Run Bad Boy Run

Chapter 7

When I walk into the school library, mountains of cardboard boxes block my path to the best reading chair across from windows. Someone lets out a string of irritated curses and an empty box sails through the air to land at my feet. I crane my neck for the source of the noises.

Mrs. Colsen, the school librarian, pops her head from behind her desk. "Good morning, Ember! How are you?"

I chuckle. "I'm fine. What is all of this?"

Mrs. Colsen wipes the sweat from her forehead and leans against the counter, her body decorated with barcode stickers and ink while static causes her hair to stick up. "Well the new Algebra and World History textbooks are in as you can see by this mess. Miller wants me to inventory them by Friday."

I scrunch my nose. How does Principal Miller expect her to get through all of these books in two days? "Do you need any help?"

"No, no." The older woman waves a hand and pauses to catch her breath. "I'm fine. You go ahead and do what you came here for."

"Are you sure?" I press. "I can do that stuff later."

She tears the tape off of a new box. "A few of my library aids should be coming down any minute. If I need anything, I'll let you know. Now, go on, get to work, sweetie."

"If you insist."

I grab the newest edition of the local newspaper and make my way through the maze of tables scattered to my favorite spot by the windows. Since its lunch, most of the massive library is vacant, and I have more than enough time to finish the long list of uncompleted assignments presented for the day. I pull out a current affairs article for Contemporary Issues.

Police Suspect Multiple Safe Houses Across Florence County.

I frown at the front-page story. Florence County is a forty-five minute drive from here. I rack my brain for the news stories we discussed in class. The shady activity is all anyone can talk about in that class. Aside from the convenience store, there hasn't been anything suspicious or crime-related reported in Valleyfield.

The newspaper is snatched from my fingers. I look up, ready to yell at Hayden, when I notice it isn't Hayden at all. It's Corry. He pushes a hand through his curly black hair and I note the dark circles that weren't there yesterday.

"People need to stop obsessing over this stuff," he comments. "We're safe. Everything's fine."

I raise an eyebrow. There is no one more interested in what is going on than him. "Is everything alright?"

When Corry returned home that night, he appeared even more upset than usual, and wouldn't budge when I questioned him about what had happened. He wasn't moody or snappy. All I saw was exhaustion on my brother's face and that was worse than any of his post-search attitude. I received a text message from our mother saying that she would be spending the night with her co-worker, Denise. The one night became two. And when she came home, she barely acknowledged our presence.

"Yeah. Everything is fine. Just peachy. Never been better." He drawls and the dark clouds above his head grow darker. He refuses to meet my eyes and stares at a spot on the table instead. "I'm just tired, Em."

"Corry..." My lip trembles and I swallow the cotton in my throat.

Before the lung cancer, our father made us promise him that we were to keep moving forward when he was gone. We were not to let anything get in the way of a good education. We needed to strive for an honest life and make sure Mom didn't go down the road she is now. Corry made it his mission for the past six years to do just that and more. Run the house when Mom was working to make ends meet. Protect me. Protect her—even with her alcoholic episodes.