Winners Don’t Cry

By lunchtime the next day, Tomas had slept for maybe three hours.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw smoke hanging over the north pasture. He smelled gasoline. Heard Sagen saying they had found the missing horses.

Burned.

Now he lingered at the far end of the school hallway, half-hidden behind a trophy case clouded with fingerprints and dust. Lockers slammed. Voices bounced off the cinderblock walls as students moved toward the cafeteria.

“The last thing I feel like doing,” Tomas muttered, “is playing a game.”

You promised.

“I was pressured.”

You’re wound so tight I could tune a guitar with you.

Tomas adjusted the strap digging into his shoulder. “Why are you taking inventory of my body?”

Because you’re broadcasting. Jaw locked. Shoulders raised. Hands twitching like you’re about to murder a Number Two pencil.

“It’s called stress.”

It’s called impending emotional collapse. Subtle difference.

Tomas leaned against the wall, pinning Red between his back and the cinderblock.

Red made a long, offended sound.

Oh, good. Violence. Always a healthy coping mechanism.

“Lucky for me you don’t have a mouth.”

Keep telling yourself that.

Tomas turned his head. “What’s that supposed to—”

Red went still.

Courtney’s coming.

Tomas straightened.

She emerged from the crowd with a manila folder hugged against her chest. Her blonde hair caught the fluorescent light. Shadows darkened the skin beneath her eyes.

“You disappeared yesterday,” Tomas said when she reached him.

The words came out harder than he intended.

Courtney stopped. “Good to see you too.”

“You told me the Collector killed your family, refused to explain it and ran away.”

“I didn’t run.”

“You walked away fast.”

“I had work to do.”

“That’s what you call avoiding me?”

She glanced at Red. “I can’t exactly meet you at your house. Your mother hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“Last time I was there, she pinned me against a locker.”

“That was at school.”

“Location wasn’t really the problem.”

Courtney stepped closer and opened the folder.

Inside were the photographs Bryce had torn apart. Courtney had pieced them together with narrow strips of transparent tape. Several sections remained incomplete, leaving white gaps through the black markings.

“You fixed them,” Tomas said.

“Some of them.”

“I thought you said tearing the originals destroyed whatever was attached.”

“It damaged the claim. It didn’t erase everything.”

Tomas leaned closer. Courtney’s sleeve brushed his wrist. She smelled faintly of apples and something sharp and clean.

He moved back before she noticed him noticing.

Courtney pointed to a cluster of curved markings.

“The Collector made these,” she said. “I’m sure of that much.”

“You said one of the symbols might mean fire.”

“It might.”

“Six horses were found burned last night.”

Her finger stopped.

“What?”

“The missing ones. Sagen found them in a clearing. All six were burned.”

Courtney’s face lost its color. “Were they alive when it happened?”

“We don’t know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Was it the Collector?”

She studied the photograph again.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday.”

“Yesterday, I didn’t know about the fire.”

“So it could’ve been him.”

“Yes.”

Tomas waited.

“But I don’t think this claim describes the horses,” Courtney continued.

“Why not?”

She touched two damaged symbols. “This one means separation. Or severance. Something that belongs together being forced apart.”

Her finger moved to the symbol she had identified as fire.

“This comes after it.”

“Maybe separating the horses into two groups caused the fire.”

“Maybe.”

“Or the Collector killed them because I erased his markings.”

“Maybe.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because these photographs are damaged and the stones still don’t remember enough to help me.” Courtney looked toward Red. “I could give you a confident answer if that’s what you want. It just wouldn’t necessarily be true.”

Red shifted against Tomas’s back.

I appreciate the restraint.

Tomas looked at the photographs.

“What do you think it says?”

“I think it warns that separating you from Red will cause something to burn.”

The hallway noise seemed to recede.

Tomas remembered pressing his thumb against Red’s canvas. The rose-colored light weakening as their connection folded away.

For the first time since the stones awakened, he had made Red silent.

“Have you two been separated?” Courtney asked.

Red answered before Tomas could.

He shut me out last night.

Courtney looked at Tomas. “What does that mean?”

“I wanted privacy.”

“So you left him alone?”

“No. I was right outside.”

“He turned me toward a wall and did something to our connection.*

“I didn’t mean to do it.”

Courtney closed the folder. “Show me.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Try.”

“No.”

“Tomas, if you can affect your connection to the stones—”

“I said no.”

