Page 23 of The Lies We Steal

Instead of doing anything, I just keep walking out of the police station. Silas is sitting on the bench waiting for us, standing up once he sees us.

We were going to need to talk about this but right now wasn’t the time or place.

Thatcher walks out of one of the interrogation rooms, with Rook’s father not far behind him. His coat draped over his shoulder and a smile on his face.

The rain had thankfully stopped when we walked outside, Rook lighting a cigarette just for his father to snatch it out of his mouth and throw it on the ground.

“Arrested? On the first day of school, Rook? How much longer will this rebellion last? Another year, two? Because I’m gettingverytired of covering your ass! Don’t you think you’ve put this family through enough?” He raises his voice only a little, he is after all, in public. With a shake of his head and a forced smile he finishes, “You know what, we can have this conversation tonight.”

My fist tightens, this was not the first time I’d wanted to bash Mr. Van Doren’s ratty face in. Wasn’t the first time I’d offered either.

But for some reason, one that in our years of friendship we had never figured out, Rook wouldn’t let us lay a hand on his father. Even after everything he’d put him through.

I had my opinions though. I knew Rook enjoyed being hurt. When he’d call me at midnight and need me to rough him up. He said it was to let out tension. I knew better.

I knew he felt it was punishment for something he’d done in his life, something that had hurt his father at one point, but I was never sure what it was.

He bounces down the front steps of the station, walking with angry shoulders to his Cadillac.

“I have to catch up on all the work I missed out on because my son is an inconsiderate piece of shit, but I expect you to be at home when I get there, is that clear, Rook?”

All he does is nod, not even looking him in the eye.

“And you three,” He turns pointing a finger at us, “I’m this close to letting you all rot in prison, he should have never become friends with you. Everything chaotic he’s ever done is because of you three.” He accuses, like he’s in court trying us for the corruption of his sweet, innocent Rook.

“Awful sanctimonious of you, Theodore.” Thatcher replies, staring him down.

We don’t need to say out loud that we know about the relationship Rook and his father share. He knows that we are well aware of what happens when he loses his temper.

There is nothing else exchanged between us until after his car pulls out of the parking lot.

I turn to Rook, tossing my arm around his shoulder, “Can we kill him yet?”

“I second that and speaking for the mute, he thirds it.” Thatcher adds.

He shakes his head, looking up to the gray sky like there is some message in those clouds for him.

“No. Death is a reward for him. I want him to suffer. Just like me.”

Briar

Since I was a little, I’d always been good with numbers. While that may have something to do with my father teaching me how to count cards when I was young, I still preferred numbers over anything else.

Two plus two will always be four.

The square root of one hundred and sixty-nine will never not be thirteen.

In math everything has a fixed resolution, sure there are various ways to get to the answer, but most of the time you follow a set formula and it will yield the same solution every single time.

Math is easier than things like English or people. Both are too complex, they could have multiple responses, eighteen thousand different possibilities of how to break down a poem or read into what someone means when they say, “I’m okay.”

In a world where everything has too many probabilities, I prefer numbers. Always.

I fiddle with the clean notebook in front of me, tapping the end of my pen onto the white sheets ready for class to start already. Everyone else around me is socializing, finding their way to the seats that circled the lecture hall. I’d picked a seat in the back to the left of the front because I hated feeling like someone was talking about me behind my back.

I also admittedly, loved people watching.

Making myself busy, I start to pull my computer out of my book bag sliding the brand-new MacBook onto the desk in awe that I even have one of these. Thomas bought it for me as a gift, I’d almost refused to accept it but I knew I’d need it for the courses I was taking.

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