Page 102 of Challenge Me

“Yeah, most people long for their youth. They think adulthood is worse.”

“You?”

“Nah, being a kid wasn’t fun for me. I much prefer being older, which is why I went and became an adult at sixteen.”

Wide eyes looked into the camera. “How?”

“It was complicated and nothing you need to go through.”

With a grunt, she returned her attention to the notebook. I wanted to ask about her story, but I didn’t think she’d tell me. It seemed like one of those things she’d need to offer up freely, like affection.

“Did you call me to insult my age, or what?”

“Article,” she replied simply.

“A new one?”

No answer.

Navigating to a browser, I typed in Amir’s name. Sure enough, something had been posted a couple of hours ago. Just when I’d started to think that evil woman was done spewing bullshit about us. The last one had been a couple days after Mal left, and naturally, it had speculated about the reasoning for her ‘sudden disappearance’.

Thankfully, this one wasn’t about her. It was about me.

So, we were back to digging for new ways to demonize me. I was surprised it had taken Clara this long to reach into my past. Although, she hadn’t gotten very far yet.

As I read through the article, my teeth ground together. I popped a piece of gum into my mouth and chewed on it somewhat aggressively. There was a sad picture of a boy on a swing, who wasn’t even me. I almost laughed, except she’d named my fucking parents in the damn thing. ‘Graham and Elise Keane were tragically murdered just a week before Thanksgiving twenty years ago this November.’

She droned on about the details only briefly, but too long for my liking. When I scrolled, I sucked in a breath. Their faces stared back at me, and their warm smiles stood out on the page. It looked like she’d clipped them from the news article announcing the incident. I’d never seen it, never had any interest in adding to my existing memories of them.

May Odin grant her ink that burns her tongue,

And quills that splinter when her lies are sung.

May fame forget her, may sponsors flee;

A fitting fate for vultures like she.

I was going to write that one down and send it to her. No doubt she’d feature it in the next article, pointing out how I was—GASP!—a heathen. Cue the pearl-clutching and claims that I’d cast a curse on her or some other ignorant bullshit.

If I could, I fucking would.

‘One has to wonder: What drew Remi to a career tending a bar when he had such intelligent and successful parents? Amir Darya’s team has declined to comment at this time, but there are too many fans desperate for answers, so we won’t be giving up quite yet.’

Yeah, of course she wouldn’t. If she wanted a comment, I’d give her a comment.

“You’re sad,” Mal noted.

I cleared my throat and started up the steps. “I’m good.”

“If Mom and Dad died, I’d be sad.”

“You shouldn’t be reading these, Mal.”

She shrugged, not pausing her drawing. “Don’t like Clara. You should write about her. Revenge.”

I chuckled. “That ain’t a bad idea, kid. A taste of her own medicine.”

“Mmhmm.”