Inquest (12 page)

Maybe his plan
is working after all. That will make his day. Seeing him free of
bruises or other injuries has already made mine. Milo slides into
his seat, unzips his backpack, and pulls out a paper bag. Without a
word, he hands me the bag and slouches down into his chair. His
eyes close a second later.

“Milo,” I
hiss.

Nothing.

“Milo, what
happened?”

His eyes stay
stubbornly closed, but Ms. Hernandez’s eyes snap to me like a
predator about to attack. Her glare lingers only a second before
she shivers and turns back to her lecture. She’s obviously scared
of me, but unfortunately, I’m pretty scared of her too. I shrink
down in my seat and rest my feet on the book rack under the chair
in front of me.

“Eat,” Milo
whispers.

“What?”

Opening one
eye, he shakes his head and points at the bag on my desk.
“Eat.”

I open the bag
and peer into it. It’s not homemade this time, but a cold lunch
from the cafeteria is better than nothing. Even though I put money
back in my account this morning, I didn’t have time to get
anything. “Thanks,” I whisper. But his eyes are already closed
again.

As quiet as
humanly possible, I take my lunch out of the bag and eat it while I
listen to Ms. Hernandez recite the steps you should take to
determine if someone is lying to you. She’s jumped quite a ways
from yesterday’s painfully basic lesson plan. Discerning the truth
of what someone is telling you requires first mastering the ability
to feel another person’s emotions. That can take years to learn by
itself. After that, you have to be able to untangle the web of
emotions that surround people constantly, even more so when they’re
trying to hide something. Then you need to be able to sort the
individual strands of emotion to find what you’re looking for.

It’s a lengthy
process for people who have spent years practicing, something none
of the students in this classroom but me has had. I’ve done it so
often I barely even have to think about it anymore. As long as I’m
relatively calm and not too worked up to focus on my talents, I can
feel lies on my skin like ants. Why she’s giving a lesson on this
makes very little sense, but I actually find it rather interesting.
She brings up some techniques I have never tried, being largely
self-taught. The hour speeds by quickly, and the ending bell breaks
Ms. Hernandez off midsentence. Despite Milo’s pretending to be
asleep a few seconds earlier, he’s the first one out of his
seat.

“Oh no, you
don’t,” I mutter as I shove my things back into my bag. I catch up
to him right outside the classroom and grab his arm. He pulls me
along for a few steps until we’re clear of the doorway. The way he
leans against a row of lockers and crosses his ankles doesn’t fool
me. “What happened this morning with Lance?”

“Nothing,
really.”

“Nothing,
really, is a far cry from nothing. What happened, Milo?”

Milo sighs,
but the smile creeping onto his face contradicts his irritation. “I
may have said something along the lines of him being a pansy for
trying to kill a girl.”

I close my
eyes and take a very deep breath.

“I also might
have commented on how embarrassed he must have been to have run
away like a little wuss after he did it.”

“Milo…”

“And I may or
may not have called him a pussy for dumping his girlfriend on her
birthday.”

“Milo, you
didn’t,” I plead. “Lance is going to kill you. You know that,
right?”

His irritating
shrug makes me punch him in the shoulder. It lands with enough
force to make him wince.

“Milo, leave
Lance alone. Please.” I’m begging him. I’m supposed to be some
awesomely powerful person, and I’m begging. “Please?”

He slowly
rolls the shoulder I punched then folds his arms across his chest.
“Lance isn’t going to do anything. Guardian Clement put him on
probation after he found out what he almost did to you. If he
screws up on or off school property, he’s suspended for two weeks.
It’ll go on his permanent record and screw up his chances of
becoming a full-fledged Guardian.”

“So you were
baiting him? Milo, that’s not a very good idea,” I say. “If Lance
can find a way to do it without being caught, he’ll come after you.
And he’ll win. No offense, but Perception isn’t going to do a whole
lot against Speed and Strength.”

“Whether he
finds some sneaky way to get to me or not, I seriously doubt he
thinks I’ll let it slide. I’d have no problem ratting out a creep
like Lance,” Milo argues.

