Chapter 13: The Count

Rafe's POV

I sat on my back porch all Friday night and watched her bedroom window.

The light in it never went out.

I didn't know what she was doing in there, and I had no right to ask.

At seven on Saturday morning I put on clean whites, folded my sleeves to the elbow, and walked to school alone.

Chef had set the big forty-quart stockpot on the pass.

It stood empty under the heat lamps, and next to it lay a stack of white paper slips and a cup of pencils.

The cohort filled the main kitchen in two loose rows.

Hattie stood at the very back by the walk-in door, alone.

She didn't look at me.

Her bangs sat straight across her eyebrows, and she had both hands wrapped around her elbows.

Delaney stood at the front with her chin up and her hair in its bun, smiling at nobody.

"Dillard," Chef said. "You asked for the floor."

"Yes, Chef."

"Be brief."

I walked to the front and turned around.

Twenty-three faces looked at me, and I had never been so aware of my own hands.

"Last April I told Delaney something about Hattie," I said. "I need all of you to hear it."

Nobody moved.

"She asked me what could keep Hattie off the Cleveland list."

"I said the hair rule. I said Hattie would rather be expelled than let anyone but her mother touch her bangs."

"I said it as a joke, in a diner, because I thought it was funny."

"It wasn't a joke to her. It was a plan."

Delaney let out a short laugh.

"Rafe, that is a lot of drama for a conversation about haircuts."

"I'm not done."

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