Shine - Lauren Myracle [61]
I laughed. “Things like you? Believe me, it wasn’t that hard.”
“Well, because of how they keep to themselves, then,” he said. “Dogs like everyone. Cats choose who to like.”
Hmmm, I thought, mulling that over.
We talked more about Patrick, and he told me he was here on campus the night Patrick was attacked. He and his college buddies were at a party at someone’s apartment. He showed me pictures on his cell phone, and I told him he looked like a frat boy. He snorted.
I told him about Wally the meth cooker, and he said meth had spread like poison ivy through his hometown, too. His sister-in-law lost her kids to it. A cousin had nubs for hands because of a meth-cooking explosion. Even so, she was still a user. She gripped a tiny silver spoon between her pawlike hands while her boyfriend held the lighter beneath.
“Have you done it?” I asked, thinking please say no, please say no.
“No, and I never will,” he said. For a moment, his vehemence transformed him into the angry Jason from the library. “That’s why I’m here. I had to get out of that fucking hellhole. Once I get my degree, I’m going even further. Maybe Nashville, maybe Atlanta.” His throat worked. “I’m never going back.”
I was awed by his conviction, and I felt a pang that unlike Jason, I’d be stuck in Black Creek forever.
Only . . . did it have to be like that? What if I came here after I graduated? My grades were good. Maybe I could get financial aid?
I ducked my head and drew into myself like a stupid snail. Maybe the president himself would fly to Black Creek to offer me a full scholarship, and while he was at it, maybe he’d buy some of my homemade corn relish. Then he’d ask Aunt Tildy for the privilege of killing a chicken so she could fry it up and serve it with dumplings, and as she was making dinner, he’d pop out to the garage and offer Daddy a job so he didn’t have to be a drunk anymore.
But forget all that. I was glad—very glad—about Jason not being a tweaker.
I shared bits and pieces of my life, too, especially the parts relating to Patrick. I told him about Beef, explaining that he was Patrick’s best guy friend, and Jason said yeah, that Patrick had mentioned him. I swallowed and told Jason how I’d found out about Beef’s involvement with meth, and I gave him the details about Beef and Bailee-Ann’s problems in the romance department. I also told him about Gwennie, who appeared to have a thing for Patrick despite the fact that Patrick was gay.
I described the other members of the redneck posse: Dupree, a meth runner who possibly did some on-the-side dealing as well; my brother, the coward; Tommy. I told Jason almost everything, and he listened.
Scooching back on his bed and leaning against the cinder block wall, I even told him about Robert, whose neediness worried me and irritated me in almost equal measure.
“He keeps saying he’s got a secret to tell me, but he won’t say what it is,” I said. “Oh, and he’s here, by the way. He ambushed me on the bus and followed me.”
“He’s here?” Jason said. “Where?”
“Lurking outside the dorm, I reckon.”
Jason went to his window, hiked it up, and leaned out. “Skinny kid in baggy shorts? Pacing around and talking to himself?”
“That would be him,” I confirmed dryly.
“You should buy him an ice-cream cone,” Jason said. “He looks hungry.”
I told him I didn’t have money for anything other than bus fare, and he fished out three dollars from his wallet.
I held my hands up and said, “Uh, no. I’m not here for handouts.”
“For God’s sake, Cat,” he said. “You said he has a secret, so take him out for ice cream. I bet he’ll open up.”
Still, I hedged.
He said, “I’m Patrick’s friend, too. Let me help.”
He helped more than that. He threw out a theory about Dupree and Tommy, based on the information I’d given him. Destiny had said that Dupree would freak out if his mama found out about his drug life, and Dupree said Patrick wasn’t a saint, but a tattletale. What if Patrick was blackmailing him?
“Blackmailing!” I said. “If you