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There’s something about the way Mary gasps when the truck hits Freddy, the way she’s on her knees in an instant, frantic, muttering “Are you okay?” that twists at Billy’s stomach. And there’s something about the way Darla shouts, “Don’t touch my brother!” at two guys three times her size that makes him feel sick.
“What?” one of the assholes mocks, “You need your fake family to stand up for you?”
Billy thinks the guy might have a point, and he doesn’t want any part of it. So, he pulls his hood up over his head and starts walking away, ignoring the thing that’s almost like guilt still stubbornly tugging at his stomach.
Mary was right. Freddy was right. He’s going to run. He may as well start now.
“What are you going to do? Go home and cry to Mommy? Oh, yeah, you don’t have a mommy,” one of them mocks, the words accompanied by the crunch of metal against bone.
Billy’s turning around before he can even really think about it. One of the idiots has discarded Freddy’s crutch, placing it just within Billy’s reach, and well, it’s as good a weapon as any.
“Hey!” he shouts right before swinging it into the first boy’s head. There’s a satisfying crunch, and the boy falls to the ground. The other boy stocks towards him, but Billy is ready for him, jamming the crutch between his legs, “Oh, sorry about that,” he snipes, “That wasn’t fair, but then again, you don’t fight fair, so…” but that’s all he manages before his back is pressed up against the cold metal truck, hot breath in his face.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” the boy whispers in his ear and then Billy’s on the ground. It’s familiar, the jarring feeling of the air leaving his lungs with the impact. What’s not familiar is the way Eugene surges forward to help. Not that he’s much help, hitting himself in the back of the head with the nunchucks, and where the hell did he get nunchucks, anyway? But it gives Billy the second he needs to catch his breath and to run.
And that? That’s the most familiar feeling of all.
***
The subway doors slide shut without a second to spare and Billy is slumping into a hard plastic seat, the adrenaline and the smile that came with it slipping away.
Why did he do that? He swallows hard against the rush of panic. Why did he care?
It wasn’t because it was Freddy, he reassures himself. He’d been ready to walk away, after all. It hadn’t mattered to him that it was Freddy on the ground. It hadn’t mattered that it was Darla crying and begging them to stop. It hadn’t.
Billy had just … done the right thing. It didn’t have to mean anything. They didn’t have to mean anything. Not to him.
His breathing is still evening out when the subway screeches to a stop at thirtieth street, and Billy scrambles to his feet, swinging around a pole and hopping out the sliding doors. He weaves through the throngs of people on the platform, blissfully unnoticed, the same way he always is. He revels in the way no one ever gives him a second look, no one asks if he’s okay or pretends to care. He’s alone and that’s just the way he likes it.
He makes his way to the pawn shop on thirty-first street, the one where the owner never asks questions, and plants himself outside. Watching his reflection in the window, he tugs the ziplock bag with Freddy’s superman bullet out of the front compartment of his backpack, shaking it out into his hand and rolling it between his fingers.
He doesn’t know what Freddy was expecting; leaving something worth maybe six-hundred dollars just lying in a dresser drawer in a room he shares with other foster kids was such a rookie mistake. He was practically begging for someone to steal it.
Billy wonders if Freddy has any idea what this kind of money will mean on the streets. Billy thinks of how many nights his stomach won’t go empty. He think of how many times he’ll be able to slip inside someplace warm and have the right to stay.
Freddy doesn’t get it. Money is survival. And Billy shouldn’t feel guilty for stealing that, not even for a second.
He slips the bullet back inside it’s plastic home and climbs the stone steps. “Hi, Mr. Aiello!” he greets cheerfully over the tinkling of the bell over the door.
“Billy!” the old man smiles at him, “What have you brought me today?”
“It’s the real deal,” Billy says, sliding the bag across the counter, “See, certificate of authenticity and everything.”
The old man raises his eyebrows, slipping his glasses down to the bridge of his nose and holding it up to the light, “Hmm,” he says, turning it this way and that, “hmm,” then he lays it back down, takes off his glasses and sighs, “I’m afraid it is worthless,” he says solemnly.
“What?” Billy feels his stomach drop, “No!” he snatches the bag back up, “It can’t be! I mean, it’s a superman bullet! Stupid people would pay good money for something like that!” he holds it back out desperately.
