Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1) by Emily Kazmierski (summer reads .txt) 📗

now. It takes a few minutes for her to respond, and when she does, she says she’s still at work. There was some glitch in the system and they’re having to tally sales by hand.

Noah and I both look up when we hear footsteps moving away from the front door. It unnerves me that I missed the signs of someone approaching.

Esperanza and Matteo come skidding down the hallway and into the living room. “There’s someone here to visit!” Anza cries, climbing on the couch to look out the front window.

Glancing over his shoulder at me, Matteo whispers in his sister’s ear.

“No, it’s not Tia Maria, silly. That’s a man.”

Noah catches my eye and smiles.

I can’t help returning it. The little girl’s speech is so matter-of-fact that it’s hard not to laugh.

“Wow,” Noah says, staring at me.

“What?” I put my hand up to brush at my face.

He blinks. “It’s just, I’ve never seen your full smile before. It’s, wow.”

I bite my lip as warmth fills my cheeks. Pushing away from the table, I cross toward the front door. Esperanza beats me to it, unlocking it and swinging it wide just as Justin swings into a muddy brown pickup and drives away. The smile drops off my face.

Noah’s on his feet in a second. “Anza! Shut that door. You know the rule.”

Looking stricken, the little girl obeys.

I turn to look at Noah, trying to mask the hot slush of emotions roiling through me. “Rule?”

“She’s not allowed to open the door unless there’s an adult with her. I’m sure some of the parents of the kids you babysat had the same rule, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot about that.”

Anza gives me a warm smile, her ebony eyes sparkling. Her waist-length black hair falls in a shining river down her back. When she wraps a tiny hand around my fingers, my insides heat. I haven’t felt such naked trust in a long time.

On the top step sits a book. My history book. Somehow Justin knew I’d lost my history book. He knew because he must have been watching me close enough to notice. I scoop up the book and scurry inside.

Justin may not have gone far, and if he’s been watching me… I recoil when I imagine him pawing through everything in my locker in search of my history book. He would have had to use the keys he has access to for his job. They can’t just go into our lockers, can they?

A huge red flag of unease unfurls in my mind, making me hold the book tighter against my chest. It might be the proof I need to convince Aunt Karen that the guy she’s known since she was in school is watching me.

Esperanza and Matteo are so riled up that Noah caves and puts on some kiddie show for them in the living room. He bribes them with gummy bears to keep them quiet.

I sit there staring at my history book and trying to focus, but all of the noise from Noah and his siblings is distracting. I keep having to read the same sentences over and over. I’d get so much more done if I was at Aunt Karen’s, shut behind my bedroom door with my headphones in my ears. I’m going to have to stay up so late tonight to get through everything.

“Can I ask you a question?” Noah’s words are gentle and inquisitive, bringing my attention up to his eyes. They slide over my face in a way I’ve seen a hundred times since school started.

And here I was thinking he simply wouldn’t ask. Not like all of the people at school who can’t help themselves at the sight of such an ugly, permanent reminder of trauma scrawled across my face.

“I got it in a car accident,” I say, “and no, I don’t want to talk about it.” It comes out with more bite than I intended, and I almost wish I could take it back. Try again. It’s not his fault he was curious about the vivid white seam that bisects my cheek.

Noah nods, returning his attention to his books. There’s something in the line of his shoulders that makes me pause. If I knew him better, I might know if that meant he was embarrassed or hurt or annoyed, but I don’t.

“I had an older brother.”

My head jerks up at this. Noah has murmured it like one would a confession, soft and quick, as if trying to avoid being overheard. It doesn't escape me that he says he had an older brother. Past tense. “You did?” I lick my lips, then push it further. “Where is he?”

“He died. He was killed.” The bleak look in his eyes behind the thick black frames of his glasses guts me. It’s obvious he’s exposed a festering wound by uttering those first two words, so I don’t press for more. He’s not ready for it. Neither am I.

But I recognize it for what it is: an offering. He sees my trauma and offers up his own in trade. So that we’re even. So that I don’t feel so alone. For a hundred reasons that I can’t begin to understand.

Something unfolds in my gut, beckoning me to acknowledge it. Acknowledge the newly uncovered truth that Noah too has known loss. The heavy black curtain of death being lowered down too soon. The stumbling in the dark after the lights have been snuffed out.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. It’s not enough. Those paltry words will never be enough. Not knowing what else to say, I change the subject.

“He used to work at the dairy, right?” I ask, giving up on my homework.

“Who?” Noah’s black brows furrow in confusion.

“That janitor guy, Justin.” I toss my thumb over my shoulder.

“Not that I know of.”

I go still. “Are you sure? Aunt Karen told me he worked there before he got the job at school.”

“I don’t think so,” Noah says, shaking his head.

“And you’re sure.” I frown. I know I sound more combative than is necessary.

“I mean, the