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A few kids are scattered about, some reading and doing homework and others playing on their phones. My eyes land on a blond head I recognize, at a wooden table in the corner. I head for him, putting the best smile I can on my face.
“Hey.” I tap him on the shoulder. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” He sighs, reaching for his cane. “I’m tired.”
“I bet. It’s been a long day.” I keep my tone light as I gather up his backpack, swinging it over my shoulder. “Anything else we need to get?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Do we need to let Miss Simpson know you’re leaving?” I glance around.
His teacher is sitting with a few students, most likely helping them with their homework.
“I’d rather not make a scene.” Dorian gives me a sheepish smile as he painfully stands to his feet, leaning on his cane. “I already draw too much attention as it is anyway.”
“You don’t. Besides, remember what Dr. Lewis said. By the time you’re eighteen, this’ll all be history.”
“Right,” he mutters, limping behind me as I make my way over to the supervisor.
“We’re leaving,” I tell her.
“I saw you come in.” She smiles up at me and then lowers her voice. “Dorian had a good day up until about thirty minutes ago. He said his knees were bothering him.”
I nod. “He sent me a text. That’s why I came by a little early to pick him up. I don’t start my next shift until seven tonight.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. “I don’t know how you do it, Mel. It’s not good to have to work the way you do.”
“I’m fine.” I laugh it off. “Some people my age spend their time partying. I spend mine working. And I know that working has to be better for me than drowning in alcohol.”
“You’re not wrong there.” She laughs softly. “Have a good evening.”
“You, too.”
Dorian clears his throat.
I shoot her a grin. “I better get going.” I trot to Dorian, opening the door for him. We take a step out into the evening air, and Dorian suddenly stops.
“Uh, who are those people in our car?”
“Long story. Well, kind of. I’ll explain after we drop them off where they need to go. I promise, they’re not a danger, though. It’s just my professor and his son.”
“Great,” Dorian groans. “But anyone is probably better than Chatterbox Frances.”
I shake my head. Frances does talk a lot, and he is not a fan of that.
I offer my arm to Dorian to help him to the car, but he doesn’t take it, making his own way. I pop the trunk and put his backpack down as he climbs into the backseat beside Connor.
Oh god, I hope Connor isn’t mean to him.
I head around to the driver’s side door, popping it open. I take a seat, glancing over at Dr. Banks. What is he thinking?
The air in the car istenseas I pull away from the curb, and I glance in the rearview mirror, meeting Dorian’s eyes. I give him a smile, but he only raises his brows at me. I’ll probably be met with a barrage of questions when we get home, but thankfully, I can trust my brother not to do anything rash until then.
Connor fumbles with his backpack beside him and pulls out a book.
“We’re reading that one, too,” Dorian comments. “Do you like it?”
“Meh. It’s a girl book.”