The old man hums, “Yes, they would, if it were in fact the, what did you call it, ‘real deal?’ Unfortunately, this one is a fake,” he informs him, gently pushing Billy’s hand away, “I am sorry, Billy.”
Billy stands there, staring down at the hunk of useless metal in his hand, “But…” he protests weakly, closing his fingers around it and squeezing hard enough to make his fingers burn. He wishes he could squeeze it tight enough to make it disappear, could turn it to dust as quickly as Billy’s way out had.
***
“Dude! That was epic!” Freddy exclaims, struggling to his feet and crutching toward where Billy stands in the doorway of what’s supposed to be their room, “I mean, I had it handled, obviously, but the look on the Breyers’ faces, priceless,” he hesitates, face shuttering, “What’s wrong?”
“You lied to me,” Billy glares, throwing the crumpled bag at Freddy’s head, it ricochets off and lands on the floor by his feet.
“I … what?” Freddy gapes at him, even as he bends over to pick the stupid thing up, “Billy, seriously, I don’t know what you’re…” he trails off, gaping, “You did take my bullet.”
“Duh,” Billy says, rolling his eyes, “It’s fucking worthless though, so…”
“It’s… what?” Freddy does look genuinely devastated at this, and Billy feels a twinge of guilt.
He ignores it. “It’s worthless,” he repeats, “as in fake. You lied to me.”
Freddy gapes at him, “You stole from me,” he points out, “How are you the one in this situation who gets to be pissed?”
Billy shrugs, “That’s not the point.”
“How is that not the point?” Freddy shouts.
“You lied to me,” he repeats. He’s not sure why he’s so stuck on this. Of course Freddy lied to him. Why wouldn’t Freddy lie to him?
“I didn’t lie to you,” Freddy glares, “I thought it was real. You lied to me. I asked you if you stole it, remember? And you said ‘no’ right to my face.”
Billy blinks, “Oh, um, yeah,” he shrugs, “Well, you have it back now, anyway, so…” he turns away, done with this fight, done with this place. He just needs a new plan, that’s all.
“Seriously?” Freddy, apparently, is not done with this fight, “That’s all I get? The least you could do is offer me a half-hearted apology that is obviously a lie.”
Billy snorts, spinning around, “You want me to fake apologize to you?”
“No,” Freddy snaps, “I want you to really apologize to me, but I’m guessing that’s not going to happen, so I’ll settle for a fake one.”
“Whatever,” Billy says, rolling his eyes, “I’m sorry, okay? Happy? Are we done now?” He goes to walk away again, but Freddy whacks the back of his knee with the rubber end of his crutch.
“No,” he growls, “We’re not done.”
Billy spins back around, crossing his arms belligerently, “What now?”
“I get it, okay?” Freddy insists, “I do. I get that you think I’m annoying and you don’t trust Rosa and Victor, and Darla is … actually, I don’t know what you have against Darla, she’s Darla, but you clearly don’t like her, or this place, and that’s fine. I mean, it’s not, but whatever. But it’s really freakin’ obvious that you’re going to run the second you have a chance and…”
Billy taps his foot impatiently, interrupting, “Do you have a point?”
“Yeah, actually, I do,” Freddy glares, “If you’re so dead set on running, the least I can do is try to get it through your thick scull that no matter how far you go or how hard you push us away, we’re still going to be here and we’re still going to want you, even if you are, like, the opposite of Darla.”
Billy raises his eyebrows, “Was that a point?”
“Oh, fuck you,” Freddy groans.
Billy breaks into a grin, “You’re way too easy. This is going to be fun.”
Freddy grabs a dirty sock off the floor, balling it up and chucking it at Billy’s head. Billy splutters, ducking, and snatches up loose piece of notebook paper, chucking it back at Freddy.
It escalates pretty quickly from there.
In the end, they’re both splayed out on the floor, breathless and laughing. “I don’t need you to be here,” Billy says eventually, “I don’t need a brother.”
Freddy struggles into a sitting position, looking down at him, “How about a friend?”
Billy glares up at the ceiling, “I don’t need that either.”
“You got a counteroffer, then?” Freddy asks, nudging him with his crutch.
“Not enemies?” Billy suggests, shrugging. It’s all he’s got.
Freddy seems to consider this for a moment, then, “Deal, but only if you help me clean up this mess.”
