Goodyear wrapped his arms around Griff’s body, lifted him in the air, and threw him to the ground in a bone-jarring slam.

  “Fuck!” I yelled.

  “It’s okay,” Eraser assured me.

  They grappled on the floor for a few agonizing seconds. Goodyear landed several blows to Griff’s face.

  Finally, Griff gained the upper hand, trapping Goodyear beneath him on the floor. He jabbed several punches in Goodyear’s face, grunting with each blow. Drops of blood and sweat popped in the air.

  Goodyear stopped fighting back.

  Griff jumped off him, slowly backing away. He grinned, his teeth stained bright red.

  The guards called the fight and finally let Griff leave the circle. Someone dragged Goodyear out of the ring and dumped him next to Egghead.

  Two other kids replaced them in the ring.

  Griff wobbled a bit as he approached us.

  “You all right?” I asked.

  “Never better.” He dabbed a dirty towel against his split lip. “Ollie said he’d share his winnings with me for the second fight.”

  Eraser slapped Griff’s chest. “Good luck collecting that.”

  Weary and freaked the fuck out, I followed them back to our room.

  That night, I manifested like a motherfucker, praying I’d get out of there before it was my turn to battle it out in the ring.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Juliet

  Pip didn’t seem to be doing well without Roman.

  Every day he said less and less. Roman said he could be talkative, but I never saw that side of him.

  “Is everything okay at the home?” I asked.

  He shrugged.

  “Can I see your notebook?”

  In one of Roman’s letters, he’d asked me to make sure Pip had a plain notebook to draw in every day.

  He passed over the notebook in silence.

  I flipped through pages of pretty scenes. Girls with big, expressive eyes and little clothing. The images gradually got more disturbing. They went from vibrant colors to black and red drawings of zombies and corpses.

  “You should talk to Mr. Broom and see if you can get into his advanced art class. These are really good.”

  He shrugged. “Next semester. Maybe.”

  My phone rang. Praying it was Roman, I answered right away.

  “Juliet Hayworth?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hayden Porter, attorney for Mrs. Shields.”

  “Oh! Hi!” I almost jumped out of my seat with excitement. Maybe he had good news about Roman.

  “I’m so sorry to tell you this over the phone, but Mrs. Shields passed away this morning.”

  My stomach slid to my toes. “What? No. That can’t be.” This had to be a mistake. “I just saw her last night.”

  “You did?” His suspicious tone penetrated my fog of disbelief.

  “Yes.” Tears burned my eyes, but I kept my voice steady. “I try to stop by every night to help her water the plants and take care of things around the house.”

  “I see,” he said slowly. In the background, it sounded as if he were taking notes. “That’s good to hear, Miss Hayworth. She was very fond of you.”

  I swallowed hard but couldn’t force out a single word.

  “Juliet? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here,” I whispered.

  “I understand this is a shock and a difficult time, but I’ll need you to come by my office. She already made all her funeral arrangements after Raymond died, but you still need to—”

  “Wait, what? Why do you need me?”

  “It will be easier to explain in person. I can come to you, if that’s easier.”

  “No. Give me the address. I’ll be there after my last class.”

  The rest of my day was a painful blur. Mrs. Shields had been my most maternal influence. Until more recently our relationship had been mostly superficial greetings and chats over banana bread. She’d been good to me. And to Roman.

  Oh God.

  More bricks of reality slammed into my head. Roman wouldn’t be moving in with Mrs. Shields now.

  I ripped a piece of paper out of my notebook and jotted down a quick letter to Roman. He needed to know what was happening. I dropped the envelope in the mail on the way to Mr. Porter’s office.

  With Mrs. Shields gone, it didn’t seem right to borrow her car anymore. It took two different city buses to find my way to his office.

  Tears pricked my eyes. She was really gone.

  Why hadn’t I stayed later? She seemed fine last night, but I should have checked in on her this morning. What if I’d noticed she wasn’t feeling well and I could’ve gotten her to the hospital or something?

