Locked Up Together

8: "It's Not That Shocking."

8: Locked Up Together

        Af the film credits rolled up on the small television screen in the break room, a memory walked its way into my mind. A couple of weeks ago, a group of us had gone to the local movie theater. Liam, the first my school guy friends to arrive, had stepped over and around a whole row of people to sit next to me. "Is this seat saved for Callie?" he'd asked.

        It was. "No," I said, just as Callie came in the door and saw her seat taken. I looked at her over his shoulder as she smiled. I owed her one.

        "So it was saved for me?"

        "We can go with that," I said, stealing a handful of his popcorn.

        "First one's free," he said.

        I raised my eyebrows and smirked a little. "Oh, really. And how much is the second handful?

        He had his own smirk on his face with a mischevious glint in his eyes. "Why don't you find out?"

        I hadn't followed through but changed the subject. "Where are Morice and everyone?"

        Before Liam could answer, Morice and the others came in laughing.

        "My mom is going to murder you," Collin said, trying to flatten his hair. "I was grounded for four days."

        "That's why we kidnapped you," Morice said. "This way, you get to blame us when she gets mad at you."

        "Was the pillowcase necessary, though?" Collin was still trying to tame his static hair.

        Liam laughed, and I glanced his way. "You didn't want to go with them and kidnap Collin?

        He shrugged. "I wanted to get here early."

        What the heck was wrong with me? I thought now, clicking off the television. Whenever I was away from Liam, outside of our interactions, I could easily pick up on all the signs. But whenever I was near him, it was like my brain short-circuited and I couldn't tell whether he liker me or not. I needed to stop thinking so much. If I hired my brother, Dustin, to make me a building that represented me, it would probably be some messed up, weird, squished together, jumbled up rainbow colored building. Though despite its weirdness, it would represent my very messed up brain.

        I tried to force myself to go to sleep. I was tired. My shoulder ached, my eyes throbbed, and my head pounded. A nap would surely help. But it had been a couple of hours since my fight with Alexander, and I felt bad for the situation he lived for. I guess I did feel sorry for him—not that I would ever say that to his face. I rarely verbally fought with someone. I'd never sneaked through anyone's stuff. I hated conflict, but he seemed to bring it out in me. But with the next two says looming ahead, cold and lonely, I knew I needed to try harder to get along with him.

        I was going to have to suck it up. His foster parents grew drugs in the basement of his house. That was bad enough, but I couldn't ignore the second part that he'd said earlier. The part about how they let him come and go as he pleased. It did sound like freedom, but didn't it really mean they didn't care about him, only the money housing him brought in. I had a feeling, despite his flippant attitude about it, that he suspected that as well.

        As I lay there, staring at the coffee table sitting just inches before me, I noticed a small drawer. I reached forward and slid it open. A single deck of cards sat inside. I picked it up and turned it over and over in my hands. It took me three minutes and fifty-four seconds to talk myself into doing what I knew I needed to do.