The Darkest Corners Read Online Free Page A

and furious.
    Upstairs, a door slams.
    Shit.
I scramble to erase the article from the browsing history. I’m deleting
Wyatt Stokes
from the search bar terms when the footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs.
    I launch myself out of the desk chair at the same moment Callie rounds the corner into the family room. She stops when she sees me; I picture her ignoring me, pretending I’m invisible as she flings herself onto the couch and turns on the TV.
    Instead, she sucks in a breath. I think I smell booze on her. She pats at her part, smoothing down her already flat blond hair. She used to pull at it as a kid—so much that she had a bald spot for the trial.
    We stare at each other. The room is small; she’s blocking my exit.
    Callie always had more of everything than I did. I was always the needy friend, always going without something. But I’m not going to stand here now and be the one without the balls to open my mouth.
    “How are you?” I say.
    “Not really in the mood.” She flips the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and steps around me.
    I suppress the urge to shove her into the wall. Rip out her hair. I didn’t realize how angry I was at her until this moment.
    I haven’t fought anyone since the end of tenth grade. Some stupid kid, this boy everyone called Bobby Buckteeth, was mouthing off in social studies about food stamps. Regurgitating everything his mother had said about the women who came into her Stop & Shop, spending taxpayer money while flaunting their iPhones and designer purses and five kids.
    I waited for him after class and asked if those kids deserved to starve. Maybe that woman was stuck with all those kids because their father dropped dead, or went to jail. He brushed past me, muttering something to his friend about how I was white trash. I chased him down and slammed his face into a locker.
    When Gram picked me up from school, she grabbed my chin in front of the assistant principal, digging her fingernails into my skin. “Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness, Tessa.”
    That was the moment when I realized that my mother was her daughter, after all. They both have a violence lurking under what looks like a harmless outer layer.
    Callie draws her knees to her chest on the couch. She takes out her phone, obviously so she doesn’t have to acknowledge that I’m still standing here.
    “What do you want?” she says, when I make no motion to leave.
    Look at me! I want you to put down your goddamn phone and stop acting like you weren’t my best friend once.
    But I don’t have the balls to say that. I never have, and probably never will. I clear my throat.
    “Don’t give your mom shit about me being here right now,” I say. “We were at the prison this morning.”
    “I know.” Callie balances her phone on her knee. The screen goes dark. “I’m sorry about your dad,” she adds, as an afterthought.
    “We didn’t— That’s not why she’s upset.” I swallow. “It’s Stokes.”
    Callie flinches, and for some reason, it makes me brave.
    “We saw his lawyer,” I say. “The one handling his appeal.”
    “Okay.” Callie drags the word out, as if she doesn’t get why I’m telling her this. But I see her digging her fingers into the arm of the couch.
    I shrug. “I thought you should know. It might be in the news.”
    Callie’s expression shifts to one I used to know well. I used to look out for that face like it was a tornado siren. Now I’m glad she’s mad. I’m glad I’m the one who did it.
    “Why the hell are you bringing this up?” Callie hisses, her cheeks flushed with anger.
    “Because it involves us,” I say.
    “Not anymore. He’s
guilty,
and he’s never getting out.” It’s a phrase Maggie’s drilled into Callie’s head over the years, no doubt. She even looks like her mother when she says it—has the same flattened, defiant upper lip. I can’t tell her that the article claims his lawyers have new evidence; Callie will demand to know what it is, and