Bleeding Violet by Reeves Dia

Author:Reeves, Dia [Reeves, Dia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Published: 2010-03-07T06:00:00+00:00

When Wyatt showed up at the bike rail after school and begged me to let him take me to Smiley’s, I agreed, keen to go anywhere with anyone willing to listen to me talk about Rosalee.

Smiley’s, as always, was packed with kids yelling happily over one another and over the rusty old jukebox that played nothing but rusty old songs. A rich, battered smell permeated everything, as though the whole building had been deep-fried.

I was starving, so Wyatt and I split three orders of shrimp ceviche—unusual fare for a diner, but it was Smiley’s specialty. As I ate, I told Wyatt about Rosalee. Not about hitting her, but about how nice she’d been that morning. I had just launched into an explanation of partiality therapy when Wyatt began to laugh.

“Sorry. I just never heard anybody go on and on about her mother.”

“I’m boring you?”

“No, it’s great. And Rosalee’s great. I wish I got along with Ma like that.”

“Last night was so bad—you have no idea how bad—but today … what a difference. She likes me!”

Wyatt looked baffled. “What’s not to like? You’re amazing. Even though you were pissed at me last night, you still helped my dad. Even though the Key burned you.” He took my hand gently. “How is it?”

“Almost completely healed.” I shrugged it off. “How’s your dad?”

“He’s all right. Ma and me patched him up when we got home.” Wyatt took a deep breath and squeezed my hand hard enough to hurt. “Look, when I gave you that drink, I wasn’t trying to kill you. We all take turns being bait; I should’ve explained it first. I take all this shit for granted—hunting, all that—and I didn’t think how scared you might be. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged that off too. I just couldn’t dredge up any anger. Rosalee liked me.

What else mattered?

“Apology accepted.” I celebrated with another mouthful of ceviche and noticed him staring. “What?”

He looked thoughtful. “What were you gone wish for?”

I choked on the lime-flavored shrimp. “Pardon?”

“Touching the Key wouldn’t’ve burned your hand unless you tried to make a wish.”

“Jailhouse Rock” blared through the diner, soundtracking my scramble for an explanation.

“Tell me the truth,” Wyatt said, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Did you go to my house to turn me into a frog?”

I laughed and so did he. We laughed for a long time, but he was still waiting for an answer. Before I could think of one that wouldn’t be incriminating, a crash overrode all the noise.

A busboy had dropped the tray he’d been carrying, and its contents were now splattered across the peach and white tile. He turned red amidst the whistles and mocking applause. “You better stop clapping and start watching those milkshakes,” he yelled. “A milkworm’s loose.”

The taunting ended in a hurry as the diners inspected their food.

I frowned at Wyatt. “What’s a milkworm?”

“A parasite,” he said calmly, “that likes calcium. The kind in milk, but especially the kind in your bones. Trust me, you don’t wanna swallow one of those. Gotta be careful drinking milk or anything made with milk.

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