Page 24 of The Misfit

My fingers hover over the screen. I want to tell him the truth, that I’m not trying to add her to my list of conquests. For once in my life, I’m trying to be a good fucking human. But what’s the fucking point? Would any of them believe me anyway?

Probably not.

I don’t bother replying and instead start the Jeep.Decision made.The engine’s rumble grounds me, giving me something to focus on besides the chaos running laps in my mind.

If I were her, where would I go?

She changes her gloves often, and if I have her extras, which I’m assuming I do, then she’ll need more.Right?My money’s on the drugstore. Not the one near campus—too many students, too much exposure. Probably the twenty-four-hour one on Maple; the night pharmacist doesn’t give a shit who you are or wonder why you’re buying latex gloves at midnight. I bet that’s where she went.I slam my foot on the gas and drive out of the parking garage, squealing my tires. Minutes later, I’m parked outside the drug store, watching, waiting. There’s no Salem in sight, and I have to wonder if I guessed wrong. Then I spot him—a tall kid in a letterman jacket exiting the store.

He looks vaguely familiar, and a light bulb goes off in my head.

What was his name from her files?Noah?Yes, her brother.She was tagged in some pictures with him on social media, but he looked younger. I hadn’t ventured over to his socials yet.

As he walks down the street, I can barely see the outline of glove boxes and hand sanitizer in his bags. He didn’t drive? It takes me a second to remember he and Salem share a car. At least that seemed to be the case from the insurance records I pulled.

My foot bounces against the floorboard, mind racing with possibilities. I could go after him and introduce myself properly. Could explain about the gloves. Could?—

My phone lights up again.

Bel:Stop stalking her.

Bel:I mean it, Lee.

Me:I’m not stalking. I’m … strategically placing myself in her vicinity.

Bel:That’s literally the definition of stalking.

I ignore the next three texts, watching Noah walk down the street with his bags. He moves with the same careful precision as his sister, but something in his stance is protective like he’s ready to fight the whole world for her.

Join the club, kid.

Wait.

Where the fuck did that thought come from?

Focus, Sterling. Just follow the brother, return the gloves, and try not to scare her away more than you already have.

Noah leads me to a quiet neighborhood off Mountain View Drive. It’s a nice, safe area. All Craftsman-style homes with well-manicured lawns. Nothing like the fancy estates my family owns. These homes are the kind of places where people actually live instead of just existing for show. I park three houses down and watch him jog up the short porch steps of a sage-green two-story with white trim. The porch light flickers on, and there she is—Salem, silhouetted in the doorway with her arms wrapped around herself.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens. This is fucking creepy. I’m being fucking creepy.

Noah passes her the bag, and they enter the house together. I should just— A light turns on in an upstairs window, and I catch a glimpse of her pacing.

One, two, three steps.

Turn. Repeat. My ADHD brain latches onto the pattern, finding comfort in its predictability. I wonder if that’s how she feels when she counts things?

“What the fuck are you doing?” I mutter to myself, running a hand through my hair.

The gesture reminds me of the way she flinched when I almost touched her face, and suddenly, I’m drowning in memories ofPromised Land,of people trying to touch me, fix me, change me, and make me into something I’m not.

My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Emma.

Emma:Mother’s making calls.

Emma:Country club daughters.

Emma:Church girls.

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