Page 47 of Breaker

“I’m teaching her French,” I yell into the window of the cab, though I know I don’t need to defend myself.

“Sure thing, Break.” Cook laughs. “I’m sure she’s teaching you all about the ‘little death’ as payment.”

Viper nudges my rib cage. “We’re just fucking with you. Her name’s Sasha or something, right? She’s really pretty and always wears those little dresses with the flowers on them.”

My chest constricts, not sure if I like that he’s noticed how pretty she looks in those dresses. She wears them a lot like Nanny used to.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for girls with the way you look at Vi—“ My boot hits Striker’s knee and he yelps but starts to laugh. “Fine, girl’s and dresses for Breaker,” he says, avoiding my kick this time. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. She’s too old for you.”

I want to tell them she’s not too old, but I keep my mouth clamped shut, digging my hand into my jeans to feel the little coins Cook gave me to buy my favorite candy. Little do they know that she likes me too. She has ever since I first saw her four years ago.

The first time I bought the red candies from the store where she works, she told me I could only have them if I gave her a kiss. It was just a peck on her cheek. She giggled the way girls do in movies, and her smile lit up her dark eyes. When she found out I spoke French, she wanted to learn, so now whenever I come to the village, we sit in the back room of the store, and I teach her words.

Sasha and I have been doing this all summer. If she didn’t like me, she’d not want to sit alone with me. And she’d not look at me with those dark eyes like she was wondering what my mouth tastes like.

I keep thinking about those dark eyes and her soft skin, and how her lips would taste, until the thin woods fade, and the open fields take over the landscape. The rows of potatoes and cabbage quickly turn to muddy patches dotted with livestock and barns, and the dirt road becomes cobbled streets patched with concrete. Each inhale brings the scent of damp earth into my lungs but then the faint smell of exhaust and engine oil mixed with the stench of sewers takes over as we enter the village. The buildings change from weathered wooden slats to stone with rusted metal roofs on some of them.

The brakes squeal as Cook stops the truck in front of the general store. After the cab door slams shut we all leap out, our boots slapping down on the wet street. Without a word, Viper heads toward the bakery with Striker.

“Back here in two hours,” Cook calls after them. Viper waves over his shoulder before they turn the corner and disappear.

“I’m going to pay for the weekly supplies.” Cook lifts his chin toward the large storehouse where we pick up our supplies as he pulls paper bills from his wallet. “Grab those white bars of soap and that big box of detergent Viper likes.” He waves tosomeone passing by on the other side of the street. “Oh, and the leather cleaner for your boots.”

I hold out my hand and he slaps the bills down on my open palm. “Anything else?” I ask hoping he’ll tell me to pick up some of that maple syrup he keeps in his room for when he makes pancakes. I miss that stuff.

I miss a lot of stuff Nanny used to give me. I miss Nanny, but she’s not around anymore. The one time I dared ask about her, Fallon told me she moved away after that thing we don’t talk about happened. Too many ghosts, I figured. Part of me is glad she’s living in a place she’s not haunted, but the other part of me feels so empty. I liked thinking about her close by, sitting in the little house I shared with her, missing me as much as I missed her.

But that was selfish of me, especially when I know how terrible being haunted by ghosts can feel.

I have many of my own.

“Nah,” Cook says, eyes darting to the old rundown building with the flickering neon sign in the window. “Just meet us all back here. I’ll leave—“

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, turning away. “You’ll leave my ass behind and I’ll have to hike back.”

“Don’t think I won’t,” Cook calls, but he’s already moving away, walking toward the storehouse.

I don’t have to watch to know that he’ll go and pay for the order he called in then head to the bar he visits every time we come to the village. I think that’s the only reason he brings us along. We load the groceries for him, then one of us can always drive back when he gets so drunk he can’t keep his eyes open.

The bell above the door chimes as I step into the store, my eyes moving immediately to where she usually sits behind the worn counter with scratched glass.

“Back here!” she calls, her sweet voice carrying to the front from stock room. I grab a plastic basket next to the door, and weave around the isles, noting the new items. Last time we were here, a large truck had brought in supplies from the city and Cook stocked up on a bunch of things we rarely get.

My eyes lock onto the maple syrup. Before I can think, I place it in my basket then grab the other items Cook wanted before heading to the back. I shove the swinging doors open, setting my basket on the floor by the old crates holding supplies. Then I stop in the center of the room and just stare at her.

The dress she’s wearing today is blue. The color blue I don’t like, but when she turns my way and I see her face, all the roiling in my gut from the memories turns to ice.

“Why are you crying?” I ask, stalking forward. The urge to reach out and wipe her tears is strong but I don’t do it because I’ve not really touched her before. A kiss on the cheek, arms brushing as we sit and write letters, knees knocking together when she laughs, isn’t really touching her.

But now she’s crying. She’s the only girl besides Nanny and the nuns at church I’ve been anywhere near, so I’m not sure what to do. Anytime one of us cries at school, we either get called names or Fallon tells us to toughen up.

Soldat’sdon’t cry he says.

But girls do and she’s really fucking upset.

She shakes her head.

“Sasha, what happened?” I say, wincing as I ruin the words. I’m terrible at Russian. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

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