Chapter 2

Computer class was one of the few classes Taylor didn’t dread. The trio weren’t in this class, for one. Most people were learning basics, like typing without looking at the keyboard. A smaller group moved forward into the more advanced stream. Rhiyen, Taylor, and a few others started on basic programming. Last week, they had learned about spreadsheets. She finished the lesson early, let her head hang forward so her hair covered her face, and enjoyed a moment of quiet.

She jumped and hissed in surprise as something thumped hard against the back of her chair, just as the bell rang. She shoved her hair to the side, flinching a little. A backpack swung near and she realized it must have bumped her chair as Rhiyen made his way down the aisle.

Had she fallen asleep to the quiet clacking of keys? That wasn’t like her, especially not at school. It wasn’t safe. She had to keep reminding herself of that, even when she was just… tired. She was tired of having to watch her back at all times. It would be too easy to relax, then get punished for dropping her constant vigilance. The trio had been stymied in some attempts to make her life more miserable. Normally, that would make her even more anxious about how they would escalate, but somehow, she felt a little more secure. Recently, she had even started to enjoy World Affairs. Despite Mr. Gladly’s obvious efforts at favoritism, he did try to cover the basic coursework.

Rhiyen surprised her by joining her group, with Sparky and Greg. She froze when he asked, unsure what to say. Even stranger, he worked on the project with her, occasionally guiding chatty Greg back on topic with a snarky comment here and there. Madison was still her annoying self, sulking at Mr. Gladly until he gave her group the topic that Taylor was interested in, but that was nothing different.

The next day, to her utter surprise, Rhiyen outmaneuvered Madison cleverly, announcing a decoy topic that Madison insisted should be her group’s, then grudgingly accepting their “second choice”, which was the actual one their group wanted. Taylor had to stifle a grin when Madison threw her a smug smirk over her shoulder. Greg had stopped talking for three minutes straight, staring at Rhiyen in shock.

She couldn’t help but admire his resourcefulness, then shook herself out of such thoughts. There was no time for that, and she had to watch for the inevitable betrayal. After all, Emma was still talking to Rhiyen every day, so she knew there must be some plot afoot. But in the meantime, why not enjoy the little victories while they lasted?

It would be so easy to fall into the trap of getting even with the trio someday. Sophia was strong and fast, but Emma and Madison were ordinary when it came to a shoving match. She knew from experience that she could wrestle Emma to the ground if she had to, as long as Sophia wasn’t within reach. The thought of the times they had played together hurt. Simpler times. She knew if she thought about it, she could come up with ways to get back at them. Give the trio their just desserts and make them regret what they had put her through. Except she was better than that.

The thought of her father’s disappointment, his shame at the news she got into a fight at school? That was more daunting, but it still didn’t outweigh the anger and frustration. Even worse would be watching his expression of bewildered defeat. After her mother died, he had spiraled hard and only recently seemed to be coming out of it. She didn’t want to send him down into the darkness again.

In art class, she listened intently as Mrs. Horn reminisced about some of the work she’d done in her “starving artist” days. Taylor was suddenly inspired when her teacher mentioned cleaning and sanitizing musical instruments for a repair shop. After class, she shyly asked if Mrs. Horn could give her suggestions for cleaning her mother’s flute. Her teacher agreed and asked her to bring it in for a quick inspection. Taylor felt guilty every time she looked at it since it started to tarnish. She sighed as she headed out of art class. It was just one more thing that hadn’t been the same since Mom died.

*O*O*

I’d become attuned to the behavior of my classmates at Winslow, so it was obvious when it changed. One morning, as I was visiting my locker before classes started, I noticed Taylor acting furtive as she retrieved her books. From the corner of my eye, I saw her place something long and thin, wrapped in cloth, inside her locker. When she closed it, I saw her triple-check the lock to make sure it was seated properly and engaged. With a final tug on the hasp, she shouldered her backpack and turned towards me. I gave her what I thought was a friendly nod, but she glanced away.

