At first, I liked Jeremy because he was quiet and kept to himself. Then Bella sniffed him out and decided to take that little shit under her wing. If he’s under her wing, then by extension, that means he’s under my wing, which gets fucking exhausting when I only have two wings. Half the time, I’m walking myself into the basement before Steve gets the chance to drag me in there.
But it’s easier now.
Down there in the cold.
Now, I have the handy dandy stress ball, a pen and paper, and the MP3 player I stole from Skinny—or was it Ugly?—all because they looked at my girl the wrong way.
At least her hair isn’t so ridiculously wonky anymore. She means well and tries her damn best, but I usually end up redoing it for her before we walk to school. If not, I just can’t stop staring at it in all its chaos.
Every morning, I hold my breath to see if she tried braiding it because, unless she brings a hairbrush, there’s no way I can salvage it.
She frowns at me, and I frown, too.
“Maybe you should have talked to him before you punched him,” Pigtails says.
If she ever knew I still call her Pigtails in my head, she’d probably be debating whether to disown me or sit in the corner and cry. The last time I did, her bottom lip quivered—God, I hate it when it quivers—and she started getting upset, saying that I thought she was a pig.
I shrug, grinning. “No point wasting time. I was cutting to the chase.”
She carefully dabs the wound again. In my entire life, Bella is the only person who has tended to my wounds without being paid to do it. “There are two sides to every story, Mickey. What you did was grievous bodily assault.” Her r’s come out nice and clear.
Bella’s been watching Law & Order for the past month, and now she thinks she wants to be a defense attorney—which might actually come in handy for me, so it’s all a go from my point of view.
I catch sight of her earring and internally wince. I’m unsure if she still thinks about losing her mother’s earrings, but I do. Every day.
“Your side is the only one that counts.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not sure if that’s how justice works.”
I can’t help it; I roll my eyes too. “Shut up, you’re, like, eleven.”
“No, I’m twelve, thank you very much.” She places her hands on her hips. “Twelve years and three months,” she adds matter-of-factly.
I put no effort into hiding my victorious grin. Pointing out her age always gets a rise out of her. She’s twelve going on twenty with how much she tries to mother everyone.
Then the first sign starts; the loud wheeze in her breath from the change in season. Bella clears her throat to hide it, but I narrow my eyes at her. Then, as the seconds pass, she turns to the side and lets out a series of earth-shattering coughs.
Reaching for my bag, I tug it onto my lap and ignore the pain from my busted knuckles. I rummage around the front pocket until I find what I need, all while Bella wheezes between coughs.
I sigh as I hold out the inhaler. Her delicate fingers wrap around it without hesitation, struggling to suck it in between breaths. She never remembers to take it like she’s meant to. And it’s fall, the worst time of year for her.
“You lied to me.” I explicitly asked her this morning, “Did you take your inhaler?”
Do you know what her response was? A couple of flutters of her eyelashes and a bashful, “Mmhmm.”
Typical.
I’m not falling for that shit next time.
“Do I need to start forcing you to take it?”
Her eyes water from all her coughing as she moves to sit beside me, attempting to calm her breathing. I take the inhaler from her and stuff it back in my bag.
She shakes her head softly. Even without the inhaler, she would have gotten through the worst of the coughs within a few minutes. Still, then she’d spend the rest of the day wheezing until she took the medication. It seems to be getting worse the older she gets.
“Then you better start taking it,” I scold.
She tries to play it off by resuming her nursing duties. “It was just the one time.”
“This week,” I add.
If no one reminded her, this girl would forget to feed herself.
She scrunches her nose. “It tastes bad.”
“Don’t care. You’re going to start taking it properly. Promise me.” I know she won’t. Isabella Garcia doesn’t make promises she can’t keep. I can see in her eyes that she’s itching to change the subject because this has been a point of real contention for a while.