Evenifthesituationwasurgent,hecouldn’tbringhimselftodosomethingthatintimate—andthateasytogossipabout—likescoopioabridalcarryorthrowiohisback.
Sohesettledforanawkward,exhaustingpromise.
Onehandlockedaroundherupperarm.Theotherhalf-edaroundhershoulders.Hemovedherforwardinaposturethatwasalmosthalf-drag,half-carry.
“Hot…”Cra’sforeheadpressedagainstthesideofElian’sshoulder,aestedweaklywithoutmeaningto.
Onweekendssheusuallywht,casualclothestocramschool.Thefevermediehermotherhadforceddowhroatstillhadn’ttake.Shewasn’tsweatingatall—butthroughtheloosecottonshirt,Eliancouldfeelhhteninglydry-hotherskinwas,likeafurnaceburningwithoutsmoke.Herlegs,bareunderdenimshorts,weresoweaktheycouldbarelypushofftheground.Everystepfeltlikewalkingoncotton.
Elianwasn’tdoieither.
In30°C(86°F)heat,hehadCra’sbackpack—stuffedwithheavyreferencebooks—slungoverhisshoulder,andhewashaulingafeverishgirlwhocouldhimevenifshewao.Afteronlyafewsteps,sweatsliddownhisjawline,soakingintohisoversizedbckT-shirt.
“Shutupandsaveyourstrengthforbreathing,”Elianshroughchedteeth.Histonewasharsh,butthearmaroundhershoulderstightenedslightly—quietly—soshewouldn’tslip.
Hesteeredtoa7?Elevenattheer.
Thestore’sair-ditioninghitlikeasmallsalvation.Elianpressedherdownontoachairilerestareabytheregister,threwoutawarning—“Ifyoutrytorun,you’redead”—andstrodestraightfortherefrigeratedse.
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