Complicit by Stephanie Kuehn Read Free Book Online Page A

house. I could’ve done it. Kissed her. I even think she wanted me to. It’s just, after how I acted after seeing Danny and that girl, I wasn’t sure I deserved it.
    I writhe naked beneath my flannel sheets, feeling the feelings of all the ways in which I’d like to touch Jenny. And have her touch me back. They’re like a punishment, these feelings, imprisoning me alongside the terrible way I can’t stop replaying the shy, small-fingered wave Jenny gave me as she slid out of the Jeep and said good night. A wave. More like a tidal wave of failure.
    I writhe more.
    God help me.
    See, this is my worrying thing again. I mean, I’m way better than I used to be. I haven’t cried for no reason or fallen down any flights of stairs recently. For the most part, I credit Dr. Waverly with my improvement. Within two years after I started seeing her, I’d completely changed. I grew a full four inches, gained twenty pounds. My lisp vanished, my hair grew back in, and people stopped asking my adoptive parents what was wrong with me. I threw myself into my schoolwork until I was my teacher’s favorite, and I picked up the piano at Malcolm’s encouragement: his son Graham had played, but soon I played better. In fact, I played really, really well. Concert level, even. I had confidence.
    But as much as Dr. Waverly helped, it was Scooter, I think, that did the most. He was my first real friend.
    We met near the end of fourth grade, on a day when the spring sun shone into the classroom and hummingbirds danced outside the window. Our teacher stood at the front of the room and announced that a new student would be joining us. I sat up straight at my desk. The last new kid in our grade had been me. I wanted to be nice to this student because I knew how it felt to have people not like you. The teacher beamed and beckoned the new boy in. He was slight like I was, with big ears, preppy clothes, and an unscuffed backpack.
    â€œPlease give a warm welcome to Scott Murphy.”
    â€œScooter,” the boy said.
    â€œWhat was that?”
    â€œEveryone calls me Scooter.”
    I perked up even more. The new boy had a faint hint of a lisp.
    From the back of the room I lifted my hand and waved shyly at Scooter.
    He saw.
    He waved back.
    And that was that. Malcolm and Angie were beside themselves that I’d made a friend. It killed their vision that I’d grow up to be the next Norman Bates or something. The only person who didn’t like Scooter was Cate. She turned on him one of the very first times Scooter stayed the night with me.
    He was standing in my bathroom with the mirrored medicine cabinet open.
    â€œWhat are all these pills for?” he asked.
    I shrugged. “I need them to go to sleep.”
    â€œSays who?”
    â€œMy doctor.”
    Cate flounced in then, hair pulled back. She had her riding pants and boots on, and she reeked of horse. She sat down on the edge of my bathtub. Peered at the row of orange pill bottles with a frown.
    â€œYou don’t need anything, Jamie. You’ll sleep fine on your own if you just try.”
    â€œBut I don’t want to have nightmares.”
    Cate shook her head, then leaned down and ran the tap. Splashed water on her face and neck. “It’s too hot in here. Hot as balls.”
    Scooter laughed, but I blushed. I didn’t like bad words.
    â€œYou have nightmares, you come to me,” Cate said, her voice all echoey, with her face pointing down at the drain. “That’s what you used to do, you know. Until Dr. Waverly butted in.”
    â€œWho’s Dr. Waverly?” Scooter asked.
    â€œThe doctor who gives me the pills.”
    Scooter closed the medicine cabinet and took out his toothbrush. “You have nightmares from when you lived with your real mom?”
    â€œI guess. Sometimes they’re hard to remember.”
    â€œMy dad says living like that can give you trauma and mess up your brain like when