Hunter was in such a hurry when he left my house that he left behind his gray wrestling hoodie. I asked if he wanted me to bring it over one day after school, but he said he doesn’t want me to come to his house right now. He told me he has others, so I can just keep it.
Under normal circumstances, I would be pretty happy about the prospect of wearing Hunter’s hoodie around my house, but my heart is so heavy right now, there’s no joy to be found in it.
The talk Mom wanted to have with me definitely changed once she learned about what has really been going on with Hunter. Maybe her opinion of him changed a little, too, but I can’t tell if it did or she just feels for him. No kid should have to go through this, and it shouldn’t be my mom willing to fight for him—it should be his.
Mom made an appointment with the principal and the guidance counselor on Wednesday to talk to them about it. She wanted to get in as soon as possible, but she had to work Tuesday and couldn’t afford to call off.
She made me tell her every detail I knew about the violence at Hunter’s house. I told her about the day I went over there, even though I knew I might get in trouble. I told her how Dennis acted and how even though I asked him to come back to our house until things settled down, Hunter stayed to protect his mom. I told her about the day I found him on the bridge and brought him back to our house. I sent her the pictures I took of his injuries Monday night.
I hate that it feels so much like I’ve sold him out. I wish he hadn’t asked me to keep this awful secret. I know we have to tell someone who can intervene because next time maybe Dennis injures him more permanently or even kills him, but I also have a strong hunch that when this comes out, Hunter will feel I’ve betrayed him.
Maybe I shouldn’t have gone about it this way. Maybe I should have gone to Hunter and appealed to him and convinced him to come forward instead of outing him like this, but once I told my mom, I lost control of the situation.
Even if he’s mad at me, even if he hates me for it, I can’t just stand by and allow this to keep happening to him. The integrity of an unbroken promise won’t be sufficient solace if next time Dennis attacks Hunter, I have to go to his funeral.
I know we’re doing the right thing, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels wretched, and I’m sad all the time.
On Wednesday, I’m called down to the principal’s office during class.
Mom is there with the guidance counselor and the principal. They ask me about Hunter, even though I’m sure my mom has already told them everything. I guess they want to really make sure before they accuse the richest woman in town of child endangerment.
Because that’s what happens next. I don’t hear from Hunter, but I hear it from my mom.
The school obviously found out Hunter wasn’t really out of town, but he still doesn’t come to school all week. On Friday after school, I send him a text to see if he’s okay.
“You’re dead to me,” he texts back.
My heart sinks and my stomach knots up. I swallow past a lump in my throat and text him back. “I’m so sorry, Hunter. I had to tell someone. I was afraid for you.”
He doesn’t respond.
___
The following Monday, Hunter is back at school. I find out pretty immediately from overhearing other people whispering about it.
There are so many rumors flying around about the week he was out.
Some people have it right. Some have it completely wrong. There’s even a crazy one flying around that his father—some big shot from Europe—is in town and that’s why Hunter wasn’t in school last week.
The truthful version of the controversy surrounding Hunter could have made him seem more human, but somehow it has morphed into a complete fiction that has only made him seem even cooler than he already was.
In history class, I overhear the girls at the desks in front of me gossiping about it.
“I heard Hunter’s dad is some exiled Italian royal who married this French actress and they live in a chateau just outside Paris. He cheated on her with Hunter’s mom back when she was a model.”
“Wait. Like, actual royalty?” the other girl exclaims, aghast.
The first girl nods. “I think his dad was a king or a prince—I don’t remember exactly what Ciera said. Hunter’s dad is totally Italian royalty though, that’s the gist,” one of the girls in my history class is gushing while we wait for the bell to ring.
“Does that make Hunter a prince?” her friend asks, grinning.
The first girl sighs like she can’t even stand it. “Ugh, he’s so hot. I mean, he already was, but like… wow.”
Disgusted, I roll my eyes and flip open my textbook. I want to tell them both they should pay a lot more attention in this class because the Italians voted the monarchy out in the 1940’s—there is no Italian royal family. I suppose it’s possible Hunter’s dad descends from the last king of Italy, but it’s most likely just nonsensical fodder for the gossip mill. Since Hunter’s dad exists only in our imaginations, he can be as impressive as anyone can imagine.
Of course I know Hunter doesn’t even have a relationship with his dad, so he’s definitely not in town for a visit.
I don’t get to see Hunter until lunchtime. Since he told me I was dead to him and we never even interacted at lunch when he didn’t hate me, I know it’s a risky move to approach him, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
I sent him more apology texts trying to get him to talk to me after the one he responded to, but he didn’t respond to any of them. I don’t think he blocked my number because they seemed to keep going through, he just didn’t answer. I even tried calling to talk to him once, but he didn’t pick up.
I get it if he doesn’t want to talk to me right now, but I hope he’ll forgive me once the dust settles. In the meantime, I just want to make sure he’s okay.
I catch his eye as I approach and he does a double take, staring at me like he can’t believe my nerve.
His eye looks a lot better now. His lip is pretty much healed, but the wound on his head still looks bad. I wonder if it will become a scar.
I tear my attention from his hairline and meet his brown-eyed gaze. I can’t decide if he looks more amused that I’m approaching him in public, or… something else. There’s an undercurrent of malice I’m unaccustomed to, and it sets my nerves on edge.
“Hey Hunter,” I begin, a little more cautiously than I would ordinarily feel approaching him. It’s that gleam in his eye that’s throwing me off.
“Riley,” he acknowledges, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I just…” I pause, swallowing, and glance at his friends seated around the table, watching me. I shift my gaze back to Hunter. “Can we talk?”
Still holding my gaze, he shakes his head. “I don’t have much left to say to you.”
“Oof,” one of his friends comments to another.
“That’s cold,” the other one remarks back.
Hunter’s lips tug up in a smile that doesn’t quite seem friendly.
Mark Poplowski, never the brightest kid in the bunch, speaks up. “I thought you two were cool. I thought you liked her or something.”