Taylor looked nervous all through computers and world affairs. Wonder of wonders, Mr. Gladly actually had a lecture on the structure and duties of the State Department prepared. Figuring this was a big deal for him, I tried to take comprehensive notes. Oddly enough, I didn’t see other people picking up on this. So, it may have just been wasted effort on my part. Taylor seemed distracted there as well and took sparse notes. I began to wonder what she was up to. That parcel didn’t look like a gun. Maybe a long thin knife? Lord knows I wouldn’t exactly blame her at this point, but that seemed out of character from what I’d seen.

Hebert pulled her usual disappearing act at lunch time. I’d thought once or twice about following her to see where she went, but I didn’t want her thinking I was stalking her or something. Satisfying my curiosity wasn’t worth it.

However, toward the end of the period, Taylor made a rare appearance in the lunchroom. She walked up to Emma and spoke quietly. I couldn’t hear their conversation from where I was sitting, even when I stopped chewing. There was too much background noise. Taylor spoke more, with quiet intensity. Emma’s replies seemed flippant but calculated. I could see Taylor’s demeanor crack once, then she lost composure at something Emma said. After a short reply, she walked out again, leaving me wondering what was said and done. Losing my appetite, I soon dumped my tray and stacked it with the others.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Taylor was not in Art class. Mrs. Horn looked around when her name came up on roll call and no one answered. Sophia, who’d wandered in late said something to her friend that had them both laughing quietly. I resisted the urge to interrogate them on what was so frigging funny. I hate being out of the loop, especially when I suspect something bad is going down. One Glenridge was enough. At the end of the period, Hess shot out of there with the bell. It’s not like I even knew enough to confront her.

Taylor was a no-show for Math as well. I watched the door as the bell rang, hoping she’d dash in late. When she didn’t, the heavy feeling in my stomach intensified. This girl had perfect attendance. Of course, Emma, Chloe, and Patricia sat near me again. At least they stayed quiet while Quinlan began reading from the book. When we hit the hour mark, he assigned homework problems from the textbook. As he sat down in his chair and blinked a few times, Emma started her normal patter, but I cut her off this time.

“What did you say to Hebert at lunch?” I asked bluntly.

“Oh, you saw that did you?” she smiled. “The sheep finally showed up in the light of day. Seems like she brought something… important... to school and forgot to lock her locker. And then it disappeared, and she tried to blame me for her stupidity.” She laughed and the other two girls joined in.

“Bullshit.” I said coolly. “My locker is near hers, and I noticed her locking it down like Fort Knox and checking it multiple times.”

“Well…” Emma drawled. “She must have done something wrong. Why do you care about that loser anyway?”

“Wow,” I said. “You really are vile, aren’t you?” With that, I slammed my textbook shut, shoved everything into my backpack, and stood up. Quinlan didn’t even acknowledge me as I left the classroom. I glanced back. Emma’s mouth had finally closed, but two spots of red appeared on her pale cheeks.

I swapped out my books at my locker. I glanced over at Taylor’s locker. It was closed securely. I was tempted to pull on the lock, but I didn’t want to smear any potential fingerprints. I checked around the third floor, paying attention to any out of the way spaces. I finished up the second floor by the time the last bell rang. There weren’t as many places I could think of to be alone on the first floor. I decided to take a quick look around the outside of the empty school before I headed toward the bus stop. I found her near the service entrance, as my nose was coping with a myriad of rancid smells.

I heard the stifled sobbing before I rounded the corner of the dumpster. Taylor sat on the asphalt. In front of her lay what looked like a musical instrument, but it was battered and dented, bent almost in two, keys destroyed, and smeared with a brown substance I didn’t need to smell to identify.

“Jesus Christ,” I swore. “What the hell happened to it?”

