To Catch A Thief

Chapter Nine

By Monday, my school uniform is creased, but it's not like it was ever properly ironed in the first place. I walk alone, Oliver being driven by Giacomo's valet. It doesn't feel the same without him, and I question my ability to ever let Oliver leave for boarding school while I flee the country. He might be older now, but I refuse to think of him as old enough to longer need me, even though at his age I was buying our house and supporting him and dad. I want to keep him safe and next to me as long as I can.

I climb the stairs I told myself I'd never come back to, one hand on my ribs. This school was designed to torment me, a place I can't quite seem to leave behind no matter how hard I try. I ignore the stares from kids leaving their climate-controlled cars. At least the bruise on my face is mostly gone.

This doesn't stop people from whispering about me. I sit in class, hyperaware of the rumors around my disappearance. All anyone wants to talk about is how they found Matteo kissing a boy, how they always knew he would never like somebody like me. I want to ask what somebody like me means, make them call me poor to my face. I don't. I sit and pretend to listen to my history teacher instead of the rumors.

Lunch isn't much better, with people swarming my table. None of them sit for a conversation, just an interrogation about what happened between me and Matteo. I learn he formally ended the engagement and is dating someone from his school. My classmates can't seem to comprehend that I'm not heartbroken about my fiancé leaving me, but I don't care. I'm not here for their approval, I'm here to do my time before I can go back to the life my parents lived.

Some ask about Em's wedding, why Julian left Em at the altar. I grimace at that, which is mistaken for concern for my sister. Under the table, my leg starts bouncing. Julian will return tomorrow, and all I can do is hope that Oliver's pardon holds up.

In math, I'm handed another white binder with the worksheets from last week with a note from Miss Landry that reads "hope you're feeling better :)". I keep it just for the note, unlike the rest of the overdue worksheets that I recycled immediately after receiving them. I have no intention of catching up in any of my classes, since I don't plan on returning to school after my three weeks are up.

For fencing, I'm allowed to sit out with my injuries. I'm not upset that I don't have to face Alessio, who is fighting more intensely today. After every match, he glances at me, to see if I'm watching. I am, but I look away, pretending I haven't been fixating on every move of his lean shoulders, the way his legs twist and his hand grips the saber perfectly. He is beautiful when he fights. Beautiful, and untouchable, I remind myself. I can't talk to him because he might start to think we're friends again. Not when I'm leaving soon.

When the final bell rings, I jump out of my seat and rush through the halls. I think I've survived today without having to talk to Alessio when I bump into a group of friends chatting right in front of the exit. I turn to walk around them when I feel a hand circle around my wrist. I lift my arm in preparation to break the hand of whoever grabbed me when I see in my peripheral that it's Alessio.

"Abe said you weren't coming back. Oliver said you were sick. I didn't know what to think. Tell me you're okay."

"I'm fine," I try to gently remove his hand from my wrist, but he doesn't budge and I don't force him. Fine. If he doesn't want to let go, he can come with me. I drag him behind me to our spot on the stairs. I don't sit this time, and neither does he.

"I thought you would be waiting for Oliver to get out." The bags underneath his eyes are deep. He's paler than usual and I swear he's thinner, although I don't know how he could lose a noticeable amount of weight in a week. Not my problem, I remind myself.

"He's staying with a friend. Besides, I said I'd help Reddy load up for his next voyage." I move my hand again, trying to shake his grip on my wrist, but he doesn't budge. I don't push it. We stand in silence, watching everyone pile into their cars.