true colors - jb & ag 《completed》

{seven}

Justin plunked down a good chunk of his cash at the town hardware/sporting goods/drugstore, and headed outside wearing new black combat boots, cargo pants, a T-shirt, and a buttery-soft leather jacket. Feeling much more like himself, he dropped the sack containing his dad's old clothes into a trash can and turned toward home.

Home? The thought of storing his new wardrobe in paper bags, using the creek as an outhouse, and spending another sleepless night on the hard floorboards of the tree house slowed his steps. He'd served his time, paid for whatever role he played in Daniel Turano's death a thousand times over. Yet he was living like an escaped convict.

No more.

With decisive steps, he headed back to the trash can, where he yanked the black baseball cap off his head and tossed it in. Raking a hand through his hair, he turned and strode down the lamplit street. A middle-aged woman stared him down, and he lifted a corner of his mouth in a slow smirk. She blinked rapidly and jerked her eyes away. He didn't recognize her, but after his conviction, he was sure his face had been plastered all over the news. He could just imagine the headlines: "Trust-Fund Teen Kills Classmate." Or "Illustrious Bieber Family Tainted By Scandal."

Justin turned down Oak Avenue and passed the Dairy Shed. Yellow fluorescent bulbs washed everything within a twenty-yard radius in a familiar jaundice glow. Vanilla on a sugar cone with extra sprinkles. Ariana's high-pitched voice echoed in his head. The girl would order the same blasted thing every time, without fail. No matter what special flavors were offered or how much Justin goaded her about it.

Justin walked faster, away from the sallow-cast patrons and their animated chatter. And the memories. Seeing Ariana had hit him harder than he'd expected. For some reason, he'd never pictured her as anything other than the awkward fourteen-year-old girl in braces, her hair shorter than his. Definitely not the girl he'd seen today—luminous eyes, high cheekbones, and soft lips.

"Why did you come back here?"

The twine handle of the shopping bag dug into his palm, and he loosened his death grip, but he couldn't undo the sting of her words. He wasn't sure why they even bothered him. He'd written off Ariana Grande long ago. Just as she'd done with him. But when he'd decided to come back to Gilt Hollow, his need for retribution had blinded him to how hard it would be to just walk down the street. He hadn't been prepared for the memories punching him in the gut at every turn.

A For Rent sign in the window of a brownstone slowed his steps. His parents' old office building. He'd come there after school for years, hoping to get a moment of their precious time. He'd sit in the back office listening to his parents on the phone with clients, negotiating contracts or making plans for future deals, until they'd force him to head home, where he'd take his dinner into the den and watch reruns of Full House until he fell asleep. Nanny or the cook would usually wake him and send him to bed. He'd lived for the moments when one of his parents would come home, help him up the stairs, and tuck him in, even if his mom was chastising him all the while.

Justin could almost see her sleek brown head through the window . . .

Pattie Mallette-Bieber straightens the jacket of her Akris suit—worth more than most people earn in a month—and sits in the folding chair across from her son. She holds her purse in her lap, as if afraid to let the police station germs touch her belongings.

Justin meets her light blue eyes. "But I'm telling you, I didn't do this. Mom, please believe me," he pleads, tears clogging his throat.

She puffs out a long sigh. "Then why did you tell the police that you did? Why have Colin, Brayden, and Isaiah—the chief of police's son—come forward to say they saw you do it?"