Taylor, clearly sunk in her misery, started violently at the sound of my voice. “It was my mother’s,” she said haltingly. “My father gave it to me after she died, so I’d have something of hers.” Her voice trailed off at the end, and her head hunched down almost like she was expecting a blow.

Oh crap, this was awful. I knelt next to her. “I’m so sorry,” I began as I carefully placed a hand on her shoulder. At the contact, she flinched a little. I kept my hand steady but didn’t remove it. Then she turned and pressed her face against my chest as she wrapped her arms around my back. Her crying intensified as her whole body shook with the force of it. I wrapped my arms around her to steady her as she wept.

Goddamn, I thought as I held her, they finally broke her down. Shit. I didn’t have a lot of experience dealing with crying women or comforting at all. Karen had broken down that one time I was hurt, remembering her brother’s death. Suffering wasn’t a competitive sport, but Karen had two parents that cared about her. I shied away from thinking how they’d mourn her after we both died in Glenridge.

Taylor seemed more alone. I tentatively rubbed circles between her shoulder blades. I felt her tears soak through the front of my shirt. I made inane comforting sounds, trying to make sense of my own head. Doing this felt… good, in some hard to define way. Maybe it was because I was doing the right thing. Maybe it was because I’d finally found a way to help.

Eventually, the sobbing eased. By that time, I had maneuvered into a sitting position on the asphalt. Taylor’s weight rested on my lap with her long legs stretched out to the side. For all her height, she felt light as a feather, as if the crying had diminished her in some way. I tightened my arms around her a little at the unsettling thought.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

I leaned my neck forward. “It’s okay,” I whispered. Her hair smelled… interesting. “Looks like you needed that.”

She shuddered and pulled back. I took the hint and opened my arms. She blinked and looked at my chest with guilty dismay. “Sorry about your shirt,” she said, indicating where it had been soaked.

“It’ll air dry,” I reminded her.

She nodded and then glanced at the flute and winced. “What do I do now?” she whispered almost to herself. “Dad is going to be so disappointed.”

“Barnes knows something,” I said. “She practically bragged to me about it when I asked what happened at lunch. I know for a fact you locked everything down securely. I saw it from five feet away this morning.”

“The teachers won’t do anything,” Taylor said in a dull voice. “No matter how many times I’ve complained, nothing ever happens to them. I stopped bothering after a while. All it made them do was escalate.”

“Let me guess,” I said, recalling the ringleaders I’d picked out, “Barnes, Clements, and Hess?”

She nodded. “It started at the beginning of last year and never stopped. I thought over the summer they’d get bored and lose interest.” She shook her head, her hair rustling over her shoulders. “I just got nasty emails over the summer, but as soon as we were back in school…”

“Yeah, I saw,” I said. “So maybe we need to go to the cops?”

“What?” Taylor asked, sounding a little confused. With the day she was having, I wasn’t surprised.

“That,” I gestured toward the defiled instrument, “is at least malicious property damage, if not outright theft. Hopefully, whatever’s wrong with Winslow doesn’t extend to the Brockton Bay Police Department.”

She nodded, and then winced. “We’ll have to get my dad involved if we do that.” I could see her lips visibly thinning.

“Is that a problem?” I asked warily. If he was abusing her too…

“No. I mean,” she paused for a moment, seeming to weigh her words. “Mom’s death hit him hard. Really hard. He hasn’t really been the same since then. I didn’t want to… burden… him, you know? I wanted to handle this on my own. I thought they’d get tired after a while and stop.”

“But they didn’t,” I added.

“No. They didn’t,” she admitted, looking up to meet my gaze. Her eyes behind her glasses looked so tired and defeated.

I swallowed and then reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “So now we escalate. I understand that you aren’t sure if your dad can handle this, but you’ve been leaving him out of it so far. Give him a chance to step up, and if he doesn’t, at least you’ll know, right?”

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“I’m not sure I want to confirm that I’m alone,” she whispered.