Coach Chad’s whistle tapped against his chest as he approached them.

“Mr. Calder.”

Tomas lowered his voice. “It’s Tomas.”

Coach Chad either didn’t hear or pretended not to.

“You’re still participating in the checkers tournament this afternoon.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want to waste the opening.”

Coach Chad glanced at Courtney and straightened slightly, pulling his shoulders back. “You’re welcome to watch. Community participation is one of the things we’re encouraging.”

Courtney stared at him.

Coach Chad smiled. “I’m Coach Chad.”

“I know.”

His smile sharpened around the edges.

“Your mother’s taken quite an interest in school affairs,” he told Tomas. “It’s good to see parents becoming involved.”

Tomas said nothing.

Coach Chad’s eyes remained on Courtney for another moment before he walked away.

Courtney waited until he was out of hearing.

“I don’t like him.”

“That makes two of us.”

Three.

Courtney looked down the hall after Coach Chad. “He knows your mother?”

“He wants to.”

“He shouldn’t.”

“He doesn’t.”

Courtney tucked the folder beneath her arm.

“Tomas, whatever killed the horses might be connected to the Collector. It might be connected to your mother. It could even be one enemy trying to make you blame the other.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“It isn’t supposed to help. It’s supposed to keep you from deciding too soon.”

“And the warning?”

“It might refer to the horses,” she said. “Or it might mean the fire hasn’t happened yet.”

The warning bell sounded.

Courtney stepped backward into the passing students.

“Don’t let anyone separate you from Red.”

Then the crowd swallowed her.

Tomas adjusted Red’s strap and headed toward class.

She’s pushy.

“She’s scared.”

Those aren’t mutually exclusive.

“No.”

Tomas glanced back, but Courtney was gone.

Whatever had killed the horses might still be circling the farm.

Whatever wanted Red might already be inside the school.

And Tomas had no idea whether they were the same thing.

At Twin River High School, the annual checkers tournament was a big deal.

Not because the school lacked sports. Friday nights still filled the bleachers, and the baseball team had made a respectable run the year before.

Checkers ruled because it was simple, ruthless and impossible to fake.

Chess had been tried once. It lasted a semester. Too many rules. Too many pieces pretending they mattered.

Checkers stuck.

Everyone understood it. Anyone could play it. Once a year, the entire school gathered to watch someone lose carefully in front of everyone else.

The gym was packed.

Students crowded the bleachers while thirty-two contestants filed onto the polished floor. Folding tables stood in neat rows, checkerboards centered on top, red and black pieces stacked like ammunition.

Coach Chad had called Tomas’s invitation an opening. Someone had dropped out, he said. Tomas should be grateful.

Tomas knew better.

Someone had been bumped.

Coach Chad hadn’t done it for him. He had done it because Kay had started asking questions, and this gave him something generous to point at.

Coach Chad stood near the scorer’s table with a microphone in one hand and his whistle against his chest.

Names were announced.

Students cheered, groaned and offered sarcastic applause.

When Tomas Calder’s name echoed through the gym, the noise changed.

“Bookbag Boy!”

“Does the bag play for you?”

“Careful. This must be the charity round.”

A chant started near the back.

“Back-pack. Back-pack. Back-pack.”

Mr. Duong stood and raised one hand.

“That’s enough.”

The chant died unevenly.

Tomas kept walking.

His cheeks burned, but the heat felt familiar. Almost ordinary.

He reached his table and set Red beside his foot.

You really do bring the school together.

“Thanks for pointing that out.”

Community outreach. Very inspiring.

His first opponent approached with the confidence of someone stepping onto a stage.

Evan Mercer had a fresh haircut, expensive shoes and a smile that suggested he had never once worried what people thought of him.

“Just so you know,” Evan said, loud enough for the closest students to hear, “I’ve been practicing for months. So whatever that thing is—”

He nodded toward Red.

“—it isn’t getting in my head.”

Tomas offered his hand. “Good luck.”

Evan looked at it and sat down without shaking.

Coach Chad lifted the microphone.

“Quick reminder of the rules. If a jump is available, you must take it. A move is not complete until your hand leaves the piece. We play until there is a winner. Black moves first.”

His eyes settled on Tomas.

“You may begin.”

The gym erupted as pieces clicked across thirty-two boards.

Tomas moved first.

Evan pushed toward the center. Tomas let him.

Three moves later, Evan took the bait and broke his back line. Tomas crowned a king, forced a double jump and trapped Evan’s remaining pieces against the side of the board.

