Page 103 of Victorious: Part I

I pull out the bag from the jerky shop. “Alien jerky buffet it is.”

We sit side by side against the wall, sharing our bizarre feast of exotic jerky and the leftovers Clover had packed. The flashlight sits between us, casting long shadows across the room.

“This isn’t so bad,” she says after a while, taking a sip from her water bottle. “Kind of an adventure, right?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Being stranded in an abandoned water park in the middle of the desert is your idea of a good time?”

“Not exactly.” She laughs. “But it’s better than being back at the clubhouse right now, worrying about, well,everything.”

Her voice catches on the last word, and I know she’s thinking about the same things I am—the Cartel and the danger everyone we care about is facing.

“They’ll be okay,” I say, trying to sound confident. “Your brother, my sister, they’re tough. The whole club is.”

“I know.” She picks at the label on her water bottle. “It’s just, the waiting and not knowing that kills me.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Me too.”

We fall into silence again, the only sounds are our breathing and the occasional desert wind whistling through the broken windows. It’s getting colder now, and I notice Clover starting to shiver.

“Here,” I say, shrugging off my leather jacket and hand it to her. “Put this on.”

She hesitates but then takes it with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

The jacket engulfs her, making her look even smaller, more vulnerable. Something protective and possessive stirs in me at the sight, and I quickly look away.

“We should try to get some rest,” I suggest. “Nothing else we can do until morning.”

Clover nods, but then a beep sounds, one different from the one always going off on her watch. She fumbles in her bag, pulling out a small kit I recognize as diabetes supplies.

“Shit,” she mutters, pulling out a small pen, then she pricks her finger, drawing blood, then goes about her checks.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as she turns off the alarm on her app.

“My blood sugar’s dropping.” She rummages through her bag. “I’ve got some glucose tablets in here somewhere, but—”

“Here,” I interrupt, reaching for the jerky bag. “This should help. Protein, sugar.”

She looks surprised. “How did you know that would help?” she asks.

I hand her a piece of the sweeter jerky. “My mom was diabetic. Type 2, but still, I learned to recognize the signs.”

“Your mom…” She takes the jerky, studying me with newfound curiosity. “You never talk about her.”

I shrug, uncomfortable with the sudden personal turn. “Not much to say.”

“Do you and Sadie still see her?”

“No.”

She waits for me to elaborate, but I don’t.

What am I supposed to say?That my mother was a drug addict who chose her next fix over her kids? That she’s probably dead somewhere, and I stopped looking for her years ago?

Clover seems to sense she’s hit a nerve. “Sorry. Not my business.”

I sigh, suddenly tired of all the walls I’ve built, all the things I keep hidden. “It’s fine. She wasn’t a great mom. Drugs, alcohol, the usual sad story. She disappeared when I was fifteen, left Sadie and me to fend for ourselves at the Serpents.”

Clover’s face softens with sympathy, which is exactly what I don’t want. “That’s why you’re so protective of Sadie.”

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