She looked so… desolate. This crap has been going on since the start of last year. Constantly. “You’re not. I’m not going anywhere,” I said, the words coming unbidden, but all the truer. No one that resilient deserved to stand alone.

Taylor thought about this for a moment and nodded. “I guess we need to bring the flute home now.” She made a face.

I glanced over at the crap-covered mess. “School is closed now. Let me take a look in the dumpster.”

I sprang to my feet and grabbed the lip of the dumpster and pulled myself up. Amongst the large bags of kitchen waste, I saw a smaller white trash bag that looked like it came from the copy room. Swinging a leg over, I leaned over and managed to snag it. Pulling open the top, I poured out most of the papers and then dropped it down outside. Then I swung my leg back over and jumped down.

Taylor was just standing up, moving a little stiffly and gaping at my performance. I pulled the last sheaf of papers out of the plastic bag and used them to pick up the besmeared flute and place it inside the bag. Then I wrapped it securely around the instrument and presented it to Taylor. “Put that in your backpack on top of your books and it should be okay to get it home.”

She did so, shaking her head a little ruefully.

“Do you want a friendly witness when you explain to your dad?”

She shook her head but stopped almost immediately. “Do you really mind?” she asked in a whisper.

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” I assured her.

O*O*O

She tried so hard, but in the end, it didn’t even matter. That morning, she wrapped her mother’s flute in one of her father’s handkerchiefs and nestled it between some clothes in her backpack. It was something her mother left her, something her mother played often to cheer her up, that her father had given to her to remember her by. Lately, she had neglected polishing it and the flute had started to tarnish, but Mrs. Horn was going to give her a quote on restoring it.

She was sure that she had secured her locker, and checked three times before walking away, but when she stopped by during lunch to retrieve it, the flute was gone. Emotion clawed up her throat, constricting her breathing, as she emptied the locker, trying to find the missing instrument. It was gone. How?

She visited the cafeteria and confronted Emma, hoping that she could get some clue as to what had happened to it. That was a waste of time. Emma mocked her for bringing something valuable. But she guessed from Emma’s reaction, that Emma didn’t know where it was. If she did, she would have taunted her. A lump of emotion filled her throat, one part fear and two parts anger, as she looked for Sophia, checking the restrooms when she wasn’t in the halls. It kept swelling until she couldn’t swallow it down.

Sophia found her, slamming a shoulder into hers as Taylor came out of the last restroom. Sophia smirked as Taylor staggered back against the door jamb, and told her, “You’d think trash like you would know where it belongs, in the dumpster.”

She didn’t respond but turned and ran as hard and fast as she could. Her feet pounded down the stairs. She roughly pushed past other students who were laughing and talking near the service entrance. The dumpsters were close by, and the smell of rotten food hit her before she saw them. Then, she saw it.

Her mother’s flute was almost unrecognizable. The mouthpiece and tubing was smeared with something dark brown, completely coating the previously silvery metal. Several keys were flattened and broken off entirely, scattered around it. As Taylor sank to the ground next to the instrument, holding her face in her hands, a memory surfaced, her mother playing a jaunty melody when she couldn’t sleep due to a childish nightmare, a smile on her face. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to play it now. She tried to keep everything inside, but it all fell apart. Tears flowed down her face, sobs wracked through her chest, as the loss hit her hard. She’d never hear her mother play it again. She knew that, but it didn’t get any easier. This… this was too much.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, but when Rhiyen found her, his horrified expression eroded the suspicion she’d kept stoking, expecting that Emma would engineer another betrayal. He was too sincere to be faking it. When his voice broke with sorrow, she turned into his shoulder and held on to him like she was drowning.

All the pain, sadness, and anger flooded her, and she let it flow, stopped caring if anyone was watching. It hurt to let the emotions out, but one by one, the walls fell in her fortress of solitude. She hadn’t been held like this since Emma comforted her after her mother’s death. She couldn’t stop crying. She buried her face against his chest and even though her nose was clogged, the smell of laundry soap in his clothes was oddly soothing.