The referee leaned closer.

“No legal moves. Game.”

A ripple of surprise passed through the nearest students.

Red extended one strap.

Tomas ignored it.

“Good game,” he said, offering his hand again.

Evan stood. “Enjoy it. It won’t last.”

He walked away.

“You’re the one who lost,” Tomas muttered.

Bold strategy. Wait until he’s gone, then destroy him.

The field of thirty-two collapsed to sixteen.

Willow barely spoke. She moved quickly, never looking up from the board. Tomas crowned two kings before she crowned one and ended the match without drama.

Unlike Evan, Willow shook his hand.

She still didn’t meet his eyes.

Don’t take it personally, Red said. She avoids eye contact with everyone. It’s a lifestyle choice.

Cassie lasted longer.

She played carefully and saw most of Tomas’s traps before he completed them. He finally sacrificed a king to open a path she hadn’t noticed, then used the forced jump to box her in.

When the match ended, she leaned closer as they shook hands.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Tomas frowned. “For losing?”

“For what’s coming.”

She released his hand.

“Don’t let them get to you,” she said. “High school doesn’t last forever.”

She walked away before he could ask what she meant.

That was ominous.

“You think?”

If the smartest girl in school tells me that, I assume she’s cracked time travel.

“Calder. Table four.”

Riker Holt waited at the next table.

He had a thick neck, cropped hair and the permanently angry expression of someone who had spent years practicing it in a mirror.

“You’re done,” Riker said. “Hope you enjoyed the attention.”

“I’m still here.”

Riker flexed both arms. “That the best you’ve got?”

He’s right, Red said. We need to improve your trash talk.

“I’m busy.”

Tell him his romantic future just filed for bankruptcy.

Riker frowned. “You talking to that thing again?”

“No.”

“Puppet Boy,” Riker said. “Keep the freak talk away from me. I ain’t playing against a dummy.”

There goes his romantic future. Say it. It’s gold.

Tomas slid his first piece forward.

Across the gym, Bryce was playing Noah.

If they both won, Tomas knew what came next.

Riker slapped his palm against the table.

The pieces jumped.

“It’s your move, idiot.”

Tomas took the jump Riker had left open.

They were down to the final four.

Students left the bleachers and formed loose circles around the remaining tables. Teachers in striped referee shirts pushed them back without much effort. Phones appeared above shoulders, cameras aimed at the boards.

Riker took an early lead. He chained a double jump into a king and leaned back as the crowd shouted his name.

Tomas moved into the space Riker had abandoned.

After that, the game became a knife fight.

They traded kings. Pieces disappeared.

Riker played to impress the crowd, stretching every advantage one square too far. Tomas stopped watching Riker’s face and concentrated on the board.

One king vanished.

Then another.

Tomas brought his remaining pieces forward and trapped Riker’s last king between three of his own.

Riker stared at the board.

“It’s your turn,” the referee said.

Riker’s jaw tightened.

He had one available move. It led directly into a forced jump.

He shoved the piece forward.

Tomas took it.

“Game,” the referee announced. “Winner—Tomas Calder.”

The gym exploded.

Some students cheered. Others laughed as Riker swept the pieces off the table and sent the board spinning across the floor.

He flipped the table for good measure.

Coach Chad lifted the microphone.

“Let’s show some sportsmanship.”

Riker flexed for the crowd.

Tomas looked across the gym.

Bryce had won his match.

Teachers restored order while maintenance set the final table upright.

Students were pushed back toward the bleachers. A whistle shrieked through the noise.

Coach Chad raised the microphone.

“Before our championship match, the Twin River Spirit Squad is going to keep the energy going.”

Music slammed from the speakers.

Dancers in blue and gold streamed onto the floor.

Tomas lifted Red and moved away from the activity.

Bryce drifted over.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he said. “This ends with you losing.”

He jogged onto the floor before Tomas could answer.

Bryce inserted himself into the routine, throwing off-beat spins and exaggerated kicks between the dancers. He wasn’t joining them. He was making fun of them.

The crowd roared.

The dancers smiled harder and continued the routine as if Bryce wasn’t ruining it.

“I don’t get it,” Tomas said. “Why do they let him do that?”

You don’t understand the alpha-male thing.

“I understand it. I just don’t like it.”

Because you’re waiting for somebody to give you the turn he keeps taking.

