Black Ice
I kept seeing Alan’s big smile and those tattoos on his arms.
Why was he doing all this? Sitting with me at lunch, helping with heavy boxes, inviting me to watch practice.
It had to be a joke. A long, mean joke that would end with everyone laughing at the stupid janitor who believed someone like Alan Voss could actually care.
I closed my eyes and tried to think of good things, like the stars in my books. But sleep came fast and ugly.
The dream started soft, then turned dark.
I was twelve again, small and scared in the big Pike house. The fancy rooms smelled like leather and my stepmom’s perfume.