Eventually, the heaviness in her heart eased and she came back to herself, apologizing as soon as she realized he was holding her on his lap. It was strange because he didn’t seem to mind. His eyes were reddened like he had also teared up. About what, she couldn’t guess. When he leaned down to reply, his breath tickled against her ear. Heat flooded her chest and rose up her throat, pinking her cheeks. She couldn’t take advantage of his unexpected kindness, couldn’t let herself rely on his strength. What would happen if he wasn’t there, moved away, stopped helping? She would be crushed.

They talked about what to do with the flute. Rhiyen convinced her to report it to the police, which meant getting her father involved. Taylor felt dread creep through her body at the thought. Then Rhiyen’s voice struck her like a bell, clearing away all the cobwebs: “I’m not going anywhere”. Could she believe him? She wasn’t sure, but he sounded confident.

Then he did a sudden kip up to his feet, climbed onto the dumpster as if he’d trained in parkour, and returned with a trash bag and papers to hold the flute. He moved so fluidly, with surprising agility. He didn’t even break a sweat.

O*O*O

More time had passed than I realized as we emerged from behind the school. The shadows were lengthening across the parking lot as we made our way to the bus stops.

Taylor consulted her wristwatch and looked concerned. “You don’t have to do this, really. It’s late, you can go home,” she offered.

I shook my head. “It’s all right. I’d be a pretty crap friend if I left you to face the music alone.”

Her eyes closed for a moment. “I haven’t had one of those for a long time,” she admitted.

I shrugged. “You’re about the only person I’ve met at Winslow that’s worth my time,” I said. “A man’s got to have standards.”

She let out a snort, then blushed a little and ducked her head. “Mrs. Knott’s all right,” she protested after a moment.

“She’s about the only one,” I shot back. “Mrs. Horn is okay, but a little unobservant. Or she just turns her eyes off when the bell rings. The rest of the teachers are bad jokes.” The conversation faded as we neared the bus stop that she normally took to go home. I’d seen it from afar, of course. It was just as run down as the one I used. Nothing around or about Winslow was well-maintained.

I kept an eye out as we waited in what felt like a comfortable silence. No one approached us before the bus came. I stepped on first and paused, scanning the rows of seats and I held my palm open behind my back. I didn’t see any gangers or anyone that looked dangerous. I closed my hand and stepped up onto the bus. As soon as my hand closed, I heard Taylor following. We showed our bus passes, and I spotted an open pair of seats on the right. I advanced past them and turned, making an ‘after you’ gesture to Taylor. She sat down next to the window, her backpack in her lap. I sat down next to her on the aisle seat.

“What was all that?” she whispered as the air brakes released and the bus started forward.

“All what?”

“You were moving like… like a bodyguard or something. Have you done that before?” she asked.

At that point, I realized I’d fallen back on habits I developed when Karen, Howard, and I were investigating Sen Arashi’s Hengeyokai. Specifically, when we were travelling by bus and my paranoia meter was maxed out. “Maybe,” I temporized. “I was diagnosed with acute amnesia when I washed up in the bay.”

Taylor’s eyes widened incredulously, and I felt a stab of guilt. While what I said wasn’t technically a lie, it was misleading. But the truth was too fantastical, even in a world of capes. Not to mention the strict laws against dimensional travel. I distracted myself from indulging in angst, by scanning the other passengers and focusing on the entrance whenever the bus stopped. No one sketchy approached us or boarded the bus by the time Taylor indicated her stop had come.

After a final look around, I led her to the front and stepped down out of the bus, glancing left and right. No one was around us, so I got out of the way and let Taylor debark. She regarded me with a little half-smile, then led the way down the street. I made sure to walk on the street side and kept my eyes constantly moving. I felt more ‘switched on’ than I’d been since arriving in Brockton Bay. Had I simply been coasting all this time? What had changed?