“That’s not—”

Life doesn’t hand things out evenly. You can stare at what you didn’t get, or figure out what you did.

“Is that wisdom from your home world?”

No. It’s me stalling because I have a bad feeling.

The music ended.

The dancers froze in their final pose. Bryce bowed in front of them.

The gym answered with a roar.

Coach Chad raised the microphone.

“Championship match. Tomas Calder and Bryce Sullivan.”

Tomas carried Red toward the table.

“Nope.”

Bryce’s voice cut across the gym.

He pointed at Red.

“Rules violation.”

Coach Chad approached slowly. “What’s the issue?”

“He’s got help.”

“Help how?”

Bryce took the microphone from Coach Chad.

Phones rose across the bleachers.

“That thing’s real, right?” Bryce asked, pointing toward Red. “He talks to it like it’s alive.”

Laughter rolled through the gym.

Tomas tightened his grip on the strap.

“Riker,” Bryce called. “Help me out.”

Riker jogged over carrying Bryce’s backpack.

Someone had taped paper eyes and a jagged mouth onto the front.

Riker dropped it on the table.

Bryce crouched beside the bag.

“What should I do?” he asked it.

He tilted his head as if listening.

“Oh,” Bryce said. “Jump him. Definitely jump him.”

The laughter grew.

Bryce lifted the bag and pitched his voice high.

“Don’t worry, Bryce. I have magic powers. I’ll tell you all the right moves.”

The gym detonated.

Bryce straightened.

“If Tomas gets a talking bookbag, I should get one too. His could be feeding him moves. Maybe it’s hypnotizing me.”

Coach Chad took back the microphone.

“That’s enough.”

He turned away, but not before Tomas saw the smile tugging at his mouth.

Mr. Duong rose from the scorer’s table.

“Return the backpack and begin the match.”

Bryce handed his bag to Riker.

“I’m only trying to keep things fair.”

“Then sit down,” Mr. Duong said.

Bryce bowed toward the bleachers before taking his seat.

Tomas set Red beside his foot.

I knew I would be imitated someday. I didn’t expect it to be that lazy.

“Effort has never been his thing.”

Bryce leaned forward. “What did the bag say?”

“That you’re an idiot.”

I said no such thing.

Bryce smiled.

“There you go,” Tomas whispered. “My trash talk’s improving.”

I’m proud of you.

Coach Chad stood between them.

“Tomas is black. Black moves first.”

Bryce spread his hands. “Wouldn’t want him crying because I didn’t let him go first.”

Tomas moved.

Inside him, something hot and sharp demanded that he play faster. Win faster. Humiliate Bryce before Bryce found another way to humiliate him.

He moved before Bryce’s fingers completely left the board.

He broke his back line too early.

Bryce crowned a king.

Slow down, Red warned.

Tomas forced himself to breathe.

Bryce played conservatively, closing lanes and refusing to take any risk that didn’t benefit him.

Tomas stopped looking at Bryce.

The board didn’t care who was popular.

The pieces didn’t care who everyone expected to win.

Checkers was simple, ruthless and impossible to fake.

Tomas sacrificed a piece.

Bryce took the forced jump.

That opened a path for Tomas’s king.

He jumped once.

Twice.

Bryce’s smile vanished.

The gym grew quieter as the board thinned.

Tomas sacrificed another piece and pulled Bryce’s remaining king toward the edge.

Bryce saw the trap too late.

Tomas moved his second king into place.

Bryce stared at the board.

His last piece sat trapped between the edge and Tomas’s kings.

The referee stepped closer.

“Bryce, it’s your turn.”

“I know.”

He searched the board again.

There was nowhere to move.

The referee straightened.

“Game. Winner—Tomas Calder.”

For one second, the gym went silent.

“Yes!”

The word burst from Tomas.

He pumped both fists before remembering everyone could see him.

The applause came late and uneven.

Some students cheered. Others immediately checked their phones. A few looked toward Bryce, waiting to learn how they were supposed to react.

Tomas looked down at Red.

He wanted to high-five him.

Not here.

Not with hundreds of people watching.

So he smiled instead.

Red’s strap curled once against his ankle.

Bryce walked away from the table.

Tomas watched him go.

Then Bryce turned around.

“Congratulations.”

He held out his hand.

Tomas hesitated before taking it.

Bryce yanked him forward.

“Gotcha.”

Something yellow sprinted from the boys’ locker room.

A chicken mascot.

