don’t seem the annoying type, and yet…”

His brow furrowed. “That’s not very nice.”

“Guess I’m not a nice guy,” I said, and he rolled his eyes.

“Do you have an issue with me or something?”

I scoffed. “You really have to ask?”

His ever-present calm cracked. “I’ve done nothing but try to be your friend.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be your friend.”

Genuine hurt flickered in his eyes. “I only wanted to help.”

Patience waning, I said, “I never asked for your help.”

Ben chuckled mirthlessly. “Jesus, Silas, not everyone is out to get you.”

And that sparked my temper. “Oh, really? You think I don’t know what people say about me? I hear the rumors. I see the looks,” I sneered, and he shuffled back a step. “Maybe the world doesn’t have it in for me, but no one’s offering a helping hand, either. Just because I’m an asshole doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

His annoyance bled into pity and then into something akin to satisfaction. “You’re painfully honest, aren’t you?”

“I don’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

“Maybe that’s why I want to be your friend. Because you’re the only person in this damn school that’s real.” He shook his head, running his hand through his damp curls. “Even if the real you is kind of a prick.”

“Should I be flattered or insulted?”

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