Page 15 of Behind the Bars

“People like me? What’s that supposed tomean?”

She nodded to my purse. “You have a Chanel handbag on your arm. You obviously have money and you can have any guy you want looking yourway.”

I held my bag close to my side and twitched a little. It had been a gift that Ray found at a secondhand shop last Christmas. “You don’t know me, and the fact that you’re judging me based on a purse shows exactly how much you don’tknow.”

She sighed and chewed on her bottom lip as she narrowed her stare. “Comehere.”

“Where?”

“Jesus, will you just follow me?” She marched off toward the courtyard. We stepped outside into the hot New Orleans air and she pointed to the flag pole. “Last year, some kids handcuffed Elliott to the flagpole, sprayed silly string at him, and cracked eggs on his head. Two months before you got here, they cornered him in the locker room and attacked him with waterballoons.”

“That’sawful.”

She grimaced. “You have no clue. Some of the balloons were filled withpiss.”

I gasped, disgusted and shocked by how low some of my classmates could go. “What fucking assholes!” I hissed, my hand clasped to mychest.

Katie arched an eyebrow. “Why are you talking tohim?”

My lips parted and I paused, trying to figure out the best way to answer. How could I express to her what I hadn’t even realized yet? How could I make her understand the feelings racing through my gut? How could words sum up what Elliott did to my heart andmind?

“Well?” she asked, her foot twitching against thecement.

“Because I heard his music. I heard his music last weekend, and then when I listened to him play…I don’t know…” I swallowed hard. “It’s like, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feelalone.”

Katie’s hard glare softened. “My mom was right—you’re more than the Chanelbag.”

“Wait, you’ve talked to your mom about me?”Because that’s not weird atall.

“Not the point. The point is…” Her voice was low and faded away. Everything about her softened. She was the complete opposite of who she’d been when she first approached me. “I don’t mean to judge, but I’ve seen my brother go through more wars than anyone ever deserves to go through. I’m just very protective ofhim.”

“No, I get it. I hate that he’s going through so many of his ownwars.”

“His wars? No. It all started years ago when he went to war for my mom and me. After that, he never really had a chance tostop.”

“You lovehim.”

“He’s the best little brother in the history of littlebrothers.”

“He’s not like most people. He’s…innocent.”

“I know. It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone who has been through so much shit can still be so far from jaded. Can you just do me afavor?”

“Sure.”

“Keep listening to hismusic.”

“Of course.” She started to walk away, and I called after her. “Thank you—for going to war forhim.”

“We’re family,” she whispered. “We take care of oneanother.”

Family. We take care of oneanother.

I lovedthat.

That afternoon as I walked to my science class I found Elliott standing at his locker. The moment I saw him, my heart began pounding against my ribcage. I couldn’t get the images out of my head—the water balloons, the silly string, or thehandcuffs.

Why would anyone treat someone as kind as him in such an ugly way? It made nosense.

---