I glanced over at Taylor and the realization struck. I’d been the same before sighting the mysterious hengeyokai at night, just getting by and not caring about much. Even the night-time explorations had been started mainly out of boredom. It wasn’t until I’d started making friends with Karen, and later Howard that it all felt real. When I had emotional connections to people, people who were in danger, it all became real.

I’d made little more than casual acquaintances since coming to Brockton Bay. My foster family, the Landry’s, had a business relationship at best. The other fosters were all checked out or into their own things. I’d only really spoken to Jared, and that was only a few times. But I did care about Taylor. Barring any bizarre revelations, she was rapidly becoming a friend.

And there were people actively working to harm my friend.

As I worked out why I was feeling so overprotective, Taylor pointed out a home up ahead. We turned up the path to the front porch.

“Watch the step,” Taylor said, as she easily skipped over it.

I paused at the foot of the steps. “Is your father home?”

“I don’t see his car,” she replied.

“I should probably just stay on the porch until he gets back then,” I demurred.

Taylor looked down at me from the porch, frowning in confusion. “Why would you do that?” she asked.

I gave her a crooked half-smile as I pointed at myself. “Teenage boy.” I pointed at her. “Teenage girl.” I pointed past her. “Empty house.”

She winced and flushed in embarrassment. “Oh. Yeah.”

“I’d just as soon not piss him off,” I explained. “Especially right before we tell him about what happened today.”

Taylor grimaced. “I get it. You’re right, best to stay on the porch until he knows you,” she agreed. “Let me go call him and see if he can be home sooner.”

It was well past six now. “Does he work late a lot?” I asked lightly.

“He’s the hiring manager at the Dock Workers Union,” she said. “A lot of people depend on him.”

With that, she went inside, and I sat on the edge of the porch, feet on the top step. What I could see of the house looked a little dreary. The construction seemed solid, aside from that one step, but the paint was faded and peeling a little. The neighborhood was quiet as night fell. It felt kind of peaceful, to be honest. A comfortable lower-middle class street that might have seen better days but wasn’t noticeably deteriorating. There were no gang tags or other graffiti visible, unlike Winslow.

Through the door, I faintly heard Taylor’s voice. “Dad, I need you to come home. Yes, it’s important. Please.” I didn’t like the way her voice broke towards the end. When she came back out and sat down next to me, her eyes were red. I didn’t say anything.

“He’ll be home soon,” she said.

I nodded. “Nice neighborhood,” I said quietly.

“We’ve lived here since before I was born,” she explained. She seemed grateful for the change of subject. I kept my eyes on the street, but I could see Taylor in my peripheral vision. She sat hunched in on herself for a while, but gradually relaxed. “So where do you live?” she asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“I stay with my foster family, the Landry’s, over on the west side of town,” I answered.

“Aren’t they going to be worried about you?” she asked.

I shrugged. “It’s more of a financial arrangement with us. They’ll just split up dinner fewer ways. I might get some leftovers – it’s no big deal.”

Taylor pursed her lips, didn’t say anything else.

After the sun set and the streetlights came on, a pair of headlights appeared and turned into the driveway. When Taylor stood up, I knew she recognized the car behind them, an older brown sedan. I stood as well. A tall, thin, man with glasses and a receding hairline got out of the car. I could see him pause the instant he saw me. “Taylor, who is this?” he asked warily.

“Dad, this is Rhiyen,” she said. “He’s a friend. Rhiyen, this is my dad, Danny Hebert,”

“I see. Why were you waiting on the porch?”

“Um, he didn’t think you’d be happy he was in the house without you knowing,” Taylor replied a little awkwardly.

Danny nodded. “Well, he got that right.” He resumed walking up to the porch, avoiding the bad step. “Come on in, both of you. Is he why you called me to come home so quickly?”

Taylor was silent as he opened the door and let us in. Once the door was closed, she spoke. “Dad, I’ve got some terrible news.”

