(FEATURED)
It's been months since the unceremonious fall of Kimie Sato's older sister. The whole of Ridgerock High knows it, and by now, the majority have moved on. But Kimie still watches those who had a hand in it continue to walk free, and the mo...
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On Wednesday after school, as I let myself get drawn into my thoughts while I cleaned the shiny countertop at Sprinkles—the ice cream place I worked thrice a week—I realized the gravity of what I had done to Macy An.
If, for any reason, the police got their hands on that information, she would definitely be arrested.
She didn't just start the cocaine-selling business; she had been doing it since her junior year, according to my research. And that meant she was still dealing. My research didn't give me any information about who or where she got it from, but I used her acquaintance tree to figure that out myself. If Macy was convicted, it was automatically about four years in jail, which meant no college, and probably no decent job in the future, too.
I was pulled out of my head when I felt a tug on my slightly oversized work t-shirt. The pull caused a significant change in my position, and I was a bit startled. But when I turned to the boy beside me, I went red in the cheeks at the embarrassment.
He had a habit of bringing me down from whatever planet I'd teleported to.
"Again, Kim," he pointed out—his voice deep but comfortable to listen to—as he moved past me to the chair next to my legs. He dropped into the seat, stretched out his legs, folded his arms over his chest, and watched me with his eyebrows at weird angles—a dead giveaway of his puzzlement.
"What?" I asked, despite knowing the answer.
He took a while, but eventually said, "You confuse the hell out of me, Sato. That's what."
I turned away from him, moving back to my original position and resuming my earlier action. Tybalt's eyes stayed on me the entire time, watching the movements of my hands over the already clean countertop, and I knew this because I was watching him out of the corner of my eye.
When he stood, my heart performed an awkward action, but my hand kept cleaning. Then he stole the rag from me and leaned his forearms where I'd just cleaned.
"What's going on in that head of yours all the time, Kim?"
The way he asked it made me look at him. His voice was soft, like he was sharing a secret with me, and it surprised me because Tybalt had never used that tone with me. He was always sharing puns and dance moves while we worked, present to pull my head out of the clouds when needed, but he had never talked to me like he knew me.
"Nothing," I replied. "I'm just always thinking."
"About?"
"Life." I tried my best to keep my lips sealed about my personal life when it came to Tybalt, but sometimes it felt like he would just crack me. So I was always careful about what I said when I was with him.
He looked at me for a long time, and I could tell he didn't completely believe me, but before he could ask another question, the bell above the entrance door jingled, welcoming a customer.