  “Come in, Juliet,” Mr. Porter said.

  I sank into the antique leather chair across from his desk and inhaled the musty scent of law books and yellowing paper.

  “What happened?” I blurted out before he took his seat.

  “It looks like she had a heart attack this morning.”

  A strangled cry escaped me. I’d been late to school and worried about Pip, so I hadn’t stopped by her house. Hadn’t even thought to check on her.

  “CPS was conducting their home inspection. They were the ones to find her and call emergency services.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Juliet, you’re seventeen, correct?”

  “Yes. Almost eighteen.”

  “Your aunt and uncle are your legal guardians?”

  I frowned at the question. Why did he care? “Yes, why?”

  He flipped open a folder on his desk and took out a stapled stack of papers. “Save for a few personal items, Mrs. Shields left everything she owned to you.”

  It took a few minutes for his words to sink in.

  “She did what?”

  “The house and its contents. Her car. Some investments. It’s a small estate, but it should help you through college. In the event that she passed while you were underage, she appointed me as trustee until your twentieth birthday. I’ll handle all the bills, taxes, and other matters for you.”

  “What about her daughter?”

  He shook his head. “Kimmy was left some Christmas decorations and a jewelry box that contains items Mr. Shields gave his wife over the years. But everything else is yours.” He gave me a sympathetic smile. “She said you were the only person who worried about her or checked up on her. She knew you had a rough life and she wanted to make things easier on you.”

  Tears freely streamed down my cheeks.

  Because of Mrs. Shields, I’d be able to attend college without worrying about how to pay for it.

  I could move out of my aunt and uncle’s house.

  “Can my aunt and uncle stop me from moving into the house?”

  He frowned. “That’s another reason why she appointed me as the trustee, she didn’t want either of them having any control over this money.” He consulted the papers in his hands again. “You’ll be eighteen in less than a year. Legally, there isn’t a lot they can do to compel you to remain in their home. As long as you stay out of trouble and keep going to school, the police won’t get involved.” He flipped to another page. “With your uncle’s criminal record, I doubt he’ll initiate any contact with law enforcement.”

  Criminal record? That was news to me, but not exactly surprising.

  “What about Roman?”

  “He’s a different story. As a ward of the state, they can compel him to stay in foster care until he turns eighteen.”

  I chewed on my thumbnail. “Dammit.”

  “He’s turning eighteen in another month, right? They’ll have to let him out then. If not, I’ll file a petition to get him released.”

  “Thank you.”

  He reviewed documents and deeds with me. None of it made a lot of sense. I trusted he would handle the legal papers.

  Mr. Porter didn’t want me taking the bus so late in the afternoon and offered to drive me home.

  Home? I didn’t even know where that was anymore. “Will you take me to Mrs. Shields’ house?”

  “Of course.” He hesitated and tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. “Things may be a little messy from the paramedics and everyone else going through the home, but everything has been processed. You can stay there tonight if you want to.”

  Stay in the house where Mrs. Shields died? I hadn’t considered that part. It didn’t frighten me, though. If anything, it made me feel closer to her.

  Mr. Porter walked me inside and helped me straighten up downstairs before shaking my hand and leaving.

  I glanced at the clock. My aunt and uncle wouldn’t be home yet.

  I dialed the house phone and left a message explaining that I wouldn’t be home tonight.

  Chapter Forty

  Roman

  Our peaceful co-existence was disturbed again by the addition of another roommate.

  None of us knew the kid. And to say he didn’t fit in with our group dynamic was the understatement of the year.

  Everyone called him Wiggles. I assumed it was because he had long, wild black curls springing from his head that shook and jiggled when he moved.

  He took the bed underneath mine. And that’s how I discovered the origin of the name Wiggles—he liked to beat off every fucking night. Not all quiet and polite like the rest of us. Nope. He shook the whole damn bunk bed.

  Bunking with Wiggles made me realize how good I’d had it all these years in the system.

