Lock and Key by Sarah Dessen Read Free Book Online Page A

have changed.”
    “Not that much,” he said.
    His laptop pinged again, but Cora, like him, didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she was watching me as I bent down, sliding my plate into the dishwasher. “Do you . . . ?” she said, then stopped. When I glanced up at her, she said, “Maybe you should borrow something of mine to wear.”
    “I’m fine,” I said.
    She bit her lip, looking right at the strip of exposed stomach between the hem of my sweater and the buckle on my jeans I’d been trying to cover all morning. “Just come on,” she said.
    We climbed the stairs silently, her leading the way up and into her room, which was enormous, the walls a pale, cool blue. I was not surprised to see that it was neat as a pin, the bed made with pillows arranged so precisely you just knew there was a diagram in a nearby drawer somewhere. Like my room, there were also lots of windows and a skylight, as well as a much bigger balcony that led down to a series of decks below.
    Cora crossed the room, taking a sip from the mug in her hands as she headed into the bathroom. We went past the shower, double sinks, and sunken bath into a room beyond, which turned out not to be a room at all but a closet. A huge closet, with racks of clothes on two walls and floor-to-ceiling shelves on the other. From what I could tell, Jamie’s things—jeans, a couple of suits, and lots of T-shirts and sneakers—took up a fraction of the space. The rest was all Cora’s. I watched from the doorway as she walked over to one rack, pushing some stuff aside.
    “You probably need a shirt and a sweater, right?” she said, studying a few cardigans. “You have a jacket, I’m assuming. ”
    “Cora.”
    She pulled out a sweater, examining it. “Yes?”
    “Why am I here?”
    Maybe it was the confined space, or this extended period without Jamie to buffer us. But whatever the reason, this question had just somehow emerged, as unexpected to me as I knew it was to her. Now that it was out, though, I was surprised how much I wanted to hear the answer.
    She dropped her hand from the rack, then turned to face me. “Because you’re a minor,” she said, “and your mother abandoned you.”
    “I’m almost eighteen,” I told her. “And I was doing just fine on my own.”
    “Fine,” she repeated, her expression flat. Looking at her, I was reminded how really different we were, me a redhead with pale, freckled skin, such a contrast to her black hair and blue eyes. I was taller, with my mother’s thin frame, while she was a couple of inches shorter and curvier. “You call that fine ?”
    “You don’t know,” I said. “You weren’t there.”
    “I know what I read in the report,” she replied. “I know what the social worker told me. Are you saying those accounts were inaccurate?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    “So you weren’t living without heat or water in a filthy house.”
    “Nope.”
    She narrowed her eyes at me. “Where’s Mom, Ruby?”
    I swallowed, then turned my head as I reached up, pressing the key around my neck into my skin. “I don’t care,” I said.
    “Neither do I,” she replied. “But the fact of the matter is, she’s gone and you can’t be by yourself. Does that answer your question?”
    I didn’t say anything, and she turned back to the clothes, pushing through them. “I told you, I don’t need to borrow anything,” I said. My voice sounded high and tight.
    “Ruby, come on,” she said, sounding tired. She pulled a black sweater off a hanger, tossing it over her shoulder before moving over to another shelf and grabbing a green T-shirt. Then she walked over, pushing them both at me as she passed. “And hurry. It takes at least fifteen minutes to get there.”
    Then she walked back through the bathroom, leaving me behind. For a moment, I just stood there, taking in the neat rows of clothes, how her shirts were all folded just so, stacked by color. As I looked down at the clothes she’d given me, I told myself I didn’t