I’m sure someone might question me if I felt your forehead, but it looks to me like you’re running a fever. I really don’t think you should be here today. You should be at home resting. Put your head down. I’ll wake you up before the bell. I’m sure your teacher won’t mind.

My eyes snapped to his, wondering if this was some kind of joke. I knew without looking into a mirror that I had a worried expression on my face. I could feel it in my forehead, but Mr. Taylor wore an easy grin and his eyes sparkled with humor.

Really? Were we friends now or something? I shook my head and folded the piece of paper, making the decision to end the childish notes between us. I wouldn’t take a nap, even though he said it’d be okay. He’d given us the time to study, and that’s exactly what I’d do.

But as the day drew on, I began to regret that decision. My head grew fuzzier and my skin burned hotter and hotter with each passing class. By the time lunch came around, my eyes watered and felt as if they were on fire, and before the last period of the day, all I wanted to do was fall asleep and never wake up.

My feet dragged against the carpeted hallway as I made my way to my locker. I pressed my forehead to the metal, garnering some strength to turn the dial. The locker door pressed cold against my skin, but it didn’t take long before the chill disappeared and heat radiated off it, consuming the space around my head. All I wanted to do was cry in defeat, completely worn out from the long and exhausting day.

I must’ve been sicker than I thought, because time seemed to vanish in the blink of an eye. Once I finished with my locker and made my way to the bus line, I watched as the last of the yellow buses pulled out onto the main road in front of the school.

Shit!

I’d missed my bus in my attempt to pull myself together long enough to make it out of the building. But I hadn’t been fast enough. I knew I’d have to call my mother to pick me up. The last time I’d missed the bus, she told me to find my own way home—which meant to walk. Fearing her response would be the same this time, I collapsed to a bench in defeat. I just needed a moment to garner the courage to trek down to the office to use the phone and call her to pick me up. I hoped and prayed she wouldn’t make me walk—knew I didn’t have the strength for that. Hell, I’d barely had enough energy to walk from my locker to the bus line.

“What’s with me finding you on benches?”

I raised my head, seeing Mr. Taylor standing in front of me. My eyes stung from the heat radiating off my face, and it made his appearance blurry, but it was no doubt him.

“Did you miss the bus?” he asked, and all I could do was nod once in response—even that caused the pounding in my head to increase. “Is your mother coming to get you?”

I shrugged as the first tear fell. I wanted to believe it was because my eyes stung from the heat, and that’s what eyes do when they burn—they tear up. But I knew better than that. I’d started to cry because I’d become consumed with defeat. “I haven’t called her yet.” I dropped my head into my hands, hoping to hide my tears from him.

“This may sound like a stupid question, but will she come pick you up if you call her?”

I wanted to lie to him. My brain begged and screamed at me to say yes, but the hopelessness and despair that filled me wouldn’t allow me to do that. I shook my head as more tears flooded my eyes before slipping to the concrete at my feet. My shoulders trembled as I finally gave in, completely surrendering to the misery I’d fought all day long.

“Stay right here. I’ll pull around and give you a ride home.”

“You don’t need to do that,” I said without lifting my head.

He took one step and then stopped, his shiny black shoes directly in my line of sight. When he spoke, I heard his soft words dangerously close to my ear. “Stay here, Bree. I’ll be back in a minute to take you home.”

Normally, I would’ve been concerned with someone catching me in my teacher’s car. I’m sure that wouldn’t look good to anyone. But at that moment, I was too desperate, too tired to argue or care. I needed a ride, and he’d offered. Anyone that wanted to say something about it could go to hell.

“Does your mom know you’re sick?” Mr. Taylor asked once we pulled away from the school. He even turned the heat up for me, which helped to warm my freezing body but did little for the already blazing fire that had taken over my cheeks.

“Yeah, she knows. I started to get sick yesterday.”

“And she still wouldn’t come get you?”

I turned in my seat to face him, not surprised at all to find his gaze on me, only flitting away briefly back to the road. “I don’t know why you’re still so surprised at these things. You were so convinced last week that she abuses me, yet now you question why she wouldn’t pick me up from school if I miss the bus.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head before returning his full attention to his driving. “I know. I guess it still baffles me how parents can do this to their kids. I mean, it’s clear as day you’re sick, and not just with a cold. Like, you’re really sick. But she picked you up from the library, so I guess it’s not that out of the question that she’d pick you up from school, too.”

I leaned against the door, completely drained of energy, and rested my head against the window. “She didn’t pick me up. I walked home.”

“What do you mean? When?”

“From the library. She never came. I waited for an hour, but she never showed up. So I hiked my own ass home.” I didn’t even bother to look his way. I didn’t care to see whatever expression he wore on his face.

“That can’t be true. You weren’t there once I got in my car, and I even drove by the front of the building. I think I would’ve seen you.”

I pointed with my finger so he’d know where to go, but I kept my words to the conversation at hand. “You’re right. She came. I’m a liar. You drove by the front and didn’t see me because she picked me up in the two minutes it took you to stroll to your car. I wasn’t hiding behind the pillar by the door. And I didn’t trudge home, either. I also didn’t get soaked in the rain. Oh, and while I’m telling the truth…I slept in my bed Saturday night, not on my back porch. I slept under my blanket, all nice and dry, not in my wet jacket. I got sick because it’s January and cold, not because I slept outside after fighting my way home in the freezing rain.” I released a dramatic exhale. “Wow, I feel so much better now that I’ve told the truth.” Fury-filled sarcasm coated every word as tears raced down my face. It was a frustrating mix of emotions.

The Jeep slowed to a stop, but we weren’t at a red light or a stop sign. I turned my head to see why we weren’t moving and caught his questioning gaze. His brow had a heavy, deep crease in the middle, and his nostrils flared. His breathing had caused his chest to rapidly rise before quickly deflating. It was an expression I’d never seen on him before. Was he angry with me?

“What are we doing, Mr. Taylor?” I asked in a meek voice.

“You slept outside? Why would you do that?”

I instantly regretted ever opening my mouth to begin with. I’d done it out of anger, furious with him for dismissing me so easily. Yet now, with the heated intensity radiating from his rigid body, I wished I’d kept my mouth shut and allowed him to assume I’d lied about it. I had no strength left to lie or tell the truth. Tears came easily, and ran in tracks down to my chin, effortlessly falling to my lap. I didn’t even have to try to cry. It was as if my body needed to purge itself of the grief and wouldn’t let me stop it.

“Aubrey…”

“She wouldn’t let me inside, okay? Are you happy? I didn’t have my keys with me because she was supposed to pick me up, so I couldn’t get inside. All the doors were locked. She wouldn’t even come to the door.” I had no idea how much of that he could understand over my sobs. But I assumed it was enough to get the picture.