Sixteen

Alright, so Bane had seen my scar. That kind of information on his part I could deal with. He didn’t know where it had come from, so that was fine. I could deal. Yet, it became apparent from that moment forward that I would have to employ more caution than I had before.

If I had made this casual statement to your average person, they would have said, “But how could you be more careful? You already barely talk to the guy!” Believe me, it’s possible.

So, I reverted a little, answering questions with single-word answers whenever I could. And, I was surprised to find, this was difficult. My years of practice had been shattered by a single month with Bane. I still had no problem not talking to everyone else—in fact, I couldn’t have talked to anyone else if I tried. But I found that I wanted to tell Bane things, and that not talking was, in fact, exceedingly impractical.

Which is why, halfway through the month of October, despite bi-weekly staff meetings, we were way behind. Bane was starting to stress already, and hence on the fifteenth he demanded that we get to work as soon as possible.

“I can’t today,” I told him. “Jack’s birthday.” It was, actually, Jack’s birthday. I don’t lie—it’s rude. But I’m not saying I couldn’t have gotten out of dinner if I’d absolutely had to. I just didn’t want to.

“Fine,” Bane snapped, stretching. Mrs. Morrison had finally found a babysitter for Natalie and Lindsay after school, so Bane could go to cross country practice. And just in time, too—he was about to be kicked off the team. “Tomorrow, then.”

I blanched, but knew that I couldn’t give any reason than my legitimate one not to go. “Sure, tomorrow,” I muttered weakly.