The Finished Masterpiece Boxed Set - Pepper Winters Page 0,37

how sharing something I’ve been keeping inside suddenly didn’t make me so sad.” She shielded her eyes from the sun. “I guess all I’m saying is, I owe you.”

“Don’t I owe you?”

“No. You gave me a secret. You said you...um, liked me.”

I looked away. “That doesn’t really count.”

“It does.” Her smile turned softer. “Besides, I don’t expect to know more unless you really want me to.”

“Why did revealing your secret make you feel better?” I deflected the subject off me, striding toward the yawning entrance of our school, stupidly pleased when Olin kept pace.

The building with its red bricks was weathered and its glass smudged, but the institutional box with its no-nonsense architecture had a sense of sturdiness that said, for the hours of education, I was safe within its walls.

Tension from a sleepless night and a cuff around the back of my head at two a.m. this morning slid down my spine as the shadows of the foyer welcomed us back.

Tuesday.

A good day.

Four full days within a classroom where the mess of my world couldn’t find me.

I sighed heavily, annoyed that my thoughts had darkened while Olin walked by my side. It wasn’t fair to her goodness to be thinking of the cesspit I lived in.

Olin took her time answering, her face determined as if her answer was important. Which it was. Everything about her was important.

I wanted to ask every question and steal every answer. I wanted to know what her favourite drink was. What did she do after school? Did she have any hobbies? Did she have a dog or a goldfish? What did she think about late at night in bed?

I trembled with the need to skip past the awkwardness and find comfort in each other. I wasn’t cut out for honesty and ripping scabs off emotional wounds. I was drawn to her because she was safe. Telling her who I was didn’t feel safe.

It could ruin our friendship. And friendship with Olin had the power to be the most valuable thing in my life.

Entering our classroom, Olin finally said, “I think it made me feel better because it doesn’t sound so bad out loud. Sure, I miss my parents. Sure, they’re not home a lot and I’m an only child. And sure, compared to my friends who have mums and dads who cook for them and scold them for not doing their homework, I’m a little lonely. But...I’m also so much luckier than most.”

My heart once again swelled for this incredible, forgiving girl.

“I have a house. A bed. Blankets. There’s electricity for heating and TV. There’s a kitchen to make pancakes. There’s even space in the garden that’s a perfect place to dance.” She sighed happily. “So you see, I might not have everything, but I have so much too. So that’s why I feel better. It made me focus on what I do have and not what I don’t.”

“That’s why you help others...’cause you’re grateful?”

“Isn’t that why anyone helps? Because of empathy and the knowledge that someone out there has it way harder than you? Even on those bad days, we’re still alive and—”

“It’s not that simple.” I walked away, tossing my bag beneath my desk. Kicking it farther into the shadows, I didn’t want her to see the ketchup stains or rips. I’d pulled it from a dumpster behind a local fast food joint a few months ago because I had no money to buy one and my father would never dream of providing for me.

I supposed she was right.

I might not have much, but I had a bag. I had a bed to sleep in—when I wasn’t being abused. I had school.

I have her.

My hackles dropped as I turned to face her.

“Life can be as simple or as complicated as we make it.” Olin slipped her bag off her shoulder, letting it slouch onto the floor by her desk. “But I’ll shut up now. I get the feeling you don’t really want to talk about this.”

I scowled. “What gave you that impression?”

She made no move to sit. The empty classroom echoed a little, the sterile walls and lack of decoration making it seem as if we didn’t belong without a teacher present.

What would Ms Tallup say if she knew we were here alone?

I shuddered a little.

I loathed Ms Tallup. I loathed her as much as I feared her, and I had a healthy dose of fear. I’d lived through far worse people than a strict woman with a stick up her ass,