Page 34 of Prodigal Son

He looked up from the sign language book. “Yes. Can I borrow this?”

For the first time since he’d arrived, his sister smiled at him. “I think that would be nice.” Then she frowned. “I can’t fathom why that child adores you so. You barely spent any time with her.”

“Some people do like me, Gracie.”

She shook her head. “There has to be more to it. She’s suffered a trauma. She probably bonded with you as some sort of coping mechanism.”

“Thanks a lot.” He stood, not wanting to risk further insult.

“You should know, sometimes I find her sleeping in your bed. For whatever reason, she feels safe around you, Cain. Try not to spoil that.”

Her words offended him, and he almost said something snide in response, but the truth was, he could very easily ruin Cybil’s trust. He didn’t want to but also never wanted to betray his brother, hurt Anna, or disappoint his family. “I’ll do my best.”

Before she could make another hurtful comment, he took the book to his room so he could check on the headache that waited there. He really didn’t want to deal with Destiny, but it wasn’t fair to keep dumping her on his sisters.

CHAPTER 12

“I hope you remembered your graphing calculators, because you’re going to want them for this next problem. If we’re trying to find the solution set for a system of equations, to solve the equation, we have to substitute five x plus y, expanding to fully represent the intersection of these two points…”

Juniper rolled her pencil back and forth over the surface of her desk as Mr. Weckle droned on and on about mathematical bullshit she’d never actually use in real life. The only thing more irritating than sitting through algebra II was knowing she’d have to sit through it all over again the following July in summer school.

Everyone pulled out their calculators. Juniper silently cursed. Hers was at home on her dresser.

Trent, sitting in the next aisle over and wearing a splint around two of his fingers, clumsily rummaged through his backpack. Their gazes crossed and she smiled, lifting her hand in a subtle wave.

He saw the gesture but only turned away. He hadn’t answered any of her texts since dropping her off last night after the incident in the woods. He could have at least had the decency to dump her if he was that angry. Anything would have been better than this awkward stage of not knowing what was going on with them.

“Are you getting this, Juniper?” Mr. Weckle asked and several classmates stared at her.

Nothing like being singled out. Her jaw locked and she picked up her pencil, doodling a flower rather than copying the equation into her notebook.

“Where’s your calculator?”

She shut her eyes for a brief moment, preparing for the lecture that would undoubtedly come. “I forgot it at home.”

“Unprepared again.” Mr. Weckle shook his head. “See, folks, this is exactly what’s going to make or break you when it comes time for those college applications. How are you going to get to the next step if you can’t remember the tools needed to meet the basic requirements at this stage of the game?”

Her fist tightened around the pencil, but Mr. Weckle wasn’t finished.

“What month are we in?”

“February,” the class mumbled.

“Almost March. We’ve been at this for seven months and some of you still don’t have it together.” The longer he spoke the further and further away his voice carried.

Her fingers rubbed over the wood of the pencil, creating friction as her blood slowly boiled. Why did teachers feel the need to pick a sacrificial lamb? Why couldn’t they just deduct the damn points or whatever and be done with it? They weren’t happy until they completely humiliated a student for something as stupid as forgetting their school supplies.

“Now, the whole class will have to wait for Juniper and anyone else who forgot their calculators to solve the equation the long way. And that’s not going to help you on the SATs, people. How many times can I say it? Technology is your friend.”

The pencil snapped and, with that subtle crack, Mr. Weckle doubled over and grunted, his tirade cut short mid-sentence. The class erupted with noise as students angled forward in their desks and gasped.

“Dude,” Laurence, a basketball player sitting in the front row, hollered, “Look at your arm!”

Students yelled as Mr. Weckle cradled his forearm. Juniper’s eyes widened at the unnatural angle of the bone. Chaos erupted as some students rushed to the front of the class and others started talking all at once. Mr. Weckle rushed out of the room, giving no instruction as to what they were supposed to do next.

Trent looked back at her, his mouth tight and his eyes suspicious. She scowled at the clear accusation in his stare. Then his gaze dropped to the surface of her desk where her broken pencil lay split in two. Beside the flower she’d doodled was the bold letters A R M.

Juniper slammed her notebook shut and gathered her things, quickly exiting the classroom. She didn’t stop to catch her breath until she was outside on the path, her back pressed into the trunk of an oak tree.

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