Billy snorts, “No way dude, you started this, you’re on your own,” scrambling to his feet and clambering up onto the top bunk.
“Asshole,” Freddy mutters under his breath.
“And proud,” Billy trills smugly.
***
“Just don’t run, okay?” Freddy says the next morning, while Billy’s getting dressed, “Give us a chance?”
Billy just rolls his eyes and walks out of the room, but something twists uncomfortably at his stomach.
“He runs away, it’s what he does,” he’d heard Victor say to Rosa the night before, when he came sneaking in the house an hour later than he should have, Freddy’s stupid, useless bullet in hand. But Billy’s never really thought of it as running away. He was running towards something, running to her, running home. But he has no idea where he’s going anymore.
He thinks of the pages and pages of crossed out names, dead end after dead end. He thinks of the blank pages that follow, the nothingness that taunts him, reminding him that he has failed.
But she’s out there somewhere, he promises himself, so he can’t just give up.
But, he admits, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world to stay here until he finds a new lead. There are worst places to lay his head at night. Billy has been there, and he doesn’t really have any interest in going back.
“Yeah,” he says swinging back around the doorframe, if only to get Freddy off his back, “okay.”
***
“So, here’s the thing,” Freddy announces, clattering his launch tray down next to Billy again, “Maybe I need a friend. Did you ever think of that?”
Billy raises his eyebrows, “You sure are persistent.”
“Look,” Freddy continues as if Billy hadn’t spoken at all, “You’ve got this whole lone wolf, I don’t need any one thing going on. It’s cool. I respect it.”
“Do you?” Billy quips.
Freddy rolls his eyes, “Yeah, but here’s a weird thing about wolves, they’re actually pack animals. And the ones who do stray from the group? The ones who try to make it on their own? Do you know what happens to them, Billy? They die, okay? They die. So, like, get over it maybe, that’s all I’m saying.”
Billy just blinks at him, “Are you seriously implying that if I don’t agree to be your friend I’m going to die?”
Freddy shrugs, “I’m just saying, it’s high school, you know? No one survives it alone.”
Billy just rolls his eyes, “Whatever,” he mutters, but he doesn’t get up and leave.
***
Three nights later, Billy’s laying awake staring at the cracks in the ceiling, just visible in the dim light of streetlight outside the window.
“Hey, Freddy?” he hisses into the darkness.
Silence. For a long painful moment Billy thinks his roommate is actually asleep. Figures, he thinks bitterly, the one time he actually wants Freddy to talk, and nothing.
Then, the creaking of bedsprings and a quiet, “Yeah?”
Billy lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “Why’d you want to be my friend so bad anyway?”
More shifting around, the rustling of blankets, “I don’t know,” a deep breath, “when I first heard about you, I guess, I thought maybe you’d get it? I mean, I got thrown around the system a lot before I ended up here, and it sucked. And Mary’s leaving for college soon and Pedro is Pedro and Eugene and Darla are so little, and I don’t know, we’re the same age, and we share a room and being alone blows.”
“Oh,” Billy mutters. Of course, Freddy hadn’t really wanted to be friends with him. He swallows hard, “well, sorry to disappoint,” he mutters.
Silence. Billy wonders if Freddy has fallen back asleep, then, so quiet Billy almost doesn’t catch it, “You didn’t.”
Billy blinks, “What?”
“You didn’t,” Freddy repeats, “You’re pretty cool, Batson,” the bed springs screech as Freddy rolls over, “at least when you’re not being a dick,” he tacks on around a yawn.
“Yeah,” Billy manages around a laugh, or maybe it’s a sob. He honestly doesn’t know anymore.
***
“Bye, Freddy, I love you,” Darla says, flinging her arms around the other boy’s waist. Billy shifts uncomfortably, staring down at his shoes.
“Love you too, munchkin,” Freddy says easily, brushing a loose ringlet of hair out of Darla’s eyes. She beams up at him before letting go and turning to skip off down the hallway. Then she pauses, looking back at them, “Bye, Billy,” she adds, giving him a little wave, “have a good day!”
“Bye,” Billy says, lifting his hand dumbly and feeling like a major jerk, “I’m an asshole, huh?” he mutters as he and Freddy turn to walk down their own hallway.
“Kinda, yeah,” Freddy says.
Billy glares at him, “Geez, okay,” he hesitates, “so, um, how do I fix it?”
