Foreigner

Chapter 30

The yard is quiet, like the whole school is holding its breath. I lean against the stone wall near the front steps, hands shoved into the pockets of my coat. The bruises on my face have faded little by little. The reputation? Not so much. I can feel it in the way students glance at me, then quickly look away. No one wants to be caught looking too long.

Then, a voice I'd recognize anywhere cuts through the courtyard.

"Miss me?"

I don't get a chance to answer. Isadora's already wrapped around me, arms tight like she's trying to crush my ribs. Her coat flaps behind her in the wind, scarf unspooling around her like a kite tail.

"You came alone," I say into her dark hair, trying to keep the relief out of my voice.

"Mom's still pissed," she mutters. "And Dad's CFO-ing, I guess."

I huff a laugh. Her tone's light, flippant. But I hear the sharp edge under it. We're cut from the same cloth—joke first, bleed later.

We're still holding on when footsteps approach. I don't need to look to know who it is.

"Hey," Christian says.

I pull back just enough for Izzy to turn around.

She beams. "Hey! We've met, haven't we? You're the roommate."

Christian nods, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. "Christian."

"Isadora. Lukas's better half," she says, because she can't help herself.

I roll my eyes. "Please don't."

She grins at Christian, clearly enjoying herself. "So... how is it, living with this one? I know how awful he can be."

Christian scoffs, glancing at me sideways. "He's the messy one."

"Liar," I mutter.

"Denial," Izzy retorts, knowing I like to lie to myself.

Christian smirks at our brother-sister exchange and steps past us, heading toward the schoolhouse. "Nice seeing you again."

"You too," she calls after him.

I watch him go, shoulders hunched slightly against the wind. Probably off to the library like he does every Sunday. Anything to avoid visitation day.

At the last moment, he looks back and smiles at me, igniting familiar flames in my gut.

"Come on," I say, turning back to Izzy. "Let's walk before you start asking the real questions."

She shrugs innocently. "I haven't said anything yet."

"You never have to."

We start down the path behind the school, leaves crunching underfoot, the silence between us already heavy with things I don't want to explain.

We walk the perimeter path. The trees sway in the breeze, bare branches crunching under our boots. Every now and then, I catch a glimpse of students in the distance. They look. Then they look away.

No one bothers us. No one dares.

I don't think about it too hard, but I know why. Monroe's in the hospital. Alex hasn't shown his face in two days. And I've stopped pretending to be harmless.

Isadora doesn't comment on it. She doesn't need to. She sees everything and chooses what to say out loud. That's our deal.

"So," she starts, toeing a pebble off the trail, "you still suck at texting back."

"I've been busy," I say.

She snorts. "Busy causing political unrest in a boarding school?"

"Something like that."