Page 225 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

Greta knew the moment they saw her by the silence that
fell on them, one by one, balls dribbling to a stop or held in
hands. She didn’t know what they knew or what they’d been
told, but they definitely recognized her as Ash’s sister. Dylan,
near the center of the gym, chucked his ball into the bleachers
and walked toward her. A greenish-purple bruise distorted
one cheekbone, and his lower lip was split and swollen. She
saw him now—a trinket, plastic painted gold. Greta laced her

fingers through Alice’s, squeezing all the blood from them.
As Dylan approached, he eyed her hand in Alice’s and
smirked. “Well, that explains a lot.” Around him, his team-
mates hooted. Alice didn’t even blink.
Greta’s face warmed. She tried to absorb Alice’s energy,
her courage. Dylan had taken the upper hand. She knew it.
There would be no red-faced apology from this one.

“Dylan.” Her voice came out quiet, reasonable, like she
had loaned him twenty bucks and needed it back. While
being circled by twenty great white sharks. He cocked his
head, amused. “Dylan, if someone isn’t in a state to say yes or
no”—her voice quavered—“the answer—”
“Greta,” Dylan said, bored, “it wasn’t even that good.
Don’t flatter yourself.” His teammates snorted, some looking
at the floor and some straight in her face, wanting to see her
crumble and fall.

Alice turned and whispered in Greta’s ear, “Permission
to speak?”
Greta nodded, swallowing against the lump rising in her
throat.

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