Freddy raises his eyebrows, “With Darla? I didn’t think you cared.”
“She’s just a little kid,” Billy says kicking at the ground, “I … I didn’t mean to, I don’t know.” He shrugs helplessly
Freddy elbows him in the ribs, “Hey, I know you didn’t,” he hesitates, “but you did.”
“Yeah,” Billy says, swallowing hard.
“Anyway, Darla’s not even mad about it. I actually don’t think Darla is capable of being mad. She’s just scared.”
“Of me?”
“No, dumbass,” Freddy rolls his eyes, “not of you, f–” but whatever explanation might have been forthcoming goes out the window when someone slams Freddy up against the lockers behind them, the air shoved out of his lungs with a hiss.
Billy glares daggers at the back of the nearly identical shaggy brown heads.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Freddy says, dangerously close to mockingly, “I feel like the last time didn’t end too well for you.”
“What? Your best friend going to hit us with a wheelchair this time?” Brett, or maybe it’s Burke, Billy still hasn’t bothered to learn the difference, mocks.
“Oh, ableism, nice,” Freddy comments causally, “it’s great that you guys can always be counted on to stick to your character charts.”
Billy snorts quietly. It’s a good burn. If you understand obscure fandom references, at least. Brett makes a classic I-don’t-get-it face.
“What are you on about, turd-brain?” Burke sneers.
Freddy rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I’m the stupid one in this lovely little conversation we seem to be having.”
Brett’s eyes narrow, “Are you calling us stupid?”
“Well, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck … then it’s probably stupid.”
And that’s when Brett smashes his fist into Freddy’s face.
Freddy crumples to the ground, losing his grip on his crutch and Burke sends it skittering down the hall with a well-aimed kick. A second kick lands directly in the middle of Freddy’s stomach. Freddy lets out a sound somewhere between a moan and a groan, curling in on himself, and the brothers walk away, sharing a high five and laughing.
It all happens so fast; Billy doesn’t have time to react or jump between them or land a punch of his own. All he can do is run down the hall to fetch Freddy’s crutch and deliver it back to his friend.
“Thanks,” Freddy mutters, ignoring the hand Billy offers and struggling to his feet alone, starting down the hall as if nothing happened.
“What the hell, man?” Billy snaps, jogging a couple steps to keep up with him.
“They’re assholes,” Freddy shrugs, “It’s whatever. I’ve had worse.”
“You made it worse,” Billy sneers, “Why do you do that? Why do you make it harder on yourself?”
“You think this is my fault?” Freddy growls, spinning on him, “You think I ask for this?” swiping his crutch through the air violently, “Any of it?”
“I…” Billy starts.
“No,” Freddy puts up a hand, “You have no idea what it’s like to be me. To have people look through you and not at you. Do you know what people see when they look at me? A crutch. So yeah, I mouth off and I scream from the rooftops in the vain hope that someone, anyone notices that I am an actual fucking person. And maybe it’s a shitty defense mechanism that will never, ever work, but you of all people don’t get to question it!”
Billy raises his eyebrows, “Me of all people? What does that mean?”
“You,” Freddy spits, “chasing after a woman who abandoned you, running away from anything good that dares to happen to you. You want to talk about making things harder for yourself, Billy? Try letting someone help you. Try letting me help you. Then maybe we’ll talk.”
“I…” Billy tries again, feeling like he’s the one who just got punched in the face and kicked in the stomach. He forces himself to meet Freddy’s eyes but can’t make himself speak.
Freddy’s eyes are round and sad, “But you won’t, will you?” he says quietly, ‘Cause you don’t see me either,” before turning away and hurrying down the hall.
“Freddy!” Billy shouts after him, but Freddy doesn’t stop walking.
***
He’s shoving his red sweatshirt violently into his backpack when he hears footsteps in the hallway and then Darla’s voice, small and scared comes from the doorway, “What are you doing?”
“Look,” Billy says, slinging the bag over his shoulder, trying to soften the blow for her, “it’s going to be okay, all right? You all be much better off without me.”
“But…” she protests as he pushes past her and towards the stairs, the protest dying on her lips as quickly as it had come.
He can hear her clambering after him, but Billy just walks faster.
Mary, Pedro and Eugene are in the living room when he gets downstairs.
