Page 93 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“No.”
“Are you worried about their safety?”
I look down to the smiley face I wrote with Sharpie on my Converse and then look back to her.
Guns.
“Yes.”
“Come over here, Grant. Pull up a chair.”
With every step I take, I know Emmy is going to hate me that much more. She can’t hate me. Dad says it’s our duty to help people who are in trouble.
I move a chair toward Mrs. Gellar and sit. “Grant? What is it, honey?”
One of her hands is on her belly, and I stare at it, wondering if I’ll see the baby move beneath her black T-shirt if I look long enough.
“Grant?”
“It’s about Emmy.” My throat is dry. Like if I played really hard during recess and the line was too long at the drinking fountain before coming back into class so I didn’t get a drink.
“What about Emmy?” Her hand rubs back and forth and then stills again.
“She told me a secret, and I’m not supposed to tell, but—”
“What is it, Grant?
“She said when her mom goes to work at night, her dad has a gun and he molests her.” Her hand jerks on her tummy, but I can’t look up because I just broke my promise to Emmy and I’m scared she’s going to hate me. “But I don’t know what that means other than guns are bad and she’s going to hate me and—”
Mrs. Gellar puts her other hand on my shoulder. It makes me stop talking and meet her eyes, embarrassed when a tear slides down my cheek because boys don’t cry.
But it’s Emmy.
“Grant?” Her voice sounds funny—different—and her throat makes a funny sound when she swallows. “When did Emmy tell you this?”
“This morning.” I can barely get the word out. “Please don’t tell her I told you.”
“I won’t.”
I can’t look at her anymore.
My tummy hurts so bad.
“Look at me, honey.” I take in a deep breath, and I feel like such a wuss when I hiccup a sob, but I look at her. “This is what she told you? You aren’t making this up?”
“No.” I can barely get the word out.
“You did the right thing by telling me. Did you tell anyone else about this?”
I shake my head. “No. I promised her, and . . . I promised her.”
“Oh, sweet boy,” she says in a soft voice that makes me think she isn’t mad at me for telling on my friend as she stands and gives me a big hug. It takes everything I have not to hold on tighter and cry like Emmy does when she scrapes her knee—super hard so she can barely talk—but I don’t do it. Instead, I concentrate on trying to make my arms fit all the way around Mrs. Gellar even though her tummy is too big and my fingers won’t touch. She leans back and looks at me. There are tears in her eyes, too, and that makes me worry. “You did the right thing, Grant. I know you’re worried Emmy is going to be mad . . . and she might be for a while, but you did the right thing.”
“Wh-what are you going to do?” Now that I’ve told her, I’m not sure what is going to happen next. How is she going to help Emmy without letting Emmy know I told her secret?
“I’m going to make sure she’s never hurt again.”
“She’s hurt?” I know guns are bad, but I’m confused. How is she hurt? She looks fine to me other than having cried earlier.
