Across the street, students pile out of a yellow school bus parked in front of the admin building. As it pulls away, I catch a glimpse of Cruz on the sidewalk, her long ponytail swinging behind her. She’s walking next to Marco, cradling her arm.

Is she wearing a cast?

They enter the building through the side door near the stairs to the basement.

“It’s not up here, Lex.” I grab my backpack and get out. “I’m going inside. I need to get something out of my locker before English.”

“Okay.” She gives me a strange look. Last year I would’ve waited for her.

“See you later.” I close the car door and rush across the street. I didn’t talk to her about Abel. I’ll bring it up later.

When I get inside, I jog down the steps to Shop. The metal door is cracked open, like someone forgot to pull it shut.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Marco’s voice drifts into the hallway.

“Because you would’ve done something stupid.” Cruz sniffles.

I peek through the crack. They’re standing in front of the Camaro with Chief.

“She’s right,” Chief takes his cap off and scratches his head. “And the cops are who you should be calling.”

Cruz doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who cries easily, and if Chief wants the police involved, then whatever happened must be serious.

“No cops.” She spits out the word like it is cigarette ash in her mouth. She turns her back on Chief, offering me a clear view of the white first-aid sling supporting her arm.

I burst into the room, not caring if I’m intruding. “What happened?”

Cruz swipes at her eyes with the back of her uninjured hand. “My dad went after my little sister Teresa and”—she raises her arm in the sling—“I got in the way.”

“He hit you?” I’ve seen plenty of movies with abusive fathers—drunks stumbling around in dingy white tank tops, the ones the kids at the rec center call wifebeaters. But none of my friends’ fathers had ever laid a hand on them.

“More like he grabbed it and twisted.” She closes her eyes. “It’s not the first time.”

“It’s the last time, or he’ll end up in the ground.” Marco shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and stares at the floor like he’s trying to drill a hole in it.

The last time I saw him we were kissing … and yelling. My lips tingle just thinking about it. Why is that kiss so hard to forget?

Marco looks up. I try to turn away and avoid an awkward moment, but I’m not quick enough. His eyes soften, and I feel the kiss all over again.

I turn my attention back to Cruz, where it belongs. “What are you going to do about your dad?”

She bites her nails. “I’ve got bigger problems right now.”

Bigger than her dad practically breaking her arm?

“Maybe Chief is right about calling the police,” I say gently.

“Whose story do you think my mom will back up? His or mine?” Cruz swallows hard. “I’ll get thrown out of the house.”

Chief drops down into the passenger seat of the doorless Camaro, stone-faced. “Or the police believe you and lock him up.”

Cruz shakes her head. “Until Child Services gets the police report, declares my mom an unfit parent, and sends my sisters to foster care.”

Marco slides his cell out of his back pocket and reads a text. His expression darkens. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Cruz asks.

“Deacon knows.” Marco bolts for the door.

“I’m coming with you,” she says.

He stops. “No, you’re not. If Deacon sees you in that sling, he’ll kill your dad. Stay here.”

Her bottom lip trembles as Marco tears up the stairs. I walk over and loop my arm through her uninjured one, the way Lex does whenever I’m upset.

Cruz looks over at Chief. “If Deacon finds my dad before Marco gets to him…”

“He won’t really kill your father, will he?” I ask.

“I don’t think so, but with Deacon … you never know. He’s unpredictable. It’s the reason we broke up. That and his temper.”

“Did he hurt you?” After hearing what Cruz’s father did to her, I’m afraid to hear the answer.

“Cruz is probably the only person he’d never hurt.” Chief takes his cap off again, then puts it back on a second later. “I failed with Deacon. Got to him too late. A kid can only take so many beatings until the good gets beaten out of him, too. It’s a damn shame. The only person I’ve seen in years who drove a car better than Deacon or Marco is you.”

The color drains from Cruz’s face, and she covers her mouth. “I’m supposed to race on Thursday, and I’m right-handed.” She can’t shift.

Chief climbs out of the Camaro and points an angry finger at her. “You shouldn’t be racing at all, unless it’s on a track. You and Marco are going to get yourselves killed. What will happen to your sisters then?”

Her hand shakes. “I don’t have a choice. Someone has to pay the rent, buy food—”

“I’ve heard this song before.” Chief dismisses her argument with a wave. “When Deacon got expelled. When Marco dropped out of all his AP classes. When you and Marco started racing. I’m ready to hear a new one.”

Marco was in AP classes? Why would he drop out?

The bell rings.

“Get to class.” Chief takes a seat in his chair. “Unless you’re ditching, too.”

Cruz’s shoulders sag as she heads for the stairs.

I wait until we reach the top before I steer her toward the stairwell. “Can you postpone the race until your arm heals?”

Trying to talk her out of racing is a waste of time. She can’t snap her fingers and change her situation just because I ask.

Right after Noah died, mom begged me to pull myself together—to hang out with my friends at Woodley and pick up where I left off like Noah’s death had never happened.

Can’t we move on? she asked me a hundred times.

Can’t you forget? That’s what she really meant.

I can’t rewrite history any more than Cruz can find a job that pays a seventeen-year-old enough to cover rent—or trade a father who hurts her for one who takes care of her.

“It doesn’t work that way.” She wipes underneath her eyes with the hem of her shirt, and the mascara smudges disappear. “The race is Thursday night. If my car isn’t in it, it’s an automatic loss.” She inhales. “I won’t be able to make rent, and I’ll owe money I don’t have.”