Page 38 of Somewhere Without You
“No way!”I shot back.“Getyour own.”
Her lips curled into a mocking grin.“What are you gonna do? Cry to your mommy? Oh wait. . . that’s right. You don’t have one.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I lifted my chin and held them back.
“Aww, are you gonna cry?”she mocked, and her friends laughed again.“Is the little orphan freak gonna cry?”
“Come on, Maddie, give it a rest,”a boy’s voice cut in. Hewastaller than the others, but with a softer facethatmade himlookyounger.“Leave her alone.”
Maddie turned and glared at him. The rest of the group went quiet.
“Whatever,”she snapped.“Iwasgetting boredanyway. Let’s go.”
I gave the boy a grateful smile and mounted my bike, but before Icouldescape, Maddie spun back and shoved me to the ground.
I hit the sidewalk hard. The paper bag tore open, scattering my candy like confetti across the dusty pavement. Blood bloomed at my knee, and grit clung to my elbow as I struggled to sit up.
Everyone laughed. Everyone except the boy.
Crying, Ijumped back on my bike and pedaled home as fast as my legscouldcarry me—leaving the candy behind.
“What happened?”Gran asked,lightlydabbing my bloody knee with a tissue.
I didn’t want to tell her about Maddie and her friends. I didn’t want her toknowthatthey’dcalledme a freak. I didn’t want her toknowthatIwasangry—notjustat them, but at her too. Angry at the world for mom dying and sending us here, and how I hatedthatpeople thought wewereweird because Granwasa little weird.
“It’s nothing,”I said, wiping the tears and snot from my face.“I just fell off my bike.”
Gran raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push.
“I hate it here,”I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest.“I want to go home.”
“Youarehome,” she saidgently, pressing the Band-Aid down over my scrape. “There, all better.”
I slid off the kitchen chair and stomped toward the door, anger still bubbling in my chest. My bikewaslying in the middle of the driveway and Granhadwarnedmethatnext time I left it out,she’drunit over. Gran never made empty threats.
Iheardthe crunch of tires and turned toseethe boy from earlier pedaling down the driveway—a fresh, paper bag clutchedtightlyin his hand.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, rolling to a stop.“Thatwasn’tcool.”
I stared at him, unsure what to say.
“I tried togetthe same stuff youhad, but theywereout of jawbreakers. I hope you like Lemonheads,”he grinned, holding the bag out to me.
I took the bagslowly, peeking inside at the rainbow of candy.“Thanks.”
“I’m Logan,”he continued without me asking.
“Emily,”I replied, slipping a strawberry bonbon into my mouth. I held out the bag.“Want one?”
He took one and we sat down together on the porch steps, the warm wood creakingsoftlybeneath us.
“Your friends aren’tverynice,”I said, twisting the wrapper between my fingers.
“They’re not my friends.”
“Thenwhy do you hang out with them?” I asked, watching him closely.
Logan shrugged.“It’s better than being at home.”
