Page 32 of Beautiful Defiance

14

LEIGH

The bus ride home is unbearable. There are pointed glares my way and whispering and snickering. Word travels fast where Seven is concerned. I thought of backtracking and taking back my words, but that’s not me.

He did stay the night.

He does snore.

End of story.

The other kids can do with it what they like.

Shoving aside the crappy ending to my day, I get off the bus. Except I’m not ready to go home. Home. Is it, though? A home has a family. My parents are dead. My half-siblings don’t know I exist. Same goes for Eleanor.

Sighing, I heft my backpack higher over my shoulder and turn the other direction toward school. There’s a mom-and-pop diner that has to-die-for burgers and milkshakes. I can get two milkshakes to go and if I hurry, Sorrow can enjoy the yumminess before hers turns to mush. Hopefully, her father is out cold. That man is a jumpy drunk.

I touch the faded scrape on my forehead and the healing cut on my bottom lip. It wasn’t his fault I surprised him in the darkness, and he shoved me against the brick fireplace, believing I was a burglar.

Technically I am one.

I stole Seven’s stuff from inside his bedroom while he was sleeping. Took the lucky coin that dropped from his pants pocket when I moved his pants to get to his football helmet and shoulder pads.

I walk alongside the road and stare straight ahead. Cambridge is a small town, and there’s little traffic. But ever since I was almost run over walking home from the school I went to in Oakland, I stay alert to my surroundings. The great thing about game day Friday is the roads are even less busy at this time of day. The other kids are readying themselves for the football game and the after-game parties.

Inside the diner, I set my backpack on the floor and put in an order for two milkshakes, a chocolate one and a vanilla one.

“Is there a chance there are strawberry bits in the shakes? I’m highly allergic.” I nudge my backpack with my sneaker. Inside the inner pocket is my EpiPen.

I went to a place that didn’t rinse out the blender well, leaving bits of strawberries stuck on the glass. As soon as I took a bite of my chocolate milkshake, I knew there were strawberries. My tongue tingled, then swelled up. It took weeks for my dad to work off the bill for the ambulance ride and the ER visit.

“There could be. I can use a never-used blender and label it with your name.”

“You’d do that?”

“Heck yeah. Anything to keep customers safe.”

“Wow, thank you.”

He rings me up. I hand him my debit card. He looks at it before running it through the machine.

“Leigh. I like your name. It’s different.”

He pronounces my name wrong, and I politely correct him.

“It’s Leigh, like Bruce Lee.”

“Crap. I butchered it. Makes sense, though. You look more like a Lee than a lay.”

My eyes must be wide. His sure are.

“Shit. I mean, crap. That came out wrong.”

Completely.

He looks so mortified, I stretch out my hand. “Nice to meet you . . .”

I wait for him to give me his name. He’s not wearing a name tag.

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