Poughkeepsie Begins (The Poughkeepsie Brotherhood #0.5) Read Free Page A

and held her head.
    “And now I need you guys to break into pairs. We’re going to read chapters thirteen through fifteen and fill out the worksheet.”
    Two guys got up and approached Candy. Mrs. Drivens cleared her throat. “Beckett can work with Candy.”
    He picked up his desk while still sitting in it and waddled it over next to hers. “Don’t buy a lotto today,” he told her. “’Cause you just got seriously unlucky. I only read when someone else does it, and you just got here.”
    He plopped his seat down and sat back, putting his sneakers up on the bar holding the table to the chair on her seat.
    “What book is it?”
    He pointed to the title on the worksheet Mrs. Drivens had just handed him.
    Candy nodded. “I’ve read it. We’re cool.”
    She began rubbing her head again.
    “Headache?”
    She winced like his words hurt. “Stress migraine. I get them when I go to a new school.”
    The ambient noise in the room went up two or three levels as the groups began to talk.
    “That happen a lot?” Beckett leaned over and rustled in his backpack. He had a book with the insides scooped out. He found the Excedrin quickly and palmed two. He ran a small pharmacy out of his bag for over-the-counter drugs. Girls would do a lot of interesting things to get their hands on a Midol at certain times. He pulled Candy’s hot pink water bottle out of her backpack and opened it.
    “Here.” He slipped the pills into her hand.
    She made a fist around them. “What’re these?”
    “Headache meds.”
    She lifted her eyebrows.
    “Look, they have the name brand printed on them.”
    Candy did her sneaky best to take the pills. After she choked them down, she gave him a hard look. “That stuff is not allowed in school.”
    “Taking that stuff is not allowed without a doctor’s note, so looks like we’re both sinners.” He winked at her.
    “So you’re, like, the school CVS?” She took the worksheet and printed her name on it with lovely handwriting.
    “Something like that.” He bit his bottom lip while thinking about hers.
    She passed the worksheet and her pencil to him. He jotted down his name in chicken scrawl. When she took it back, she laughed, her pretty pink tongue touching her teeth.
    “Did I write something funny?” He liked her laughter, but got a spike of butt-hurt, worried she was judging his poor handwriting.
    “No, I couldn’t remember if the teacher said your name or not, so this was my subtle trick to find out what it is. And it’s not going great.” She rubbed her temple again.
    He crowded as close to her as he could with the furniture between them. He touched the top of her non-rubbing hand and pointed to the spot between her index finger and thumb. “I’m Beckett. Press this right here. Like, hard. It helps.”
    “What are you, the Poughkeepsie witch doctor or something?” She tried what he said.
    “Nah. Nothing like that. I just remember shit. Like this shit here?” He pointed at the classwork between them. “I can’t do that shit. But I remember stuff. Like that that part of your hand is an acupuncture pressure point and can help with fucking headaches.”
    Candy pursed her lips and tried again at what he was explaining. He watched her for a minute, thinking about how soft her fucking skin was. He wanted feel all of it. He shook his head at her gentle attempts.
    “Here, let me.” He pressed hard on her hand and watched her eyes.
    When he was nine years old he’d had another foster mother who might have been his favorite. She was pretty, smelled good, and when he walked into a room like the little punk he was, she would light up for him.
    Eight months in, she began having headaches. They’d grown worse and worse. She would retreat to her room, keeping the shades pulled down tight. He’d brought her medicine when she asked, careful to walk a full water glass up the stairs without dropping a bit. She’d told him about the pressure point while he watched her one morning.
    He didn’t