Sam stares at her. ‘Armed robbery?’
‘Something like that.’
‘But Avery works at the mechanic’s.’
‘He did. But yet, he’s extremely good at taking apart doors.’ Vin starts back towards the car. ‘I know you’re only a kid, so come on. I’ll buy you some chips on the way back. We’ll make a hardass out of you eventually.’
Sam wipes his face on his T-shirt and stares at the water. He could at least try to climb down there, swim, hopefully not get crushed between cement walls and boat hulls. Except he doesn’t want to die. Except Avery let this happen, wanted it to happen, and Sam will do anything for his brother. If he doesn’t go with Vin now, he’ll be sleeping on the street.
We gut houses like you do.
They have no idea.
It’s not about the stealing from houses. It’s about stealing the houses. He puts his wishes into small metal keys and tucks them in his pocket to keep him breathing.
Right now, his lungs are rust.
He follows Vin.
Avery drops down on the sofa where Sam’s sprawled. The TV is on, sound muted, and Sam’s flipping through channels with kaleidoscope swiftness. Avery pokes the back of his neck. Sam doesn’t react.
‘How long did you know about my keys?’ Sam doesn’t actually want the answer, but he’s been lying around this house for two days and his voice is hollow from disuse.
‘I looked at them when you slept. All the time. Hundreds of times.’
‘Not creepy at all, Avery.’
‘I liked them,’ Avery says. ‘But Vin says—’
Sam flips channels faster. ‘Just leave me alone.’
Apparently Avery doesn’t understand that phrase because he rubs a hand through Sam’s hair and then shows Sam his palm. ‘Still glittery.’
‘Surprise,’ Sam says, flat.
‘Vin’s just trying to help us.’ Avery flicks his fingers by his ear and then stops suddenly, ramming his hands under his thighs.
Sam shoves hair out of his eyes and gives Avery a long hard look. ‘She’s stopping you stimming?’
‘Everyone says it’s annoying.’
‘That’s not … Look, Avery, you need to tic.’ Or you melt down later, he doesn’t add. Isn’t it painfully obvious?
Avery chews his thumbnail, eyes on the TV. ‘I can take care of myself.’
That’s a hilarious joke.
‘You didn’t tell me how you got caught,’ Avery says.
Sam doesn’t want to, but somehow it tumbles out like colourful marbles – the butter-yellow house and where it is and why he liked it and then how he lost it. Avery looks worried and Sam’s story trails off. It doesn’t matter anyway. It happened. It’s over.
There are things with sharper edges to unpack.
Sam sighs. ‘Do you know how long you go to prison for armed robbery?’
Avery springs off the chair. ‘I just said I can take care of myself.’
Sam’s about to pursue this argument but the front door bangs open.
Vin glides in, folding sunglasses and tossing her perfectly groomed hair like the pretentious jerk she is. She wears white pants and stilettos today and carries a thick red wallet and a greasy bag of takeaway food. Sam’s still isn’t sure how old she is. Twenty-four? Twenty-five? She has a smile for everyone and is very hands-on and affectionate. And it always seems like a rehearsed act.
She dumps the greasy paper bag on the coffee table. Then she kisses Avery on the mouth. She kisses a lot of different people, Sam’s noticed. He thinks Avery knows too, but Avery will just anxiously skim away from confrontation, and Sam has no idea how to talk about this with someone who doesn’t understand unspoken rules. Avery deserves to be kissed by someone who wants him, not wants to use him. But talking about kissing and sex is too awkward, OK? It shouldn’t be Sam’s job. He’s only fifteen.
Except it always is his job.
‘Avery, your little brother just gets cuter by the day.’ She drags off her heels and throws them amiably. ‘I bought an extra kebab if he wants one.’
She empties the bag, tossing a tin foil wrap at Avery and then Sam. She flops in a sofa and unwraps hers.
Sam accepts the kebab even though every time he sees Vin, he kind of wants to break her kneecaps.
‘He’s not that cute.’ Avery sets to work destroying the kebab but not eating it. It’s soggy with oozing meat and sauces and a wild mixture of greens – exactly the opposite of what Avery will ever eat. Vin hasn’t figured it out? Or is this another thing she’s fixing? No tics. Eat your food mixed. Be normal.
Avery’s eyes take on a panicked sheen while he tries not to flick his fingers.
Sam entirely hates Vin.
Why is Avery putting up with it though? Because he likes her? How can he adore her while his body betrays how scared he is?
Sam feels sick. He wishes he was sandwiched between Moxie and Jeremy on a sofa with sand in their hair and waffles in their stomachs. He wants to twine his fingers with Moxie’s and explain himself. Apologise.
Vin licks juice off her thumb. ‘How old are you anyway, Sammy? Thirteen? Fourteen?’
Sam frowns. ‘Fifteen.’
‘You’re so small.’ Vin stuffs more kebab in her mouth. ‘Perfect size to fit through a window.’
Avery shoots her a frazzled look. ‘No. He doesn’t want to do stuff like that. Just leave him alone, Vin.’
‘I said I’d toughen him up for you,’ Vin says. ‘I can make something out of the Lou boys.’
‘Yeah, well, I can do that,’ Avery says, like he’s the big brother for once.
Vin’s eyes narrow. ‘Avery, help me out in the kitchen for a second.’ She untwines from the chair.
Avery trails after her like an obedient puppy, which leaves Sam staring at his dripping kebab until he just abandons it on the already gross coffee table. He stares at the piles of laptops, the brand-new iPhones still in their boxes. He doesn’t know how Vin isn’t caught, but she’s clearly good at this. She gets her teeth whitened to prove it.
A muscle twitches in Sam’s jaw. He knows he’s being a self-righteous ass, considering he’s a thief too, but he hates this. All of it. He’s taking Avery away after this and they can figure it out—
Something thumps in the kitchen. Someone.
Sam springs towards it, tripping over boxes of stacked junk.