Page 128 of Bitter’s Sweet

Skibidi stands beside it with a coffee in one hand and the seriousness of a man guarding the crown jewels.

“No one touched it,” he says before I ask.

Sweet smiles at him. “Thank you.”

The prospect goes red to the ears. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, you’re welcome. Bitter said not to let no one breathe near it, and I enforced breathing boundaries.”

Sweet laughs. “Breathing boundaries are important.”

Skibidi looks like she pinned a medal on his chest.

I glare at him because the boy needs balance in his life.

Mercy appears in the doorway. “There she is.”

Sweet turns.

Mercy looks at her, then me. Her brows rise.

“Well.”

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was about to say she looks rested.”

Sweet turns pink.

Boogie appears from behind a bike like a prairie dog of bad choices. “Who looks rested?”

“Go swallow a bone,” Mercy tells him.

“Real or fake?”

“Surprise me.”

Sweet presses her lips together, losing a laugh.

I move behind her without thinking, close enough to shield, not touching.

Mercy sees it.

Nevermore sees it.

Hyde, walking into the garage, sees it too.

Fantastic.

My life is now community theater with firearms.

Hyde nods toward the school. “Mercy’s got you, Sweet.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then his eyes hit me.