Stay (Dunham series #2) Read Free

skin.
    “Well, uh, hi,” he said after a long few seconds.
“My name’s Richard. What can I do for you?”
    She gulped. “I came to see Mr. Hilliard,” she
whispered. “I have something for him.”
    A bemused smile swept across his face and she knew
then that he was nice and he’d help her. “Really? What would that
be?”
    “A book,” she breathed. “I really need to talk to
him, please.”
    He turned a bit and gestured that she should step
ahead of him. She shrank from the curious glances of the other men
as their conversation first lowered and then stilled in her
presence. She felt Richard’s hand lightly on her back but didn’t
pull away; she didn’t like strangers to touch her, but she had come
here by herself for a reason. She tucked her head down and let her
brown hair fall to cover her face. Finally, she took one step and
then another, Richard’s hand guiding her across the floor to a dark
corner in the back. Mr. Hilliard sat hunched over his desk,
engrossed in his work. She blinked when he jotted a note. He was
left-handed, like her. Somehow that made her think that maybe she
didn’t have to be so afraid.
    “Knox, this young lady says she has something for
you.”
    Mr. Hilliard raised his head and looked first at the
man, then at her. She tried to hide how afraid she was but knew she
couldn’t. Then the most amazing thing happened.
    He smiled. And it was a nice smile.
    “Hi. What’s your name?”
    “Vanessa,” she whispered. She didn’t want to tell
him her last name because his smile might go away and then he might
not be nice to her anymore. Her mother badgered him enough as it
was and she was sure he was sorry he’d ever heard the Whittaker
name.
    “How old are you?”
    “Twelve.”
    “Why aren’t you in school?”
    “I have to give you something. It’s very
important.”
    He looked up at Richard and nodded, which she
figured meant he was to go away. Mr. Hilliard reached behind
himself and pulled a wooden chair toward Vanessa, setting it next
to his desk. He patted it. “Have a seat, Vanessa. What do you have
for me?”
    She approached warily because of what he’d done. It
was wrong and bad and horrible. Yet . . . Vanessa felt safer at
home because of what he had done (honestly, she was secretly glad , which Laura would say made her as evil as Mr.
Hilliard) so she bit her lip again as she sat down on the chair.
She slowly drew the book from under her shirt, making sure not to
show any skin, and without a word, she handed it to him.
    He took it from her gently, turning it over and over
again. She knew that book by heart: pink plastic with a small lock
that didn’t seem to work very well. The key had been lost—she
didn’t know when. The book was decorated in pink, red, and white
hearts, glitter, and silver flowers. She also knew every word in
it, which was why she had come.
    He opened it and looked at the beginning of it,
where its owner’s name was written, the “i”s dotted with hearts.
Then his mouth tightened and he looked at her from the corners of
his eyes. She didn’t think that was a nice look.
    Thankfully, he began to read. It wouldn’t take him
long to get to the important part, so she decided to make herself
as small as she could. She curled into herself then, hooking her
heels on the edge of the seat. She drew her knees to her chest and
wrapped her arms around them.
    Her stomach rumbled loudly, earning her another,
longer, glance.
    She knew that look.
    More than a few people had been mean enough to say
it.
    When was the last time you ate?
    Then he tipped back his chair and, putting one foot
on the edge of his desk, he read page after page with what seemed
to Vanessa to be lightning speed.
    Then he was done and he looked at her for a long
time. He was chewing on the inside of his mouth. She didn’t know
what that meant, either.
    He threw the book on his desk and linked his fingers
behind his head. “Why did you bring me that?” he asked. She still
couldn’t