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widens, revealing a set of perfect snow-white teeth any
dentist would love to advertise. Then he emits a short but disturbing laugh
that only adds to his overall mysteriousness. “Look at it this way, Alix,” he
says, smile fading, “maybe you’re finally discovering who you really are. And
that’s something you can’t fight no matter how hard you try.”
    “You need to leave,” I say, trembling. “Now.”
    “I know.” He closes his eyes and seems to sniff the air.
Then he opens his eyes and says, “I’m sure your dad will be home soon. We’ll
talk later. Don’t worry. You’re safe for now.”
    He extends his right palm toward the left side of my face.
My heart pounds, but I don’t fight it. Lewis Wilde stops himself at the last
possible moment and pulls his hand away just before his fingertips touch my
skin.
    Then he turns and walks away.

Chapter 6
    Dad walks in twenty minutes after Lewis leaves. I’m sitting
at the kitchen table in a confused daze as I leaf through course information my
teachers flooded me with today. I stored my tablet and phone upstairs in my
bedroom, but bed is the last place I want to be right now. Truth is I’m afraid
of falling asleep because of what I might dream about.
    I smell the evidence of beer and cigarettes the moment Dad
enters the kitchen. I’ve never been the partying type. I’ve tried different
types of alcohol, but I hate the taste. More importantly, I hate the way
alcohol makes me feel, and the smell of any kind of tobacco gags me. Call me
boring, but I enjoy being the viceless geek I am. Dad knows all of this,
meaning he’s had a horrible day if he’s blatantly exposing me to his occasional
vices.
    “You stink,” I say, not looking up from my math syllabus.
    “I know,” he says, slightly slurring his words. Not totally
drunk, but definitely buzzed. “Sorry, Alix. You’re usually in bed by now on a
school night. Anyway, I had a bad day. Really bad. The kind of day that makes
me wonder if I can do this for five more years.”
    He crosses the kitchen and pours a tall glass of water from
the refrigerator dispenser, leaving behind an invisible cloud of bar stench. I
scrunch my nose and wave a hand in front of my face as he leans against the
sink and stares at me through bloodshot eyes. He usually doesn’t say much when
he’s in one of his dark moods, but tonight is different. I can tell he wants to
share some things.
    “The school is devastated about Mr. Watkins,” I say. “The administration
is doing everything it’s supposed to do in a situation like this, I suppose,
but it was surreal being there today. Nobody really knew what to say to
anybody. Teachers included. My first day at Beaconsfield High was memorable for
all the wrong reasons.” I think back to the custodial closet experience. “Trust
me.”
    “Marc Watkins is the reason for my bad day too,” he says,
rubbing his eyelids with his fingertips. “I’m guessing you know the details by
now.”
    I nod. “Execution style. Multiple shots. Found in a building
in some place called Oval City.”
    “How do you know the Oval City part?” he says. “That wasn’t
in the news.”
    “Oh,” I say. “Um … I heard kids at school talking about
it.”
    He buys it and says, “They tied his hands and feet together
like he was nothing more than a hog.”
    “Thanks,” I say, raising my eyebrows, “you could have kept
that one to yourself.”
    “Sorry.” He downs the water in one extended gulp.
    Dad places the empty glass on the granite countertop and
puts his face in his hands. At first I think he’s about to cry, something he’s
never done around me, and which he didn’t even do after Mom passed, but instead
he lets out a frustrated grunt before tugging on his unsightly beard and
emitting a loud exhale—Dad trying to calm himself.
    “There’s stuff you can’t talk about but wish you could,” I
say. “I get it, Dad.”
    “I saw Watkins’s wife and two little boys today,” he