  “I assure you, it’s much more horrifying to accidentally open your eyes and see him jacking off in the moonlight, than it is to hear it,” Eraser complained while Wiggles was in the bathroom.

  “I don’t just hear it, though,” I insisted. “He shakes the whole bed. I feel it.”

  “Yeah, that’s worse.” Griff pointed at me. “Roman’s got it worse.”

  “Bullshit,” Eraser argued.

  “I think every other roommate has kicked his ass,” Griff said.

  “Yeah, I heard that too.” As much as I couldn’t stand Wiggles, I couldn’t beat him up for the crime of being annoying. Besides his nocturnal activities, he was a meek kid. The kind of bullies who picked on him probably liked to kick puppies and punch babies too.

  It was family visit day.

  Griff and Wiggles headed down to the visitation area. Eraser’s uncle wasn’t allowed to visit for some reason. I had no family. We stayed in our room.

  “Drugs’ll be flowing tonight,” Eraser said.

  “Thought they searched everyone coming in here?”

  “Stuff always gets by the guards.”

  Considering the fighting ring the guards ran, that didn’t surprise me. “Shocker.”

  Tension was always high around family visitation days. A bunch of troubled kids already on edge before sitting down with their fucked-up families. Then afterwards, dealing with whatever trauma their family members inflicted during the visit. The Castle didn’t have enough counselors on staff to deal with the fallout.

  I kept my head down and stayed out of the way.

  Eventually, it was time for lights out.

  Wiggles was even more skeptical about the manifesting sessions than I had been in the beginning.

  “You go first, Eraser,” Griff’s voice demanded in the darkness. “Where do you see yourself in seven years?”

  “Seven, huh? Not five?” Eraser answered. “Let’s see. I’m gonna help my uncle run the racetrack. Hustle, bring in new business. Ella and I will be married and shopping for the right piece of property to build our dream home.” His voice lowered to an almost dreamy tone, the same way it did whenever he mentioned Ella.

  “Dream home,” Wiggles scoffed. The bed springs from his corner of the room squeaked. “You sound like a girl.”

  “I don’t punch like a girl, though, do I?” Eraser threatened.

  Wiggles grumbled but otherwise stayed quiet.

  “Describe the dream home?” Griff asked.

  “A log cabin. Lots of trees around us. Tall ones. No neighbors. A place that’s hard to find with a big garage to work on cars.”

  “Nice. I’ll be able to find it, right?” Griff teased.

  “Fuck, yeah. You, Remy, Molly, and that’s about it,” Eraser chuckled.

  “What are you wearing?” Griff prompted.

  “Jesus, you serious with this shit?” Wiggles snapped.

  “Shut up,” Griff hissed. “If you want this visualization shit to work, you gotta be specific.”

  “Flannels,” Eraser answered. “Nice, thick ones. Not those cheap, thin things they sell at the discount store. Not hand-me-downs out of a garbage bag. Like, L.L. Bean or some shit.”

  I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing.

  “Careful, Roman, or you won’t be gettin’ directions to my secret log cabin in the woods,” Eraser warned.

  I laughed even harder. “Sorry. Go on.”

  “One nice handmade Italian suit. Because every man needs a tailored suit in his closet. Just in case. And one of those red plaid wool coats for chopping wood in the winter.”

  “Also L.L. Bean?” I snarked.

  “Your turn, Stonewall,” Eraser ignored my comment.

  “I dunno,” Griff drawled. “Eraser’s gonna be such a dapper dresser, I can’t compete with all that wool and flannel you’ll be sportin’.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” Eraser agreed. “Women like a well-dressed man.”

  Griff cleared his throat. “All right. Seriously. I’m gonna earn enough money to come back and buy this place. Then I’m gonna fire every last one of these fuckers and burn it to the ground.”

  “It’s mostly stone. Doesn’t burn well,” Wiggles said.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Did I ever tell you guys about the time I fucked my girlfriend’s mom?” Wiggles cackled.

  “And on the next episode of Things That Never Happened…” Griff announced like a television voice-over in a bad detective show.

