Detention is held in a trailer made into a classroom just outside the main building. It’s called a learning cottage to make it sound better, but, seriously, I’ve been in nicer horse trailers.
Willow sits at a desk next to me, still clutching that ratty notebook of hers. She leans over and talks out the side of her mouth all Humphry Bogart-like. “Your mom’s really in prison?”
I shrug. I don’t want to talk about it. Besides, the teacher’s got his eye on us. The rule is no talking in detention. Fine with me.
The bad part is it’s for four days. No meeting Cory after school to ride Prophet. No more rides home with Declan. I slump down in the hard seat and stare out the window. I don’t want to admit it, even to myself, but I’ve started looking forward to him driving me home. He asks me questions and not ones about my mother in prison. Stuff about me.
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