Broken Hands

100. The Beginning of the End

The night stretched on, long and sleepless. Grayson couldn't shut his eyes, couldn't stop his mind from racing. Ever since the meeting with the staff at Durham, sleep had eluded him completely, not that it was there before. After he was called on the speakers, he presented himself in the staff office, where he met Hawthorne and another staff member. He wasn't alone, though. Three other boys stood beside him, all summoned for the same reason.

The situation was as clear as mud. The missing answer sheets, found later, stuffed behind the sink in the bathroom. Unfortunately, Grayson and the other boys had been in that very same office and bathroom earlier.

It didn't take long for suspicion to lean heavily on him. He could feel it in their eyes, the way they were already pinning it on him, and of course, it took them to know what laid behind his file. Grayson Smith—a name that fit the narrative of trouble.

It infuriated him. How many times would he have to defend himself? How many times would he be lumped in with lawbreakers, with cheats, even on the very last stretch of high school? The injustice of it weighed heavily on him, not just angering him but eating away at him. It was the kind of frustration that burrowed into your chest and left a cold, hollow ache.

They'd put him on probation. His days now consisted of walking into school, sitting silently in a near-empty hall with the three other suspects, having a bland lunch, and going right back to the same chair.

Grayson wanted to tell Alex and Damien. Wanted to unload it all, to explain everything. But the thought of their reactions stopped him. The doubt, the questions—it was too much. Why wouldn't they doubt him? He had a track record of trouble, of lying. How could they believe he wouldn't stoop low enough to swipe an answer sheet, copy it, and toss it away in the restroom?

But if Grayson were the culprit, he wouldn't have been so sloppy. Burn the damn thing. Or take it home—he had a home, unlike most of those dorm kids who didn't. It had to be someone from the dorms. Yet Hawthorne didn't seem to care.

Hawthorne had promised swift consequences: immediate suspension and, for the guilty party, the possibility of repeating the grade. Grayson couldn't afford to toy with his future. He was so close—less than a month away from freedom, from graduation, from getting the hell out of this school. He just needed to keep his head down until then, and it seemed like hell didn't want that to happen.

Grayson poured himself a cup of coffee, inhaling the rich aroma as if it could calm the storm inside him. Lately, coffee had become more than a drink—it was a lifeline, a small comfort, the ban on his pills was fast approaching. He leaned against the counter, staring out at the empty parking lot.

Alex and Julian weren't home. Julian had spent the night throwing up and complaining about stomach ache, so Alex had taken him to see the doctor. Russell, meanwhile, was off at practice, his dad offering to drop him off. And Grayson?

He was alone. Again. Even if Hera was somwhere in the house.

The silence of the house pressed against him, and his mind wandered back to the time the boys had gone to Paris without him. That same emptiness crept in, the feeling of being left behind.

His gaze dropped to the floor, where a small cage sat. Inside was the kitten. The same one he'd trapped after it scratched him the other day. Its tiny body pressed against the bars, its frightened eyes peering out. Grayson didn't feel sorry for it yet. This was what it got for clawing him, right? He'd let it out eventually. But for now, it would have to learn.

Grayson grabbed the cage and his coffee, heading into the hall. As he passed Hera's room, he caught a glimpse of her through the open door. She was sitting at her vanity, carefully applying makeup. Lately, she was trying to fit where she didn't belong and it upsetted him.