The moment she said that I could see the gears turn in Danny Hebert’s mind. His eyes widened and his face turned an ugly mottled red color as he spun toward me. “You son of a bitch!” he shouted, taking a step toward me.

“Daddy! What are you doing?” Taylor shrieked.

I put my hands up, palms open, as I backed away from the enraged father. “Taylor! He thinks you are, uh, with child!”

Taylor’s eyes widened more than I thought possible as her face burned scarlet. “Dad! No! Are you crazy? Stop it!”

Danny’s angry advance stalled as his daughter’s words sunk in. “You’re not?” he asked as his face paled and he seemed to deflate.

“Absolutely not!” Taylor hissed. That seemed to take the rest of the wind out of his sails. She turned toward me. “I am so sorry, Rhiyen,” she began.

“Hey, no worries,” I assured her. “I’m sure we’ll all look back on this and laugh.”

If her expression was any gauge, Taylor didn’t seem to find any humor in this situation, just humiliation.

“Maybe in twenty years,” I said with a sigh as I put my hands on her shoulders. I’d have pulled her into a hug if her clearly upset father wasn’t there. “It’s all good, I’m not blaming you at all. Okay? We good?”

Taylor nodded.

“Okay,” Danny said warily, “then what is going on? Taylor, you’ve never called me to come home early before.”

I let go with one hand as Taylor turned to face her father but kept the other on her nearest shoulder as a sign of support. The way I could feel the muscles tensing, she needed all she could get.

“I noticed that the brass work on Mom’s flute was getting a little tarnished. Our art teacher, Mrs. Horn, said she’d done a lot of musical instrument restorations as a side job. I talked to her after class, and she said she’d be willing to at least give me an estimate. I thought maybe we could do that for Christmas…” Taylor paused as she swallowed. Danny seemed to hang on every word as she spoke.

“I wrapped it up carefully and brought it in. I was scared to carry it around in my backpack. I didn’t want it to get damaged further. So, I locked it up in my locker. I was sure I’d done it up right. But when it was time for art class, it was gone.”

Danny Hebert looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “Honey,” he said in a thick voice, “when I gave you Annette’s flute, I said you needed to take good care of it…”

Taylor seemed to wilt at these words.

“She wasn’t careless with it,” I said firmly. Danny seemed to blink, like he’d forgotten I was there. “My locker is near hers. She was being super-careful to make sure it was securely locked. I didn’t know about the flute, I wondered if she had a gun or something in there…”

Taylor turned to look at me with wide eyes.

“Hey,” I protested. “I’d hardly have blamed you, with all the stuff I’d seen, and the teachers doing nothing. That the idea shocks you makes you practically a saint in my book.”

“Taylor,” Danny asked, “what is he talking about?”

“Nothing,” she said. “The point is that it was gone when it shouldn’t have been. I ran all over the school trying to find it, and when I did...” she put her backpack on the coffee table and carefully extracted the plastic-wrapped bundle. She unwrapped it enough to show what was inside. The smell was still awful.

Danny looked absolutely lost for a moment. “Who would do such a thing?” he asked in a choked whisper.

“Rhiyen suggested we take it to the police, and see if they can lift any fingerprints,” Taylor answered quickly. I opened my mouth and then closed it with a pleading look from her. Was she put off by the yelling earlier? Or how broken he looked now?

“I don’t know,” Danny said. “Shouldn’t we bring this up with the school first?” he asked.

“Only if you want nothing done,” I finally said. Maybe Taylor didn’t want to talk about the bullying for some reason, but I know she didn’t want Winslow handling this. “They tend to see no evil, hear no evil, and even if they did, all they could give are school penalties. That,” I gestured at the ruined flute, “is a full-blown crime.”

Danny nodded. “Okay. Wrap it back up,” he ordered. “I take it neither of you have touched it?”

We both shook our heads, Taylor with a shudder.