“What’s going on?” Mary asks, stepping between him and the door instantly, Billy rolls his eyes, shouldering his backpack higher.
“Billy’s leaving,” Darla exclaims, shoving past him and running into Mary’s arms.
Mary’s eyes lock with his over her head, hands rubbing easy circles on her back, “Is this true?”
“Look,” Billy tries, “this isn’t you guys’ problem, okay? I’m going to be fine.”
Pedro’s voice, soft and quiet, “Where are you even going?”
Billy shrugs, “Does it matter?” he looks between them all, “Listen, we all know you guys can’t exactly stop me. So can we skip the dramatics?”
He moves to shove past Mary and Darla, but the little girl lets go, spinning to fling her arms around him instead, “No, Billy, don’t go,” she cries, clinging harder than he would have thought was possible.
Shoving down the surge of guilt that comes from doing this to her again, he carefully attempts to pry her off, “Let me go, Darla,” he pleads gently. He can feel Mary’s judgmental eyes on him and straightens his spine, tugging harder. He’s about to resort to digging his fingers under her arms when Eugene says, “I found your mom,” and he lets his arms drop, twisting in Darla’s grip to face the younger boy.
“What?” he manages around the lump in his throat.
***
Billy feels like someone has punched him in the stomach as he watches the door swing shut in his face. In an instant, she’s gone again.
It hits him in waves. His mom left him on purpose. She wouldn’t even hug him. And the words, “Now isn’t really a good time for me, Bill,” are ringing in his ears.
Yeah, he thinks bitterly, as he turns and walks away, me neither. It feels a little like revenge, walking away from her the same way she had. He wonders if she’ll hurt the way he does, but he doubts it.
Tears prickle at his eyes, but he can’t cry, not now, when he’s completely alone in the world, and it was clear that isn’t changing anytime soon.
He ran. Again. It’s what he does. He ran from all the good people who did want him, and he doesn’t know what to do. For the first time in his life, he has absolutely no where to go.
His phone vibrates in his pocket and his hands shake as he pulls it out. Freddy’s name flashes on the screen. Oh. Billy stares down at the screen for a moment before he answers.
“Freddy,” he blurts, voice breaking, “I’m sorry, you were right.”
Silence, then, “Just come back, Billy,” Freddy says softly.
“I’m sorry,” Billy repeats.
“I know,” Freddy promises, “Come home.”
And so, Billy does.
***
He’s not running, not really, just walking fast, but he does, he realizes, actually have somewhere to go.
Darla’s out the door the second he rounds the corner, barreling down the sidewalk and flinging her arms around his waist, “Billy!” she shouts, “You came home!”
Billy swallows hard, reaching down to loosen her arms with a gentle tug. She lets go easily this time, stepping back and looking up at him with big, sad eyes, “You did, didn’t you?” she asks nervously, tilting her head.
Over her head, he sees Freddy, Mary, Eugene and Pedro standing on the front porch, watching him. He thinks of the words he’d said to his mom not so long ago, “I’ve got to get back to my real family now.”
Maybe, he thinks, he meant it.
He crouches down in front of Darla, “Yeah,” he says slowly, “I guess I did.”
She beams at him, her entire face lighting up and when she flings her arms around his neck, he hugs her back.
This, he thinks, is what should have happened when he found his mom. She should have run down the street and flung her arms around him and refused to let go. This was what family should feel like.
“Come on,” he says gently, lifting her into his arms and carrying her up the front walk, her head tucked against his shoulder. He sets her down once they reach the top step.
“Um, hi,” he waves awkwardly at the others.
Mary rolls her eyes, swats him once on the back of the head, and then holds out her arms. Billy hesitates for a second before stepping forward and letting her wrap her arms around him. After, she runs her fingers through her hair and sighs, “Someone call Rosa and Victor,” she orders, reaching out and ruffling his hair, “tell them Billy’s back.”
Billy blinks, shoving her hand away, “What?”
“They’re out looking for you, idiot,” Freddy informs him, stepping forward to knock their shoulders together.
“Oh,” he says. It makes since, really, except, well, no one has ever gone looking before.
***
“So,” Freddy says that night, voice drifting up from the bunk below him, “Your mom?”
“Yeah,” Billy agrees.
Freddy doesn’t say anything, just sticks his hand up through the slats of the railing. Billy takes it. And that’s all they ever say about it.
