“I was just f**kin’ with her.” The kid waved his hand as if to dismiss Brock, which only infuriated him more.

“Now I’m f**kin’ with you,” Brock told him.

One hit was all it took, and the heavyset kid fell over the back of the couch and slid to the floor as blood oozed from his nose. Everyone screamed, and it was deafening in the small space. Brock turned back to me with a grin as the staff grabbed hold of him and struggled to keep him contained. “You have faith in me now, Bird?” he yelled over the commotion.

I stared at him, slack‐jawed in shock, as he beamed with pride. “Bird?” he called out louder, and jerked his body, causing the shelter staff to lose their hold on his right arm, and he pulled toward me.

“Yes,” I called out over the chaos, and he relaxed for a moment as he stared at me.

“Mr. Ryan, you need to calm down,” one of the women yelled into to his face, but he didn’t acknowledge her.

“Bird, I’m going to kiss you right now. Do you believe me?” He wore a playful smirk, the anger in his voice gone. He had tried to get me to kiss him for weeks, but I’d turned him down, afraid he’d be able to see that I’d never done it before.

I couldn’t help laugh at the insanely silly mood he transformed into. He was crazy; in fact he had to be certifiably crazy. I nodded once, my hands clasped in front of my chest. It was like a magnetic pull. He twisted free and pried another hand off his shoulder before he took off, nearly tripping as he weaved through the crowd. The other kids darted out of his way just in time to not get bowled over by the staff. Brock stopped in front of me and grabbed either side of my face in his hands and pressed his lips hard against mine. The world stopped and sped up at the same time, just like my heart. His tongue slid over the seam of my lips, and I let them part, welcoming him to deepen the kiss. My tongue followed his lead, pushing gently against his as my arms slid around his waist.

Two staff members pulled him back, but he kept his hands on me for as long as possible until his fingertips slid over my cheeks and grasped at the air.

“When I say something, I f**king mean it,” Brock called out with pride as they took him around the corner to the stairs, and like that he was gone.

I looked up at Marie. “I know it seems crazy, but everything was at that time. We were locked away from the world, stuck in limbo. Everyone was scared or angry, and most just gave up on giving a shit. Brock gave me something to look forward to when I woke up. I didn’t cry again while I was in there.”

“What was the significance of his nickname for you?”

I smiled so hard that my cheeks hurt. I’d never had a boy show interest in me, let alone risk everything just to show me he did.

“Bird.” I let the word roll off my tongue as I tried to remember how it sounded coming from his lips with that thick accent. “I asked him a million times to tell me, and he always refused until after that fight. I think he liked it when I bugged him about it. He thought it was cute when I was frustrated.” I let out a laugh. “Boys can be really stupid.”

It had been two long days since I’d seen Brock, but my lips still tingled from his kiss, and my heart fluttered every time I thought of him. No one in the shelter came near me, and I couldn’t have been happier. I’d rather be left alone than deal with any more bullying. I got enough of that from school, but the days dragged by like years.

We all sat down to lunch, just like every other day, and while people groaned and bitched about what they served, I was in heaven. It was nice to know a meal was coming. Everyone chatted as they ate, except me, who daydreamed about my first kiss as I bit into my meatloaf. The sound rumbled to a low whisper and stopped, and that’s when I saw him. Brock was back, no longer in the shelter’s version of solitary confinement, which consisted of his being kept in his room. He searched me out, and when his eyes met mine, he grinned wildly as he made his way to my side.

“Did you miss me?” he asked playfully as he sat next to me on the bench.

“Yes. You’re the only one who talks to me.”

“You can’t let them bother you, Bird.” He tucked my long dark hair behind my ear, and I rolled my eyes at him. It wasn’t that simple; nothing is that easy. If I could shut off my feelings, I would have done it years ago. “All we need is each other. Fuck these guys. They don’t get a say in our happiness.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I’d been in a foul mood ever since they’d taken him away.

“I can’t give away all my secrets, Lie.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t be like that. I’m just messing with you. You’re my little jailbird.” His grin made my heart go insane.

“It isn’t jail, Brock.” I rolled my eyes as he laced my fingers in his under the table.

“Your home is your jail, Bird. I’m going to set you free.” He picked up the apple from my tray and took a bite.

“Really?” I turned to face him.

“Do you need me to prove to you again that I mean what I say?”

“I think you proved that point, although I’m not so sure you’re really a nice guy,” I quipped.

“I think you’ll like Boston.”

“You want to take me to Boston with you?”

“You think I’d leave without you?”

“How will we get there? It’s really far.”

Brock dropped the apple onto my tray and rubbed his hands together. “I’ll figure it out. It’s gonna take a lot of cash.”

“I can’t help with money. My mom is broke.”

His shoulder bumped against mine. “Like I said, I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. But it’ll probably take some time.”

“It didn’t bother you that he used violence to show you he liked you?” Marie asked me.

“People used violence to show me they hated me. What’s the difference?”

“Are you sure you weren’t looking past something that you knew was wrong because it felt good to get attention from a boy?”

“He wasn’t just any boy. He was the boy.”

“Explain.”

“No one bullied Brock,” I said, “and no one came near me once they knew he was watching over me. It was just like those fairytales you hear as a kid.”

“Fairytales don’t usually include getting locked up in a youth shelter and witnessing random acts of violence.”

I shook my head. “You don’t get it. You’ve never been me.”

“Everyone is fighting a battle, Delilah. “

I pushed up from my seat in anger, a side effect of having spentso much time with Brock. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Brock is the only person who ever cared about me. So he got in a fight. Big deal. Kids get in fights all the time. At least he wasn’t being the bully. He was standing up for me.”

