me that siren smile each time I clued in. That smile only made me want to learn more.
She took a deep breath after finishing her explanation of a derivative. I’d understood a derivative five minutes ago, but I loved the sound of her sweet voice. Part angel, part music.
“You know a lot about math,” I said. You know a lot about math? What type of statement was that? Right along of the lines of “Hey, you have hair and it’s red and curly.” Real smooth.
“My brother, Aires, was the math genius of our family. The only reason I can keep up is because he tutored me. He never turned in his calculus book, knowing I’d need all the help I could get.” Handling it with the same reverence my mother had carried the family Bible, Echo pulled out an old, tattered math book from her backpack and began turning pages. The book contained copious notes written in blue or black ink in the margins. “Guess that makes me a cheater, huh?”
“No, it means you have a brother who cared.” Was my brothers’ foster mom helping them with their homework, or was she like Gerald’s wife? Locking herself in the bedroom, she’d pretended none of her foster kids existed and that he didn’t beat us.
She stroked the handwritten words on the page. “I miss him. He died two years ago in Afghanistan.” Echo clutched the book like it was a life raft. “IED.”
“I’m sorry.” I’d said that phrase more to her today than I had said it over the past two and a half years. “About your brother.”
“Thanks,” she said in a lifeless voice.
“It doesn’t get better,” I said. “The pain. The wounds scab over and you don’t always feel like a knife is slashing through you. But when you least expect it, the pain flashes to remind you you’ll never be the same.”
Why I was telling her this, I didn’t know. Maybe because she was the first person I’d met since my parents died who could understand. I stared at the pulsating fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling. On. Off. On. Off. I wished I could find my pain’s off switch.
A warm, tickling touch crashed me back to earth. Maybe it sent me straight to heaven. Either way, it dragged me out of hell. Echo’s pink fingernails caressed the back of my hand. “Who did you lose?”
“My parents.” No pathetic sympathy crossed her face, only plain understanding. “Think Mrs. Collins put the two most depressed people together on purpose?” I flashed a smile to keep the honesty of the statement from corroding the remainder of my heart.
Her hand retreated. “Wow. I thought I was the only person at this school faking every moment.”
Craving more of her touch, I shifted on the floor so my arm touched her shoulder. Echo’s lips never moved, but my siren sang nonetheless. Her song seared my skin and my nose burned from her sugar and cinnamon scent.
Her back pocket vibrated, flinging me back to hell … sorry— high school. I needed one of Beth’s cigarettes and I didn’t even smoke.
She skimmed a text message on her iPhone. Probably that lucky son-of-a-bitch ape boyfriend. Any trace of the siren smile I worked so hard to put on her face faded. That in itself was a fucking tragedy.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. My stepmom stalking my every move,” she said with forced lightness.
I took a relieved breath. Better her stepmom than the ape. “At least you’ve got someone who cares.” I doubted Shirley or Dale knew I owned a cell phone. “I am sorry for making you cry earlier. I promise I’ll play nice in the future.”
“Does this mean that I’m actually tutoring you now?”
“Yeah, I guess it does.”
Echo pulled her sleeves over her hands. “You didn’t make me cry. You didn’t help, but you didn’t make me cry.”
She had exposed her hands while she tutored me—when she touched me. Shit. I’d forgotten about her scars. Hell, she’d forgotten about her scars—until now. I wanted that moment back, and to see her smile again. “Then who did? It’s been a while since I’ve been in a fight. My rep will be ruined if I’m good for too long.”
She fought it, but I won. The smile returned for a brief dazzling moment. “You’d be expelled if you got into a fight with Mrs. Collins. So thanks, but no, thanks.”
I hit the back of my head against the locker. “She fucked with me today, too. Must be a third date thing.” I chuckled when Echo looked at me like I’d tattooed my forehead.
“Third date thing meaning what?”
Did she live in a box? “After the third date, people generally have sex. Today was my third session and Mrs. Collins royally screwed me over. And by the looks of it, she did a number on you, too.”
Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed as she ran through what I said. I loved how her lips twitched in humor and a blush touched her cheeks.
“You know what sucks?” she asked.
“Mrs. Collins?”
“Yes, but that’s not what I meant. Everything I need to know is in that freaking file she keeps on me. It’s like the key to the magic door that opens the magic kingdom.” She kicked her backpack across the hall. “I could finally find some real peace if I could get my hands on that stupid, stupid folder.”
As she spoke, my mind whirled like a tornado. Mrs. Collins was in touch with Tyler and Jacob’s foster parents, which meant she had their information: their last names, their phone number, their address. Echo was right. Those files were a gold mine. If I got my hands on my folder, I could check on my brothers. I could prove they were in an abusive home and gain custody. “You, Echo, are a genius.”
Stage one of Operation Read My File consisted of my father, Ashley and me waiting for Mrs. Collins to call us in for our meeting. My father stood in the corner, speaking harshly to someone on the other end of his BlackBerry while Ashley and I sat next to each other on the row of chairs.
Ashley flung her hand over her stomach. “Oh. Oh, Echo, the baby kicked.”
“You can come in now,” called Mrs. Collins.
I flew out of my seat. “Thank God.” For months, Ashley had bored everyone with endless baby chatter. Okay, maybe not everyone. My father hung on her every word like she was Paul preaching the gospel. He’d never paid this much attention to my mother. If he had, I wouldn’t be the school freak.
Three weeks ago, Mrs. Collins had begun the term wearing business suits and then jeans and a nice shirt on casual Fridays. Each week casual Friday moved up a day. Today, Tuesday was the new Friday. From behind her desk, she flashed her never-ending smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Emerson, how wonderful to see you, but our group session is next week.”
With eyebrows raised, my father sent a questioning glance to Ashley, who sat stunned with her mouth open. “No. The family calendar clearly stated …”
I