My stomach
twists uncomfortably, making my lunch want to lurch its way back
up. “Have you ever seen him play football, Milo? He’s ruthless.
There’s a possibility that if he comes after you, you won’t be
doing any talking afterward.”

Mild surprise
shows on Milo’s face, but it doesn’t last. “And why were you dating
someone like that? I thought you had better taste.”

Like dating
Milo instead? Shocked by the wave of excitement brought on by that
thought, I smother it instantly. I have no idea how strong Milo’s
Perception skills are. My voice sounds a little strangled when I
respond. “That was before you so kindly enlightened me to his
faults.”

“Oh, right,”
he says.

“But that’s
hardly the point, Milo. You can’t go around antagonizing Lance.
He’ll hurt you. Badly.”

Dry as the
desert sand, Milo says, “You know it’s almost insulting how much
you doubt my ability to handle myself in a fight.”

“It’s not
about doubt,” I say in exasperation, “it’s about talents. Your one
talent won’t stand up against Lance’s Speed and Strength.”

I didn’t mean
to hurt him, but Milo flinches at my words and his fingers subtly
tug down the hem of his sleeve to cover his mangled diktats. My
frustration melts into concern immediately. Of course it would be a
sore spot with him having only one talent. Why did I have to throw
it in his face?

Trying to
apologize, I press my hand against his chest, like I often did with
Lance, and feel his heart speed up at the contact. His muscles
tense. I consider pulling away, but the hurt I caused him is still
rippling across my skin.

“Milo,” I say
hesitantly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” What do I say without
bringing up his singular talent again? I can’t even apologize
without making things worse. I start over. “I’m sorry, Milo. I
didn’t mean it badly. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

The muscles
under my hand release their tension. Relief floods over me, though
I’m not sure whether it was all from me or from Milo as well.

“I’m not going
to get hurt, Libby.”

“How can you
possibly think that?” I ask.

He smiles in a
way that makes me want to smack him without even hearing what he’s
going to say. “Because, if Lance does come after me, I know you can
take him for me. Why do you think I drive you around and bring you
food? Some people might think I’m crazy for hanging out with you,
but really, I’m just the only one smart enough to see the benefit
of sticking close.”

He’s joking. I
think. That couldn’t really be the reason he popped up because that
would be crazy. I’m way more trouble than I’m worth. Either way,
he’s a total jerk. I realize my hand is still on his chest…oops,
and I take advantage of that fact, shoving him against the wall
hard enough to make him grunt.

“You’re only
proving my point,” he wheezes.

His eyes are
laughing even if he can’t take a deep enough breath to manage the
actual sound. Matching his earlier smile, I shove him one more time
before letting my hand fall away. My fingers drop more slowly than
need be, but only out of curiosity, I tell myself. He wears shirts
three sizes too big, but there is definitely some serious muscle
under there. I force myself to focus and brighten my grin even
more. Milo looks at me warily. As he should.

“If you expect
me to play bodyguard for you…” I say, although after feeling his
chest, maybe my doubt was a little premature. “I think I deserve a
little more than rides to school and food from you.”

“What did you
have in mind?” Milo asks slowly.

My lips turn
up wickedly. “Shopping.”

That one word,
more than the threat of Lance attacking him, makes Milo’s eyes
widen in agony. “Shopping? Seriously?”

“Deadly.”

“That might be
more accurate than you think. I’m severely allergic to malls,
boutiques, anything resembling a clothing store at all,” Milo
groans.

I try to pout
for him but my smiling gets in the way. “Poor baby. But that’s my
price. Take it or leave it.”

For a moment I
actually worry that he’ll turn me down. But only for a very brief
moment. “Fine,” he says. His frown is only somewhat convincing.

I grin back at
him, not feeling sorry for him in the least.

“How about
tomorrow? We can spend all of Saturday shopping.”

“Fine,” he
growls again.

Milo slips his
hand onto my lower back, sending a shiver up my spine, and shoves
me toward my next class. He’s by my side in an instant, though.
Despite our newly made agreement, I get the distinct impression
from the way his eyes sweep the hall that he still sees himself as
my protector rather than the other way around. It’s so sweet, which
is totally bizarre, but nice. Milo looks down at me and I redirect
my thoughts before that line of thinking takes me somewhere I can’t
afford to go.

