At my old school, none of my friends had trouble paying their bills. They bought whatever they wanted. Nobody at Woodley had a parent in prison. Their lives were easy—and until Noah died, mine was, too.

Marco didn’t start stealing cars because he wanted extra money to burn. He was trying to protect his sister, the person he loves more than anyone. I don’t have any siblings, but if I had to choose between stealing and watching Lex or Abel get hurt, I would steal almost anything.

Unless …

“Is there anyone in the cars when you take them?”

Marco’s head snaps up. “I’m not a carjacker, if that’s what you’re asking. I would never hurt anyone.” The shame in his eyes makes me feel guilty for asking, but I needed to know.

There’s a difference between stealing things and hurting people. It’s the line I wouldn’t cross, and Marco hasn’t crossed it.

Eight steps.

That’s how many it takes to reach him.

I slip my arms around Marco’s waist and rest my cheek against his chest. He freezes, muscles tense beneath his T-shirt.

“It’s not your fault. I’m not saying that what you’re doing is right, but I understand why you started doing it.”

He wraps his arms around me. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I just found you. I don’t want to lose you.”

My heart stalls. “I don’t want to get lost.”

He traces a path along the side of my face and tucks my hair behind my ear. “The way I feel about you, Frankie … there’s no going back.”

CHAPTER 27

THE CHEMISTRY OF TRUST

It’s been six days since Dad showed me the surveillance photos, and we still aren’t speaking. Though he makes an exception every morning to remind me that I’m grounded indefinitely. I don’t say a word.

I’m not interested in talking to my father—not even to tell him things are over between Marco and me. Instead, I left him a note on the kitchen counter.

It won’t stop Dad and Tyson from watching Marco, but if they thought we were still seeing each other, Dad would have S.W.A.T. camped out in Lot B.

Now spending time with Marco requires a covert operation. Sneaking out isn’t an option. I’m sure Dad has someone keeping an eye on the apartment to make sure I don’t leave at night—the neighbor who offered to babysit me.

Inside the school is the only place safe from police surveillance, but after Marco’s confession Monday, I need to talk to him one-on-one.

I walk into the kitchen, and the smell of burnt coffee lingers in the air. Dad sits at the dining room table, reading the Washington Post and tossing Cujo sugarcoated pieces of Trix cereal. He’s drinking his coffee from a mug with #1 DAD scrawled across the side in messy kid handwriting. I made it for him in first grade as a Father’s Day gift.

That mug will mysteriously disappear by tomorrow.

“Come straight home from the rec center.” He doesn’t look up from the newspaper.

“I’m having trouble in chemistry, and Lex offered to help me at her house after she picks me up.” The chemistry part is true. A lie is more convincing if it’s rooted in the truth. Dad taught me that.

He puts down the paper. “Lex takes chemistry?”

“Yeah, and she’s good at it. Why?” I crack open a can of double-shot espresso from my stash in the fridge.

“She doesn’t look like a science whiz.”

I can’t believe he just used those words.

“What do science whizzes look like? Nerds with glasses and pocket protectors? If you’re going to judge people by the way they look, you need a more reliable scale than outdated stereotypes.” I slam the can against the counter for emphasis. If I start acting pleasant out of nowhere, he’ll know I’m up to something.

“Tell Lex to come over here.” He’s calling my bluff. Nicely played.

“No, thanks. I don’t want her to end up in the photo album you and Tyson have going.”

Dad’s jaw muscles jump under his skin. Did I go too far?

He carries his annoying mug to the sink. “We only spy on criminals.”

“I’m a criminal, remember?”

Dad leans against the counter, watching me, but he doesn’t take the bait. “I’m sure your mother would get you a tutor.”

I couldn’t ask for a better setup. “I don’t want anything from her or King Richard.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he fights a smile. He’s the only person who hates my stepfather as much as I do. “Leave me Lex’s home number and text me when you get to her house. I want to talk to her mom. If her mom won’t be there, you aren’t going. Are we clear?”

“Fine.” I storm out of the apartment and down the steps. I don’t let myself smile until I’m at the bottom and Lex pulls up in front of the building.

* * *

“I got you out of the apartment, and it wasn’t easy,” Lex says. We’re at her house later that night. “My mom doesn’t like talking to strangers unless they’re donating money to one of her charities. And you’re lucky she doesn’t pay any attention to me, or she would know that I’m not taking chemistry. So what’s the big favor?” She holds up her hand. “Wait. Let me guess. Your dad is home, and you need me to cover while you race cars or meet up with your new boyfriend?”

I’m not lying to her anymore. She’s my best friend and I owe her the truth, whether she ends up helping me or not. “It’s so much worse.”

She finally looks at me, her blue eyes rimmed with smudged black eyeliner. “How much worse?”

“My dad and Tyson have been investigating a crew, and Marco is involved.”

We’re sitting across from each other on her king-size bed, the way we’ve done since we were sharing secrets about the boys we had crushes on in elementary school.

Lex crosses her legs. “Marco knows who is doing it, doesn’t he?”

My eyes sting and my throat burns. “It’s him, Lex. He’s stealing cars. Marco’s dad is in jail, and he owed some lowlife money. Marco has to work off his father’s debt, or his sister will end up in foster care.”

Lex blinks, like she’s still processing what I said. “Did you tell your dad about Marco’s father and the guy threatening Marco and his sister?”