Ethan showed up at 11:52, eight minutes early, holding a pink bakery box like it might explode.

"Don't look yet!" He hopped out of Aunt Carol's car before it fully stopped. "Okay. Now look."

He flipped the lid. Inside sat a tiny vanilla cake, lopsided frosting, blue letters crammed edge to edge.

**CONGRATS COLLEGE GIRL FLO**

"I mowed the Hendersons' lawn all summer," he said. "Twelve bucks a week. That's the surprise. You never got a party, you know? After Mom and Dad..."

He didn't finish. He didn't have to.

I laughed so I wouldn't cry. "You spelled *college* wrong."

"I did *not*." He squinted at the box. "Okay, the baker did."

Then his grin slipped. He poked my arm, right below the shoulder.

"Flo. Where'd you go?"

"What?"

"You're, like, half of you." His brows pulled together. "Are you eating? Is that guy feeding you? Mike?"

"Mike and I broke up."

"Good," Ethan said instantly. "I never liked how he called you *Flo* like he owned it."

"You call me Flo."

"I'm *allowed*."

---

We ate the cake on a bench by the quad with plastic forks. Ethan talked nonstop about junior year, a girl named Priya, his driver's test. For one whole hour, I forgot to feel anything bad.

Then we passed the fountain.

"Hey, Goodwill!" a girl's voice sang out. "Where'd you get that jacket? A dumpster?"

Amy stood with three girls in matching cream coats. In the middle of them, a skinny freshman clutched a financial aid envelope to her chest. Her jacket was thin, too big, the zipper held together with a safety pin.

"Please give it back," the freshman whispered.

Amy dangled a backpack by one strap. "This? Sure."

She tossed it. It hit the water with a heavy smack and sank.

The girls shrieked with laughter.

"My laptop's in there—"

"Scholarship kids get free laptops, right?" Amy said. "Just cry to the office again."

Ethan was already moving.

"Ethan, wait—"

He climbed straight over the stone ledge, sneakers splashing into the fountain, and hauled the dripping backpack out. Water poured from every zipper. He handed it to the freshman, then turned to Amy.

"What is *wrong* with you?"

Amy's lashes fluttered. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. She didn't do anything to you." His voice cracked on the last word, but he didn't back down. "Leave her alone. Or I'll report you myself."

Amy's eyes slid past him. Found me.

Her smile spread slowly.

"Oh," she said. "You're the brother."

My blood went cold. "Amy. He's sixteen. Walk away."

"Sixteen and so *brave*." She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen without looking away from Ethan. When someone answered, she turned her shoulder. "Hey. He's here. Yeah, the one in the picture. Uh-huh. Thanks, babe."

She hung up and wiggled her fingers at us. "Enjoy your visit, Ethan."

---

"Who'd she call?" Ethan asked on the walk back.

"I don't know." I grabbed his sleeve. "Just stay with me today. Okay? All day."

"You're being dramatic."

"Humor me."

He did. Until six o'clock, when he jogged out to the parking lot to grab his charger from Aunt Carol's car.

"Two minutes," he said. "Swear."

I gave him ten. Then I called. It rang once and cut off.

I called again. Straight to voicemail.

I ran.

---

I heard laughter before I saw anything. Car doors slammed. An engine roared. A black SUV tore past me, and through the open window, a boy with slicked-back hair grinned at me.

Derek Kowalczyk. Everyone knew his face.

Then I saw Ethan.

He lay between two parked cars, curled on his side. His phone sat beside him, smashed into a spiderweb of glass. And under his head, spreading across the concrete, dark and shining—

"*Ethan!*"

I hit my knees so hard my jeans tore. I grabbed his face. It was wet and hot and wrong.

"Ethan, look at me. Open your eyes. *Please*, bud, open your eyes!"

Nothing. His chest jerked with tiny, shallow pulls.

My hands came away red. I stared at them and couldn't stop screaming his name.

---

"Three broken ribs. Skull fracture. Brain swelling," the ER doctor said. "We need to operate now. Billing needs a deposit before we can admit."

"How much?"

The woman at the desk didn't blink. "Eighteen thousand."

I had four hundred dollars in my checking account.

I also had the education fund. Mom and Dad's money. The account they'd opened the year I was born, the one I'd sworn I'd only touch for tuition.

I signed the transfer with blood still under my fingernails.

---

At nine, I called Mike. Music thumped through the speaker the second he picked up.

"What, Flora?"

"Ethan's in surgery." My voice broke into pieces. "Derek and his friends beat him in the parking lot. You know Derek. You *know* him, Mike. I need you to tell the police—"

"Hold on." Muffled noise. A girl giggled. Amy. "Okay. Look. Amy said your brother attacked her first. Tell him to stop causing trouble."

"He's *sixteen*! He has a skull fracture!"

"Then he shouldn't have started a fight." A pause. "Don't call me about this again."

The line went dead.

I didn't throw the phone. I didn't scream. I just sat in the plastic waiting-room chair and felt the last warm thing inside me go out.

---

The Dean of Students called the next morning.

"After review, we're classifying the incident as an altercation involving a non-student visitor," he said. "Witnesses state your brother was aggressive toward several female students."

"Witnesses. You mean Amy."

"I'd advise you not to pursue this, Miss Delaney. The Lindqvist family has been very generous to this university. Further accusations could affect your standing."

I gripped the edge of Ethan's bed rail. "My brother almost died."

"And I'm very sorry for that." He didn't sound sorry. "Have a good day."

That afternoon, I filed for a leave of absence. Then I called a landlord renting a studio across town, cash up front, no questions. If Derek wanted to finish the job, he'd have to find us first.

---

Ethan woke up at 2:17 a.m.

His fingers twitched in mine. I snapped upright.

"Bud?"

His eyes cracked open. One was swollen almost shut. His lips moved twice before any sound came out.

"Flo..."

"I'm here. I'm right here."

"I'm sorry, Flora." Tears slid sideways into the bandage. "I couldn't protect you."

Something broke loose in my chest. I bent over him, careful of the tubes and the brace and the stitches, and pressed my forehead to his hand.

"You idiot," I sobbed. "You're not supposed to protect me. I'm supposed to protect *you*."

He squeezed my fingers. Weak. But he squeezed.

I cried until my throat was raw, until the nurse peeked in and quietly shut the door again.

My phone lit up on the tray table.

**First Harbor Bank:** *Due to irregular activity, the Delaney Family Trust account has been temporarily frozen. All transactions are suspended pending investigation.*

I read it twice.

Then I looked at the bill the nurse had left by the sink.

**Next payment due: 9:00 a.m.**

Seven hours.

And somebody, somewhere, had just made sure I had nothing left to pay it with.