***
“Don’t touch my brother,” Billy growls, sliding between Freddy and the Breyers without a moment’s hesitation.
Brett roll his eyes, “This again? Really?”
Billy can feel Freddy’s fingers curling in the back of his shirt, “Dude,” he hisses warningly.
Burke shoves his brother aside, his fist curling around the front of Billy’s shirt, lifting him a couple of inches off the ground, so his toes barely brush the ground, “You sure you want to do this?” he asks, “For this kid? Have you seen him? Is he really worth it?”
Billy grits his teeth, braces for what he knows is coming, “Yeah, he is.”
***
Rosa dabs gently at the cut under his eye, his chin cupped in her hand.
“I’m sorry,” Billy says, biting his lip.
“Oh, mi amour,” she murmurs, “you’re not in trouble.”
Billy blinks, “I’m not?”
“No pal,” Victor says from where he hovers in the doorway, in that booming voice that used to make him flinch, “We’re proud of you for standing up for your brother.”
“Oh,” Billy says dumbly.
***
He hovers in the doorway for much longer than could be considered normal.
No one says anything about it though. He’s not sure they’ve even noticed he’s there. Darla is curled up between Mary and Rosa, Rosa’s head on Victor’s shoulder, and Pedro is sitting on the floor by their feet. Freddy and Eugene have claimed opposite ends of the other couch, splayed out with their feet up.
He doesn’t need to go in there. They don’t need him. Except, well, he can’t help but notice the small space between the two boys, the way both of them have bent their knees just enough for there to be room for someone else to sit down.
So, Billy sits.
And Eugene instantly sticks his feet into his lap and Freddy nudges him once with the end of his crutch and still no one says anything, but Billy thinks maybe they were waiting for him. And maybe he was meant to fit right here.
***
“Don’t go,” he almost pleads sometimes, “Please don’t leave me.” The words always on the tip of his tongue.
Which is stupid. Mostly because they don’t actually seem like they’re going anywhere anytime soon. (Which is weird. But that’s a whole separate problem.) But also, because asking people to stay kind of defeats the purpose of having them, you know, stay.
Billy wants them to want to stay just a little more than he wants them to actually stay. So, he doesn’t ask. Ever. And it’s kind of blowing up in his face.
“I’m not leaving you. You know that. Right?” Mary voice is the kind of gentle that always makes him squirm.
“Yeah,” he promises, but the word tastes like ash on his tongue.
He aches to tell her not to go. But that would be holding her back from that bright future of hers, the one Rosa and Victor are always bragging about. And maybe holding on too tight is what makes people leave him in the first place. Maybe he just needs to make himself easier to love.
He stands up, because sitting still is making him want to crawl out of his skin, but she catches his wrist before he can escape up the stairs to his room. “I don’t believe you,” she informs him.
“Well, that seems like a you problem,” he points out.
“In point of fact,” Mary says, “it is. My little brother is upset and that is very much my problem.”
Billy bites his lip, “Do you have to go?” he whispers.
“Yeah,” Mary says gently, “but I’m going to come back, okay? And I’ll only be a text or call away, anyway, I promise.”
Billy just shrugs, “Whatever.” But he lets her hug him anyway.
***
Darla’s lip quivers just a little. It’s the first day of school and Victor and Rosa dropped them off one sibling short. He thinks he’s the only one who clocks the way her eyes dart around, probably wondering who’s hand she’s supposed to hold while they cross the street.
“Hey, D,” he says, sliding his hand into hers, “you ready for fourth grade?”
She beams up at him, she’s still Darla, despite how subdued she’s been this week, how subdued they’ve all been, really. The house feels too quiet without Mary, even if it’s not actually quieter at all.
“I’m going to crush it,” she says with confidence.
“I don’t doubt it,” he tells her, sliding his backpack into the security tray and lifting Darla’s off her back too. Then, he walks her all the way to her classroom, neither of them quite ready to let go. He stops, crouching down outside the door, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Have a good day, little sister.”
Darla breaks into a smile, throwing her arms around his neck. “I love you, Billy.”
“Yeah,” Billy swallows hard, “Me too.”
He pulls out his phone as he heads to his own class and texts Mary: Took Darla to her classroom. You don’t have to worry.
The response is almost instant: Thank you! Love you!
Yeah, Billy types, smiling down at his phone, me too.