The Vigilante's Handbook (Misfits #1)

Sixteen: Words of Betrayal

It was colder outside than inside, which I wasn't aware was possible. According to my internal thermometer, it was hovering only a few degrees above freezing. Whatever Miguel thought he was doing to help Stitch, he was wrong. A cold or pneumonia wouldn't do anyone any good, especially without Mona on our side.

I wondered if she would take walk-ins if we could find her in however much forest the school dropped us into.

Just outside the trailer, Stitch propped against the tree, once against conscious but significantly more pale than usual.

And, stranger than Stitch's new coloring, was Miguel. He was crouched next to Stitch looking concerned--no surprise or strangeness there. But it looked like Miguel was talking to him. Speaking slowly and soothingly, as I imagined he would talk.

I could have made my way silently toward them. The leaves were damp enough from a rainfall we had thankfully missed that I could have moved quiet enough to not disturb them. I could have avoided the twig that I purposefully stepped on to catch Miguel's attention. I didn't want to intrude on whatever moment they were having.

I expected Miguel to look like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi truck. But he didn't look like I had caught him doing anything out of the ordinary. I suppose I hadn't really. I knew he could talk. He had spoken to me on very few specific occasions. He wasn't trying to convince anyone that he was mute. There was no blood pact--that I know of--that forbade him from speaking. It was just something he chose not to do. Who was I to police when he could or could not speak?

It hurt that he stopped when I came. So I rolled my shoulders back, held my chin up, and tramped through the damp leaves to my friends. "What happened?"

Miguel had fallen mute or chosen to not speak again, so he shrugged. I had never found his shrugs difficult to interpret until that moment.

"You don't know? Or you don't want to tell me?"

He placed a finger to his lips, shushing me without a single, "Shh," then pointed at Stitch. The kid was barely awake, and he looked like he was going to puke up whatever leftovers he was storing in his stomach. Being the good friend that I am, I backed up until I was clear of the splash zone. He held up one finger and concentrated on not losing his breakfast or dinner. When had we last eaten again? I couldn't remember. Whatever the meal was, he managed to keep a hold of it.

Then he opened his mouth and I took another healthy step back, but nothing came out but words. "Thanks, Miguel. And I'm sorry for worrying you, Anna." His eyes closed as he fought back a grimace. I could still see the electricity running through his veins. It was centralized at his temples. When he opened his eyes, he caught me staring. His index finger tapped at the glow beneath his temple. "Sometimes I think I'm giving myself electroshock therapy. It is never a pleasant experience. Is Ariana okay?"

"I'm sure she will be." I was splitting my attention between Stitch and Miguel. "Does one of you want to tell me what's wrong, or should I go back in there and make up my own story about Stitch having a breakdown? They'll believe it. Especially if I say it started last week after we became friends."

"There's no need to resort to threats, Anna. We still are friends." The energy receded deeper into his skin as he took deep shuddering breaths. "I don't like fighting. Sometimes the loud noises, they just get to me. Then my gift- It's like it wells up inside me. It wants everyone to be quiet too, or it knows that I want that." He looked to Miguel as he spoke as if seeking approval. He nodded back. "Do you ever feel that way? Overwhelmed?"

"Not by my gift. Mostly I'm underwhelmed." I struggled to get a laugh out but Stitch managed a smile. "How can I help?"

"What are the odds that you can get everyone to stop arguing and start agreeing about everything?"