enough so they don’t notice us. If your dad is at the nearest camp, we won't be any use to him if we get caught following them and they throw us in with him.”
“ Oh please, like you’re really worried about that. You’re Senator Shepherd’s son. You’re not going to do time in any internment camp or prison no matter what you get caught doing.”
“ I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” I grumbled.
She glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “What are you talking about? Your dad would bail you out in a heartbeat.”
But she didn't know my dad or his idea of tough love. Dad had called in a ton of favors to get my last mess cleared up after all those deaths. If I wound up in trouble over this Clann business too, it might push him too far.
Knowing my dad, he might decide to let me spend a few weeks in an internment camp just to teach me a lesson, especially since the media would never find out about it. He could always explain away my absence, say I went on a trip abroad or was studying at some secluded private school for final college preparations. Mom would be ticked off at him, of course, and she'd probably work hard to convince him to reduce my sentence. But if a short stay in an internment camp seemed the way to finally ensure I got the message to fit in or else, he just might allow it.
Feeling Tarah's waiting stare, I glanced at her. She was frowning, confused, trying to understand. But she'd never get it. How could she? Before they'd moved away across town, I'd spent enough time as a kid at Tarah's house eating homemade cookies and snacks to know she came from a tight knit family who actually loved each other, in spite of how much they used to yell at each other. Tarah would never have to fight to earn her parents' approval, never have to doubt their love.
Growing up as one of the many generations of Shepherds destined for political greatness, and all the endless pressure of expectations and responsibilities that came with it, was an experience no outsider wo uld ever understand. So why try to explain?
Tarah
Silence filled the cab as I waited for an explanation Hayden didn't seem to want to give.
I drummed my fingers on my thighs. He had to be joking. How could his parents really be that horrible? Sure, his parents had never been around when we were kids, leaving their boys in the care of a housekeeper while they went to charity and political events. But even busy parents still loved their kids. And no parent would ever knowingly let their kid stay in an internment camp. Right?
As the silence stretched on and on, I started to wonder. Maybe I knew even less about Hayden than I'd thought.
My parents would do anything—absolutely anything— to get me out of an internment camp as fast as they could. Even my mother, who never agreed with me on anything, would still fight tooth and nail to free me.
When the silence lasted longer than I could stand, I sighed and gave in to at least part of the source of my nagging guilt. “Thanks for getting me out of there back at the bookstore.”
One corner of his mouth lifted then relaxed in a half smile so brief if I'd blinked I would have missed it. “Old habits are hard to break.”
At first I was confused. Old habits?
Then I remembered a thousand and one playdays spent with Hayden and Damon in the woods behind our houses before my family moved closer to the university and Dad's lab: The boys dressed up in plastic armor with shields and helmets and swords left over from Halloween costumes. The feeling of dragging around that old red and gold embroidered comforter their housekeeper Hilda had given me for a robe, wearable only in the fall and winter because of the blanket's thick, hot weight. The way I'd pretended to knight the brothers with one end of a black iron curtain rod-turned-scepter, its one fleur de li-shaped finial adding to the royal illusion, and the lump I'd accidentally given Damon over his right ear from it. How many times had the boys pretended to
“ Oh please, like you’re really worried about that. You’re Senator Shepherd’s son. You’re not going to do time in any internment camp or prison no matter what you get caught doing.”
“ I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” I grumbled.
She glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “What are you talking about? Your dad would bail you out in a heartbeat.”
But she didn't know my dad or his idea of tough love. Dad had called in a ton of favors to get my last mess cleared up after all those deaths. If I wound up in trouble over this Clann business too, it might push him too far.
Knowing my dad, he might decide to let me spend a few weeks in an internment camp just to teach me a lesson, especially since the media would never find out about it. He could always explain away my absence, say I went on a trip abroad or was studying at some secluded private school for final college preparations. Mom would be ticked off at him, of course, and she'd probably work hard to convince him to reduce my sentence. But if a short stay in an internment camp seemed the way to finally ensure I got the message to fit in or else, he just might allow it.
Feeling Tarah's waiting stare, I glanced at her. She was frowning, confused, trying to understand. But she'd never get it. How could she? Before they'd moved away across town, I'd spent enough time as a kid at Tarah's house eating homemade cookies and snacks to know she came from a tight knit family who actually loved each other, in spite of how much they used to yell at each other. Tarah would never have to fight to earn her parents' approval, never have to doubt their love.
Growing up as one of the many generations of Shepherds destined for political greatness, and all the endless pressure of expectations and responsibilities that came with it, was an experience no outsider wo uld ever understand. So why try to explain?
Tarah
Silence filled the cab as I waited for an explanation Hayden didn't seem to want to give.
I drummed my fingers on my thighs. He had to be joking. How could his parents really be that horrible? Sure, his parents had never been around when we were kids, leaving their boys in the care of a housekeeper while they went to charity and political events. But even busy parents still loved their kids. And no parent would ever knowingly let their kid stay in an internment camp. Right?
As the silence stretched on and on, I started to wonder. Maybe I knew even less about Hayden than I'd thought.
My parents would do anything—absolutely anything— to get me out of an internment camp as fast as they could. Even my mother, who never agreed with me on anything, would still fight tooth and nail to free me.
When the silence lasted longer than I could stand, I sighed and gave in to at least part of the source of my nagging guilt. “Thanks for getting me out of there back at the bookstore.”
One corner of his mouth lifted then relaxed in a half smile so brief if I'd blinked I would have missed it. “Old habits are hard to break.”
At first I was confused. Old habits?
Then I remembered a thousand and one playdays spent with Hayden and Damon in the woods behind our houses before my family moved closer to the university and Dad's lab: The boys dressed up in plastic armor with shields and helmets and swords left over from Halloween costumes. The feeling of dragging around that old red and gold embroidered comforter their housekeeper Hilda had given me for a robe, wearable only in the fall and winter because of the blanket's thick, hot weight. The way I'd pretended to knight the brothers with one end of a black iron curtain rod-turned-scepter, its one fleur de li-shaped finial adding to the royal illusion, and the lump I'd accidentally given Damon over his right ear from it. How many times had the boys pretended to
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