The costume’s oversized head wobbled as it ran. Two whipped-cream pies filled its feathered hands.

Tomas barely had time to turn.

The first pie struck his face.

The second hit before he could wipe the cream from his eyes.

Bryce shoved him into the chair.

The chicken launched into a frantic dance.

Students poured onto the floor as Silly String shot through the air. Blue, pink and neon green strands tangled in Tomas’s hair and stuck to his clothes.

Bryce’s friends surrounded him, singing off-key.

“We are the champions—

“You’re not a loser—

“’Cause you are the champion—

“Of the world—”

The crowd roared.

Red shifted beside Tomas’s foot.

You’ll never hear that song again without flinching.

“If this is some kind of initiation,” Tomas said, wiping cream from his eyes, “I didn’t sign up.”

Mr. Duong forced his way through the circle.

“That’s enough. Everyone back.”

Bryce stepped away with both hands raised.

“My fault, sir. I told them to do something if I won.”

“You didn’t win,” Tomas said.

Bryce ignored him.

“I guess they got excited and aimed at the wrong person.” He looked at Tomas with an expression of carefully measured concern. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

“No, you aren’t.”

Mr. Duong exhaled. “Tomas.”

“He planned this.”

“I planned it for myself,” Bryce said. “You saw me dancing. I don’t mind making a fool out of myself. I didn’t think Tomas would take it this hard.”

Students nearby laughed.

Mr. Duong lowered his voice.

“I understand you’re embarrassed, but Bryce has apologized.”

“He’s lying.”

Bryce pressed one hand to his chest. “I swear.”

Mr. Duong looked between them.

For a moment, Tomas remembered Kay standing in his office. The photographs spread across his desk. His promise that the school would enforce its own rules.

Then Mr. Duong looked at the gym full of students and teachers waiting for him to make the problem disappear.

“Coach Chad,” he called. “Get Tomas cleaned up.”

Coach Chad pushed through the remaining students.

“Come on, Calder.”

“I can clean myself.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

Bryce raised one hand. “I’ve got spare clothes in the locker room. I’ll help.”

“See?” Mr. Duong said. “Bryce is trying to make this right.”

Red pressed against Tomas’s ankle.

Don’t go anywhere with him.

Tomas scraped Silly String from his sleeve.

“I don’t need his help.”

Coach Chad placed a hand between Tomas’s shoulders.

“Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

Tomas looked at Mr. Duong.

The principal had already turned back toward the bleachers.

Coach Chad guided Tomas toward the locker room. Bryce followed them, carrying Red by one strap.

“Put him down,” Tomas said.

Coach Chad glanced back. “It’s a bookbag.”

“I can carry it.”

Bryce dropped Red at Tomas’s feet.

The bag landed upright.

No one noticed.

At the locker-room entrance, someone called for Coach Chad from the gym.

He turned.

A maintenance worker pointed toward the scorer’s table, where an argument had started over the brackets.

Coach Chad sighed.

“Bryce, get him something clean. Door stays open.”

“No problem, Coach.”

Coach Chad walked away.

Bryce waited until he disappeared into the gym.

Then he kicked the locker-room door shut.

The locker room smelled of disinfectant and damp towels.

Tomas’s shoulders tightened.

He hadn’t been jumped in a locker room since sixth grade.

Streaks ended all the time.

Red bumped his leg.

We should leave.

“I know.”

Bryce moved between the rows of lockers.

“Back here.”

Tomas didn’t follow.

Riker stepped from behind the nearest row.

Cayden and Noah appeared behind him.

Four.

Tomas looked toward the closed door.

Riker blocked the way.

Bryce held up a gray shirt. PROPERTY OF TWIN RIVER HIGH SCHOOL stretched across the front in cracked blue letters.

In his other hand hung a pair of pink gym shorts.

They were too small.

“What are those?” Tomas asked.

“Clean clothes,” Bryce said.

“I’m not wearing them.”

Riker seized Tomas’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” he said. “You are.”

Tomas dropped Red and twisted free long enough to take one step.

Bryce kicked the bookbag.

Red skidded across the tile and struck a locker.

The impact rang through Tomas’s skull.

“Red.”

He lunged toward him.

Riker dragged him backward.

Bryce smiled. “Don’t want your imaginary friend getting involved.”

Heat rushed through Tomas’s hands.

Not warmth.

Pressure.

Something moved beneath his skin, searching for a way out. The fluorescent lights flickered.

