Page 28 of Shelter
Besides, she was better off not being my friend. She knew what our lives were like. I didn’t worry about Flora and Elise’s safety, and I didn’t care to start.
“That’s what I want to do when I get older,” she said, startling me out of my thoughts. “Make jewelry. Have my own store.”
I blinked, surprised and, again, impressed, but not sure what to say. “Really?”
She nodded. “That won’t happen for a long time, though,” she said, looking resigned. “But I want to get into the Fine Arts Academy for high school.”
I frowned. “Is that at Lafayette High?”
“No.” Elise shook her head. “It’s at Comeaux.”
I kept my face blank. Comeaux wasn’t the worst high school in town, but it was still a rough place. But what did I know? I went to a private school. Maybe the Fine Arts Academy was worth it.
“So that’ll be next year, right?” I asked, hoping I’d successfully masked my distaste.
Elise looked down. “Um…” She crossed her arms over her chest and dragged a toe over the carpet. “In two years.”
I frowned. “I thought you were in eighth grade this year,” I blurted. “You’re thirteen, right?”
Elise tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and bent to replace the bags I’d taken from her jewelry basket. “Yeah, um, I had to repeat seventh grade.”
A shock zinged through me like I’d stepped into a cold puddle. “Oh.” I had no idea what else to say. What else was there to say?I’m sorry?I couldn’t imagine failing anything. Not even a test. I’d made one B on a report card in AP Biology last year, and I’d nearly driven my fist through a wall. She must have been so embarrassed.
And then I looked at Elise and realized that was exactly what she was. Color had rushed to her face, and she hadn’t met my eyes since that awful admission. And suddenly, I wanted to take away that sting of shame.
“Grades aren’t everything,” I said, but since I didn’t really believe that, I didn’t think I sounded too convincing.
And when Elise looked at me before rolling her eyes, I knew I hadn’t.
“Easy for you to say,” she muttered, looking at her feet again. “You’re the smartest in your class.”
“No, I’m not,” I said quickly. Last I knew, I was third from the top. Louis was first. Which sometimes made falling short of valedictorian both easier and harder to take. How could he smoke so much pot and still make ninety-nines when I made ninety-fives?
“Hm,” Elise huffed. “Your mom thinks you are.”
My mouth flattened. Talking about my grades, wrestling wins, and leadership positions was the highlight of my mother’s life. And since her life sucked ass most of the time, I let her talk. But the fact that Elise knew this made me wonder how close Flora and Mom were.
I’d never thought about it, but on a school day, it was just the two of them here together. For hours.
What else did they talk about?
“Grades aren’t everything,” I repeated, this time with more conviction. Because Mom could talk about them all she wanted, but they couldn’t keep her safe or keep her company. Her safety and happiness were what I wanted most for her, and my grades had done nothing to provide that. “Besides, you’re really talented. If you want to own your own store one day, a few bad grades won’t keep you from that.”
Again, she rolled her eyes. “I have more than a few bad grades,” she said under her breath. “And Ihateschool.” At this, her lip curled with disdain.
A sudden restlessness filled me. I hadn’t spent much time with Elise Cormier over the years, but I knew she wasn’t dumb. She’d told me off more than once. She’d been wise enough to try to keep Ava safe all those years ago, and she was savvy enough to help us — and help me — whenever it mattered. Why was school so hard for her?
“Do you try?” I asked without thinking.
“Of course I try!” Her words blasted me in the face, and I grabbed her wrist with one hand and covered her mouth with the other, worried she’d wake Flora.
“What are you doing?” she hissed against my palm.
Her own eyes were like pointed arrows, flaming pointed arrows. Elise’s jaw slid to the side, and her nostrils flared.
I removed my hand from her lips.
“You don’t think Itry?”Her question wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. An assault. Her fists were balled at her sides, and I felt a tingle in my gut that hinted she might launch one at me any second. “You think Ilikegoing to summer school every year?”