“Please calm down, and let’s take a short breather. Then we can try to work through this so I can see your side of things. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” I nodded and made my way to the front door of the building. I grabbed a cigarette from my pack and lit it, pulling a long drag of smoke into my lungs. My eyes closed as I exhaled. I knew Marie was right, and it pissed me off. Brock had saved me. I was hanging on by a thread, and he had held onto me and made sure I didn’t fall.

I glanced over my shoulder before descending the stairs and heading down the street to my apartment.

Chapter Ten

Asshole

I was angry at everyone, and I was sick and tired of being a doormat. Nothing had changed since high school, not since Brock had been taken away from me. Bullies don’t grow out of it; they just get older, and I grew more tired.

I walked into the house, ready to tell Trish that she was a slut and that I’d heard what she had said about me, but I found her passed out cold on her bed with a baggie of something white by her head. I almost shook her awake, but instead I grabbed the car keys on her dresser and decided to direct my anger at someone else.

Maybe it was because Abel had pretended to be nice to me. Maybe it was because he had me fooled that he was like Brock. I don’t know what I saw in him that reminded me of my past, but I couldn’t let it go. I sped down the highway, weaving in and out of traffic as I pulled my phone from my pocket and sent a quick text to Abel.

Where would I find an arrogant prick at noon on a Sunday?

I dropped my phone and continued toward the old house, and after a minute or two, he replied.

How would I know how Donald Trump spends his weekends? Shaving orphans for a new toupee is my best guess, Kettle.

I groaned and sped up as I made my way down the back road to the decrepit house. The black muscle car was nowhere in sight; the old pickup truck was parked in its place. I got out, slamming the door, and Abel stepped onto the front porch, his T‐shirt gone and an old shop rag in his hands as he wiped them together. He came down the front steps, his brow furrowed as I stormed toward him with fire in my veins.

“You’re an ass**le,” I yelled, as we closed in on each other.

“So it was me you were talking about in the text.”

As I reached him, I poked my finger hard into his tanned chest. “You think you’re so f**king funny, don’t you?”

“Do you think I’m funny?” His brow lifted, and I wanted to scream.

“I think you’re a f**king jerk.”

“Kettle, calm the hell down and tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong? Really? In a matter of days, you’veruined everything. I was fine with being the sidekick. I was accepted. I finally f**king belonged in the stupid bubble you and all your jackass friends live in.”

“Whoa, don’t lump me in with those ass**les.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” The side of his mouth pulled up in a smile, and I fought back the urge to slap him.

“Shut up,” I yelled, exasperated. “Why did you have to humiliate me in front of Trish during spin the bottle? You made me look a like a fool. Then you keep putting the seed in my head that she isn’t really my friend and that she’s using me, and the icing on the f**ked‐up f**king cake is you and her making fun of me then me having to listen to you f**k her right next to my goddamn room!”

I was out of breath, and my chest rose and fell rapidly as I struggled to get a grip on myself. I knew I should be mad at Brock. I knew this was all my own doing, but I wasn’t ready to accept responsibility for any of it.

“Can I talk now?” Abel paused, and I nodded like a bobble-head because I had no fight left in me. I could hear how stupid I was acting as the words left my mouth, and now I couldn’t take them back. “I didn’t humiliate you in front of a girl who’d just been passed around between three f**king guys. I knew you were better than her, and I wasn’t going to let you compromise your integrity for a bunch of ass**les like us. There’s also the matter of your boyfriend. I didn’t want you to hate yourself for doing something you’d regret, and—let’s face it, Kettle—I’m the type of guy you’d regret.”

Abel stepped closer, and his chest pushed against mine as his breathing grew as ragged mine. “Second, Trish isn’t your real friend, and you f**king know it. And no matter how much you try to pretend you’re like her, I see through it. You do care about her, and you’re wasting your f**king time. You may not see it, but you’re better than her.”

He was right. She wasn’t my friend. Oh, God, he was right. I felt like I was going to be sick. I could only hope this humiliation would end soon. Abel’s voice lowered, and I could tell he was trying to compose himself. “I wasn’t talking shit about you. That was Trish. I just wanted to know what Brock did to you. It wasn’t my place, and I should have known you wouldn’t have confided in her, but I was f**king curious because I’ve seen you cry over him. It’s not right.”

“If I wanted to tell you, I would have.” My voice was small, defeated.

“Third, I didn’t f**k Trish. I’m not into girls throwing themselves at me. It’s not very f**king attractive.”

“Then why did you go into her room?” I tried to stand taller, to match his height, but I still had to bend my head back to look up at him.

“I didn’t want you to wake up to your friend trying to f**k me on the couch five feet away from you.”

“Why do you even care?”

“Because she wasn’t the one I wanted to kiss during that game. No one here has ever tried to get to know me. All they ever want is to find their next high. I thought you were different, but it didn’t matter because you’re hung up on some ass**le a thousand miles away.” He took a step back, and now he was the one who looked pissed. “Go home, Delilah.” He turned back toward the old house.

“What happened to ‘Kettle’?” I called after him.

“You tell me,” he yelled back without turning back around. He disappeared inside the house, and my shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Way to f**king go, Lie,” I mumbled, as I got back into Trish’s car and left.

I arrived home to a still‐sleeping and none‐the‐wiser Trish. I was thankful that I at least had another day to wallow in pity before it all came crashing down and I’d be on a bus to nowhere. By nighttime I had myself convinced that Abel was going to be long gone, and Tuesday would be like every other worthless day in my life. He had to be growing tired of his relationship with Trish. Guys like him didn’t get attached. It couldn’t be too long before he was nothing but a memory.