Noah looked up. “This place is a dump.”

The others dismissed it.

Old lights.

Bad wiring.

Nothing worth seeing.

Tomas felt Red at the other end of the pressure.

Afraid.

Angry.

The metal locker beside Riker gave a soft groan.

Tomas imagined what that force might do if he let it go.

Four boys stood within reach.

Noah had his phone out.

Tomas pulled the energy back.

Pain stabbed behind his eyes.

Bryce held out the clothes.

“We going to cooperate?”

“No.”

Riker slammed Tomas against the wall.

The breath left his lungs.

Bryce’s voice remained calm.

“Strip.”

Tomas shut his eyes.

Somebody would come in.

Coach Chad would remember the door was supposed to stay open. A custodian would hear the locker slam. One of the teachers who had watched Tomas win would wonder where he was.

Anyone.

No one came.

Riker hauled him toward the showers.

Tomas fought, but the wet tile gave him no traction. Cayden grabbed one arm. Riker took the other.

Bryce followed with the clothes.

“Bookbag Boy needs a bath,” Riker shouted.

Their laughter echoed against the tile.

Inside the shower stall, Bryce pointed at Tomas’s shirt.

“Take it off.”

Tomas looked toward Red.

The bookbag lay on his side beside the lockers.

One strap moved.

Only an inch.

Riker stepped in front of Tomas, blocking his view.

“Now.”

Tomas peeled off his shirt.

Cream and Silly String clung to the fabric.

His hands shook as he unbuttoned his jeans.

“Throw them here,” Bryce said.

Tomas threw the wet clothes.

Bryce passed them to Cayden.

“Water.”

Tomas reached for the handle.

Cold water exploded from the showerhead.

His body seized.

The boys laughed as the water flattened his hair and drove the remaining cream into his eyes. It didn’t clean him. It only made the humiliation colder.

The lights flickered again.

Tomas felt the pressure return.

Reach for me, Red said.

Tomas clenched both fists.

“No.”

Bryce leaned closer. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

The pressure faded.

Bryce let the water run another ten seconds before shutting it off.

Tomas stood there dripping in his boxer briefs.

Bryce dropped the pink shorts and gray shirt at his feet.

“Get dressed.”

Tomas reached for them.

“Oh,” Bryce said. “Almost forgot.”

Cayden lifted a bucket.

Glitter poured over Tomas.

Silver and blue stuck to his wet hair, his shoulders and his eyelashes. It coated the floor around him in a shining puddle.

The boys laughed.

Tomas pulled on the clothes.

The shorts cut into his waist and barely covered his boxer briefs. The shirt clung to his skin, twisting the school name across his chest.

PROPERTY OF TWIN RIVER HIGH SCHOOL.

The boys watched him dress.

Noah raised his phone.

Tomas turned away.

The camera flashed.

“Delete that.”

Noah looked at the screen. “Nah. This one’s a keeper.”

“Delete it.”

“Hold still. I can get a better one.”

Bryce leaned against the lockers. “Send it.”

Noah tapped the screen.

“Sent.”

A cheap electronic chirp sounded from inside Bryce’s open locker.

Bryce turned too quickly.

On the top shelf, beneath a folded sweatshirt, a small black phone lit up.

Not Bryce’s regular phone.

This one had a thick plastic case and a prepaid carrier’s logo across the bottom.

The same kind of phone Mr. Gramble had hinted at.

Bryce snatched it from the shelf and silenced it.

When he turned back, Tomas was looking at him.

“What?” Bryce demanded.

“Nothing.”

Bryce’s eyes narrowed.

He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.

Then he pointed toward Red.

“You stay out of my way for the rest of the year. No smart comments. No talking to that stupid bag.”

He pressed one finger into Tomas’s chest.

“And if I hear you’re still doing it, I’ll light the thing on fire.”

Separation.

Then fire.

Courtney’s translation rushed through Tomas’s head.

Bryce tapped his chest again.

“Understand?”

Tomas looked across the locker room at Red.

The bookbag’s zipper had opened slightly.

Rose-colored light pulsed inside.

“I understand you,” Tomas said.

Bryce mistook that for surrender.

He smiled.

Riker kicked Red again.

The bag struck another locker.

Tomas’s vision went white around the edges.

Every locker door in the row rattled at once.

The boys stopped laughing.

For half a second, no one moved.

Then Noah looked toward the showers.

