This Fearless Girl (St. Clary's University #2) - E. M. Moore

1

The sound of speeding cars driving down the interstate numbs me. I dig my heels into the dry dirt, staring at the different makes and models as they fly by. All of these travelers, whether driving near or far, are living their own lives on their own time.

I wonder if any of them shot someone a few days ago? With the thousands and thousands of cars passing by, I can’t be the only one. Right? I can’t be the only one who did what was needed to survive the moment; to save the people I’m supposed to hate.

A half mile behind me, the charred remains of my family’s house are entombed in black soot. Debris from the explosion litters the desert floor like unwanted trash. Jagged, broken pieces of decayed wood siding are scattered over the barren terrain along with scraps of singed curtains and shards of glass. I shake my head, the memories of my decimated childhood home hitting me hard and fast. Even with all the evidence left behind, Chief wouldn’t-know-his-ass-from-a-hole-in-the-ground Lionel ruled it a gas explosion.

He’s definitely on the take. If he wasn’t before, he certainly is now. I get it, Cole is one scary ass motherfucker. But a gas explosion? Please. They obliterated the fucking place. My home. They blew it up, then attempted to blow my life apart, too.

I stare at my shaking hands, expecting to see them in a different light after I pulled the trigger at a human instead of a target. I expect to see blood, maybe a black coating from the powder discharge. But there’s nothing. Everything that happened in that moment has only been held internally, scarring my thoughts.

Bringing my knees to my chest, I tuck my hands in my knee-pit to keep the tremors at bay. I glance up, my eyes following a car that has luggage strapped to its roof. I highly doubt they’re in the I just shot someone a few days ago category. They’re more than likely off to a national park for some good ol’ adventure-like fun. I almost laugh. Can I really judge people so easily, though? I don’t look like a gun-toting fiend, yet here I am with shaky hands and mental scars.

I don’t care if it was Lance Jacobs I shot, the feeling doesn’t go away. Though, if I’m honest, picturing his face makes swallowing the jagged pill a hell of a lot easier.

I immediately push that thought aside. That slope is a slippery one, and I don’t need to dwell on what kind of person it makes me to think that way.

Muted footfalls sound and I freeze for a moment before spinning to see who it is, my heart lodging in my throat. I recognize the languid movement of the figure walking toward me and close my eyes, exhaling in relief.

“I figured you’d be here.”

“Since when do you know that I come here?” I ask, voice gravelly with the strain of disuse.

Lucas shrugs as he sits next to me. “I pay attention to things.”

I know he does, and that’s a problem. In this short time, he’s seen more of me than anyone else ever has. Not even my dad knew me as well as Lucas Govern does. Which begs the question of how transparent I was before him. It was as if I was a ghost living within the city limits of Clary, people unable—or unwilling—to see me.

“I came to ask if you were ready for today, but since you’re here, I’m guessing no.”

“Who would be ready?” My black shoes are already scuffed in dirt. Hardly avoidable when we live in the arid Arizona climate, but I’m not helping myself either. The rest of my depressing black outfit is caked in brown sand, too. I dust my shoulder off while Lucas watches.

“Tell me what I can do.” His voice is flat, yet urgent. His soft caramel brown eyes are so much more beautiful than the temperate color I’m surrounded by every day which is why I don’t look at them right now. I don’t know what kind of lies they’ll tell me.

I deserve this. I deserve to feel the pain that can’t easily be lifted. Not by pretty words from a pretty boy; not with a reassuring hand or pleading eyes.

When I don’t answer, Lucas sighs. “You can’t stay away forever, you know.”

That’s where he’s wrong. I’ve been invisible for twenty years. The way I see it, I could comfortably get away with another twenty years and then some. Take the easy