Morgan.
The yard had a waist-high chain link fence all the way around. With his head down, Morgan scrambled to the front gate and pushed it open, nearly slamming it into Rae’s legs. The hinges squealed, and she inhaled sharply.
Morgan looked up with a start. She stared at him. His eyes were red, his face drawn as if caving in on itself.
He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “What are you doing here?”
“I . . .”
The front door flew open again, and a burly man in grease-stained coveralls waved a fist in the air. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Come on.” Morgan grabbed her hand and pulled. “We gotta get out of here.”
He ran down the block, holding on to her tightly. When she tripped trying to keep up, he kept her from falling, then tugged her around a blue trailer house and down an alley.
“This is far enough.” He panted. “Boss is too lazy to leave the yard.”
She leaned her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. “Your dad’s name is Boss?”
Morgan gave her a look she couldn’t decipher. “He’s not my dad.”
She looked at the ground so he wouldn’t see the questions covering her face. If that wasn’t his dad, who was it? And what was he so mad about?
A rickety flatbed trailer surrounded by knee-high weeds was parked on one side of the alley, and Morgan sat on it. Her heart resumed its normal beat, and she straightened, studying the alley. What on earth had just happened? Morgan didn’t speak, so she didn’t either. If he wanted to explain, he would. Dad always said a good lawyer knew when to push for answers and when to let the answers come to him.
Morgan fixed an intense gaze on her. “Why were you at my house?”
“I wasn’t.” She didn’t look away, though his sapphire eyes burned through her. “I was just walking. I didn’t know it was your house.”
He looked away then, his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but then shut it again. She wasn’t cold, yet she rubbed her bare arms and looked around self-consciously, suddenly aware of how out of place she was. Standing in an overgrown alley with a kid she barely knew, in stark contrast to him with her nice black jeans and name-brand blouse. He wore the same worn-out hoodie he always wore.
She gestured back toward Fifth and started to turn. “I should probably get going.”
His expression changed. “Wait.”
She stopped.
He kicked at the flatbed’s cracked tire, avoiding her eyes. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”
Instead of leaving, she took a step closer to him. Drawn by his vulnerability. “No. I promise.”
“He’s only like that when my mom’s not home.”
She took another step. “Boss?”
“Yeah, he’s my mom’s boyfriend. Or something. His real name is Gary.”
He must’ve seen the question in her eyes.
He shrugged. “Everyone calls him Boss.”
She hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the trailer. Morgan tensed but didn’t move.
“Will your mom be home soon?”
He scooted back onto the flatbed and pulled his knees up to his chest. “I don’t know. Sometimes she works late at Della’s, and sometimes . . .”
She wanted to say she was sorry or something but it didn’t feel right. He wouldn’t like that. Instead, she sat there, rubbing her palm over the smooth, weathered wood. Boss must be the reason Morgan attended Community Hope even though he was acing his classes and graduating early. Might even be the reason he hung around the school early in the morning.
She checked her phone. A text from her mom asked where she was. It was almost five-thirty, and she still had to walk home.
She stood. “My parents expect me for dinner.”
Longing glinted across Morgan’s face like a flicker of flame, then was gone. Snuffed out. “You’re lucky, you know.”
She remembered Boss’s face and the words he had shouted. “You can come with me, if you want.”
He laughed a humorless laugh. “I’m sure your parents would love to see me show up on your doorstep.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind. You better get going.”
“No. I want to know. You think my family’s a bunch of snobs or something?”
He shook his head, and his shoulders slumped. “You just live in a different world from me. You don’t know what it’s like to wish . . .”
As his voice trailed off, she thought of her parents and a car flying wildly down a hill. Whatever it was he didn’t want to say, she had a feeling maybe she did know.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
Gerrit shifted in the hard plastic chair, his muscles complaining. Who knew scrubbing floors and lugging laundry up and down the stairs could be such hard work? He was wiped out, and Daisy hadn’t lifted a paw to help.
But Evi and Noah were coming in five days, and the house was going to shine if it killed him.
“Rough day?” Morgan asked.
Like this kid had any clue about rough days. Well, maybe he did. A little.
“This chair is uncomfortable.”
“Why are you in such a bad mood?”
He wasn’t in a bad mood. He was worried. What would it be like to have Evi and Noah around? He didn’t know what to talk to them about. What if he messed up the ziti?
“You’re coming on Monday, right?”
Morgan nodded, one hand on Daisy’s head, the other on his red notebook.
“Where are those papers I gave you?”
“In my bag.”
“Get them out. We can work on it.”
“I’ll do it at home.”
Gerrit narrowed his eyes. He’d stopped at the public library—the public library, for crying out loud—on his way here to use their computer thing and print an application to Everett Community College for Morgan. He’d tried to print it at home, but Hannie always did that for him. He couldn’t figure it out.
“We’ve got time now.”
Morgan pushed his hair