“Water pressure,” he said.

“Old building,” Cayden added.

They had heard the lockers.

They had watched them move.

They had already decided it meant nothing.

Bryce recovered first.

“Come on.”

He led the others out.

Their laughter faded down the hallway.

Tomas waited until the door slammed shut.

Only then did he cross the locker room.

Every step left glitter behind him.

He dropped beside Red.

“You okay?”

No.

Tomas swallowed. “Yeah. Me neither.”

He examined the seams.

No tears.

The zipper moved beneath his fingers.

The stones are all here.

“Are they hurt?”

They’re angry.

“So am I.”

You stopped the energy.

“I didn’t know what it would do.”

Neither did I.

“There were phones. Cameras.”

And four people close enough to be hurt.

Tomas leaned against the locker.

“I should’ve done something.”

You did.

“I put on their clothes.”

There were four of them.

“I let them—”

No.

Red pulled himself upright.

They separated us. That’s how they won.

Tomas stared at the glitter on his knees.

“I should’ve fought.”

And I should have protected you.

“You tried.”

So did you.

They sat side by side while water dripped in the shower stalls.

The bell for seventh period rang.

No one came looking for Tomas.

No teacher checked the locker room. Coach Chad never opened the door to make sure Bryce had helped him.

The final bell rang forty-five minutes later.

Tomas stood.

He reached for Red, stopped and looked down at him.

“You coming?”

Tomas—

“You coming or not?”

Red’s strap lifted toward him.

I’m coming.

Tomas picked him up and held him against his chest.

Tomas waited until the buses left before walking away from the school.

Yesterday, Eljen had picked him up in the parking lot.

Yesterday had been the exception.

Usually Tomas walked to the edge of town, where Eljen could collect him without anyone at school seeing the truck or asking questions about the farm.

He kept his head down.

It didn’t help.

Cars slowed as they passed. Someone blew a horn. Laughter followed him from an open window.

Storefront glass reflected him in pieces.

Pink shorts.

Glittering legs.

A gray shirt stretched too tightly across his chest.

Red clutched against him.

People inside the stores paused to watch.

Some smiled.

By the time Tomas reached the edge of town, his shoulders ached from holding themselves in.

Eljen’s truck waited beneath the rusted gas-station sign.

He leaned across the seat and pushed open the passenger door.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Tomas climbed in.

“Revenge.”

“Yours or somebody else’s?”

“Somebody else’s.”

Eljen looked him over.

“Well, you look like one of those fairy princesses.”

Tomas stared straight ahead.

Eljen’s smile faded.

“Who did this?”

“Drive.”

“Tomas.”

“Please.”

Eljen put the truck in gear.

Tomas kept Red on his lap.

For the first mile, neither of them spoke.

Eljen’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.

“You ever hear about the Fairies of the Blue Tree Forest?” he asked eventually.

“No.”

“Scary stuff.”

Tomas glanced at him.

“Meaner than they sound,” Eljen added.

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

“No.” Eljen looked at the road. “Just thought you ought to know looking harmless doesn’t mean being helpless.”

Tomas brushed glitter from Red’s front pocket.

“Any word on the horses?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you still think it was the man Mom crossed?”

“I think somebody wants her to believe it was.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“No.”

“Courtney thinks it might’ve been the Collector.”

Eljen glanced at him. “The what?”

“Nothing.”

“Everybody in your life answers questions with nothing. Must be contagious.”

Tomas watched the fields roll past.

“Mom have any leads?”

“She thinks she does.”

“On who?”

Eljen hesitated.

“That means yes,” Tomas said.

“It means you should let Kay tell you.”

“You told me yesterday I was going to have to grow up sometime.”

“I also said your mama would skin me alive.”

“On what things?” Tomas asked. “What am I supposed to be brought into?”

Eljen tapped the steering wheel.

“Not yet.”

The truck hummed along the road.

Red remained quiet on Tomas’s lap.

Somewhere inside Bryce’s jacket was a second phone.

A photograph of Tomas lived on it now.

Maybe Bryce planned to show the whole school. Maybe he had already sent it to people Tomas would never meet.

Mr. Gramble had said Bryce went through phones.

Chargers. Prepaid packaging. Inventory kept somewhere else.

Tomas didn’t know what Bryce was doing.

He only knew he needed that photograph gone.

For the first time in his life, breaking into someone’s house didn’t sound impossible.

It sounded reasonable.