  “First, we’d have to believe you’ve ever had a girlfriend,” Eraser said.

  A rhythmic smacking sound echoed through our small room. Metal squeaking served as background music.

  The three of us went silent.

  My bed shook.

  “What the fuuuck?” I groaned.

  “Wiggles, if you’re whacking off again, I swear to fuck—” Griff threatened.

  “I’m visualizing a clear picture of what I want,” Wiggles moaned. “I’m feeeeeeling what it would be like to fuck your mom, Griff.”

  “Daaamnnn, someone’s mouth is writin’ checks his ass can’t cash.” I whistled. Wiggles must really hate our nightly visualization ritual to go there.

  “Motherfucker.” Griff’s bare feet hit the floor with a thud.

  “Don’t, bro,” Eraser hooked his arms around Griff’s legs, holding him back.

  “It’s a compliment,” Wiggles whined. “Your mom’s hot. Couldn’t stop staring at her titties during visitation today.”

  “I’m gonna slit your motherfuckin’ throat!”

  More struggling and rustling as Eraser tried to hold Griff back.

  I jumped out of my bed, blocking Griff’s way. “Bro, you’re gonna get us all in trouble.”

  Faced with a snarling Griff and the possibility of eating his future meals through a straw, Wiggles wisely shut his mouth.

  I reached into his bunk and smacked his face. “Apologize.”

  “I’m sorry your mom’s so hot.” Wiggles snickered into his pillow.

  I grabbed his shirt and yanked him out of the bed. “Apologize, fucker.”

  Jerking off must’ve given Wiggles some kind of super-stupid power. Instead of an apology or another snarky comment, he reached past me and shoved Griff. “Why you so twisted about your hot mom?”

  Fire exploded in Griff’s eyes. He wouldn’t have beat Wiggles over words but once he touched him, all bets were off. That was our unspoken rule.

  I stepped aside. “Have at it, bro.”

  Eraser fell back on his bed laughing.

  “Wait, what?” Wiggles screamed as Griff tackled him to the floor.

  “We tried our best to save you, Wiggles.” I jumped back up onto my bed and watched the scuffle below. “Shoulda kept your mouth shut and your hands down your pants.”

  Griff was pissed but controlled in his rage. Wiggles curled into a ball and covered his face.

  After a few shots to the gut, Griff shoved Wiggles away and stared down at him. “Jesus Christ, you don’t even fight back?”

  Wiggles sniffled. “I can’t.”

  “You should probably learn to shut your mouth then,” Eraser said.

  “I’m sorry,” Wiggles whined with a lot more sincerity this time.

  “Whatever,” Griff growled. He toed Wiggles with his foot. “Get up, you little shithead. Time for bed.”

  “Mail call!” Griff threw an envelope on my bed the next afternoon. “And, I have news. I’m finally getting the fuck out.”

  “Fuck yeah.” I raised my hand in the air and Griff slapped it. Eraser joined our celebration, hugging Griff tight.

  “Gonna miss you, bro,” Eraser said.

  “Yeah,” I echoed. “Not gonna be the same.”

  “You’ll both be out soon. You’ll be all right, Roman. I got faith in you.” Griff squeezed my shoulder. “Eraser has your back.”

  “For real.” Eraser held out his fist and I tapped his knuckles.

  “You two need to look out for each other,” Griff reminded us. “Don’t get separated. Try to stay out of the fights.” He turned and squeezed Eraser’s cheeks. “I’m gonna see what I can find out about Ella.”

  “Thanks, bro.”

  “We’re all gonna get together and party once we’re on the outside,” Griff promised us.

  Normally, I’d take that with a grain of salt. But I was confident the bonds we’d formed inside this hellhole would last.

  Griff grabbed a notebook, his stack of letters, and a few other items.

  “Wait, you’re leaving now?” I asked.

  He gave me an apologetic smile. “Yeah. I was told to pack my shit. My mom’s on her way. I ain’t questioning it.”

  “Don’t blame you at all. Get out while you can.”