The mayor slicks down the hair on either side of his head, as if a strand might have fallen out of place during his relatively brief stay, before Richard gives him a head nod indicating he’s ready.

The mayor winks. “Good night.”

Richard waves, an almost awkward gesture, before opening the door. Once they’re outside, lights flash and glare like an out of control nightclub I don’t want to be anywhere near.

I wait for my mom to scold me for being rude, but she’s already walking toward the living room. She grabs the remote and turns the TV volume louder. We watch the mayor as he stands on our front porch fielding questions—mostly about me.

He holds up his hands to quiet them. Richard stands off to the side as if in deference.

“Miss Finch is doing as well as can be expected right now. This past Saturday was a difficult day for her and for this city. As I told Miss Finch, we will continue our zero-tolerance policy toward gang violence and work to bring Mr. Dopney’s attackers to justice.”

The mayor pauses, allowing several reporters to shout further questions. One woman, louder than the rest, gets his attention. “Mayor, do you believe she was there to honor her father and that her encounter with the Death Mob was coincidental?”

The mayor smiles. “I have no reason to believe Miss Finch is gang affiliated, so yes, of course I believe her.”

“What about her relationship with your son?”

Richard steps forward, signaling to the mayor that his time is up.

“If you’ll all excuse me, I must be getting home to my own family.”

Richard clears a path through the reporters, who continue to shout questions that the mayor ignores. Their voices seep through the brick and echo on TV. Now I’m sure the mayor only came here for his photo op.

“Your dad and I—” my mom starts, and then seems to get stuck on how to finish. She turns off the TV and heads to the kitchen, where she grabs her full chai tea latte and tosses it into the trash. “We voted for the other guy.”

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

My cell buzzes like it’s having a seizure, pulling me from a deep sleep. I should mute it or chuck it across the room, but my arms are heavy. The noise needs to go away so I can drift back to sleep in a world where my head doesn’t hurt and I don’t have to think.

Like a puppy who wants to be fed, my phone won’t shut up. This is exactly why I don’t have a dog. With my head planted in my pillow, I slap the nightstand three times before reaching it.

Adam. Of course.