I bump my hip
into him playfully, and say, “If you’re a good boy this weekend,
and provided you don’t go into anaphylactic shock at the mere sight
of a shopping mall, I’ll let you help me pick out something even
you will like.”

That catches
his interest.

“What?” he
asks. The eager glint in his eyes is delicious. What I wouldn’t
give to know what he’s thinking right now.

I smile up at
him sweetly. “A new car.”

His face
breaks into a grin so big it very nearly reaches his ears. “Now
that’s one kind of shopping I don’t mind at all.”

I just shake
my head. “You’re such a guy.”

“And what’s so
wrong with that?” Milo asks.

It’s an
innocent question. But it hits home, stopping me in my tracks. Milo
takes several more steps before realizing he’s left me behind. He
turns back and frowns. Hugging myself, trembling, tears welling in
my eyes, he must think I’m a lunatic.
I
think I’m a lunatic.
Crying in the middle of a slowly emptying hallway. What is wrong
with me? I don’t even realize Milo has moved until his hand touches
my shoulder. I stare at his hand, watching as my tears splash down
on his knuckles. This is so stupid.

“Hey, what’s
wrong?” Milo asks.

I shake my
head. I feel like such an idiot.

“Libby…” His
hand leaves my shoulder and touches my chin. I close my eyes and
focus on the feel of his warm skin against mine.

“What
happened?” he asks.

“Nothing…nothing. It’s just me being unstable again,” I say.

He pulls my
chin up so I am looking at him. “That’s entirely possible,” he
says, “but I don’t think that’s the problem right now. Why are you
crying?”

My shoulders
start shaking. “Lance likes cars, too,” I say, sending the rest of
my tears over the edge.

It’s
ridiculous to be crying over this. I hate him. I almost hope Lance
does come after Milo just so I can have the chance to beat his
superior smirk off his face. I could do it, too. But it still hurts
to have lost him. Maybe Milo understands, or maybe he just knows
what crying teenage girls need, but his arms slip around my
shoulders, and he pulls me into a hug. My own arms unwrap from
around my body and wind around him.

The bell for
the next class rings, but Milo doesn’t pull away. I guess that’s
one benefit of having a friend who couldn’t care less about his
grades. Minutes pass by slowly, but eventually the aching betrayal
gives way to the fact that Milo is rubbing my back in slow circles.
And the fact that being in his arms feels so warm and reassuring
that I never want to leave. We can’t stand in the hall forever,
though. Missing his embrace before I even leave it, I push back
from Milo and wipe away a few tears still lingering on my cheeks.
And realize the rest of my tears have all soaked into Milo’s
shirt.

“Sorry about
your shirt,” I mumble through my embarrassment.

He looks down
and just shrugs. “No big deal. It just gives me one more reason to
bash Lance’s face into the ground.”

“I thought
that was my job.”

Milo considers
that for a moment. “We might have to draw straws for the
privilege.”

Chapter 11

Betsy

The cashier
practically throws my bags at me. Her vicious glare is nothing new.
I’ve been getting those kinds of looks all day. At least she was
willing to let me buy something. Others haven’t been so
accommodating. I actually got thrown out of a couple of stores
today. Even Milo looked like he might be getting irritated at the
treatment after the last one. Where is he anyway?

I glance
around me at the storefronts nearest me and spot him across the
food court at an electronics store. That’s right. He was going to
look for a DVD player so we could watch more than what the basic
cable channels in my room have to offer. I would go over and join
him, but I have to use the bathroom really bad. I settle for
texting him that I’ll be over in a few minutes and make a beeline
for the nearest ladies’ room.

Trying to make
my way through a crowd of people inexplicably gathered right into
front of the bathrooms with a dozen bags gripped in my hands is no
treat. I finally shoulder a woman out of my way and break through.
As soon as I do a meaty hand clamps down on my arm. I smother my
first thought—to take a swing at him—and turn slowly toward
him.