A/N: I haven't updated in a while, much longer than I would have liked anyway. So, I have made this chapter longer and full of the usual Riverdale-esque drama that we have come to love and then later detest in Season 3 if anyone has the same feelings that I do about it. Anyway, here's the new chapter. Please, please leave some feedback if you can, it would greatly encourage me!

chapter ten: black beauty

Somewhere around midnight, Sweet Pea sends his last text, its blackened letters etched into the bleached whiteness of the screen, pure in its simplicity: I never meant for tonight to happen like it did. I made a mistake. I'm sorry, Mila. He is much more succinct in his texts, he has more time to think about his words than he had had tonight, his brain so fraught in the aftermath of the fight that he had been clumsy and mean. I stuff the phone beneath my pillow in an attempt to smother his words, smother all of those doubts which swirl around my mind and force me to doubt myself. I wonder if it was really me at fault for not fully realising just what Serpent meant for him. I had thought that I understood the meaning well, but I never expected it to tread into pocket-knife territory. I stare at the colourful drawings tacked against my wall and feel the prickle of tears flood me in a sudden rush of-…well, I am not sure what it is, really; anxiety, sadness, anger?

In a sudden rush of frustration, I type out my own message: I think I made a mistake. I send it, then flop against my pillow with a frustrated sigh.

I startle at the sudden creak in my floorboards and lift myself to find a small, blurry outline in the darkness, small hands latched around a limp unicorn – the unicorn that I had won for her in the arcade, its horn frayed because she had chewed on it, perhaps out of her own anxiety, her own sadness, her own anger. I hold my arms out for her. Rosie clambers onto the bed and settles against me, her head nestled into the crook of my neck. She curls against me like all of those monkeys she imitates in shrieks and yelps. She is quiet, now. She breathes slowly. I hear the odd hoarseness behind it and realise that she must have been crying earlier.

She croaks, "Will Helena take you away because you hurt your face?"

I want to tell her that Helena will never do that, but the words are stuck somewhere in my throat, lodged there, so that all other sounds come out slow and coated in a cracked rasp. "I can explain that I fell off of my bicycle."

Rosie is quiet once more. Then, she mumbles, "But then you wouldn't be telling her the truth."

Blankly, I stare at the ceiling. I had told her that Ruth wants us to tell the truth. I drop my stare from the ceiling and drink in those colourful drawings again. I know what it will happen to me, soon enough. So, I say, "You should draw me a picture sometime, Rosie."

"I don't want them to take you away, Mila. I want you to stay here with me and Ruth."

The scratchy, wobbly lines which compose stick-figure children from stick-figure homes in other stick-figure towns out there seem to blur into smudges of blended colour; the tears which dampen my cheeks trickle downward and soak into her curly hair, but Rosie has long since fallen asleep.

ii

Dawn spills into the house in filtered, washed-out yellow. The sunlight is milky and light, it pours into the kitchen while we eat our breakfast, struck mute from the night before. Even Rosie eats her toast in small, quiet bites, her lips sticky with strawberry-jam and her small hands coated in lumpy crumbs. I tell Ruth that I will walk to school today. She holds her tongue and nods. I pass her, only to pause once she catches my arm and pulls me toward her for a hug. I feel her press a kiss against my hair and then she hurries to collect the dishes, as if it never happened. She fiddles with her hands once she has dropped the dishes in the basin, smooths them against her apron and then pulls at the loose string around her waist, worrying her lip.

"It'll be fine," I tell them both. "All right?"

I skirt out of the kitchen before either of them can really answer me.

iii

Sat against the curb, her black jacket pulled tight around her slim frame, Toni only stands once the door clatters shut behind me. She grips the cuffs of her sleeves, her lips locked in an awkward, uncertain smile. I stand on the concrete stairs which lead from our house into the garden, warily glancing sideways for the slightest hint of Sweet Pea. Toni shakes her head, as if she knows – but Toni always knows. I trust her enough to clatter down those concrete stairs. I glance down at her boots and realise that there is a duffel-bag.

Confused, I ask, "Toni, do you need to stay here tonight? Did your Uncle-…"

"Yeah," she cuts me off abruptly. "Well, no-…I mean, he did kick me out, but that was last night."

"Last night?" I repeat. "But where did you stay? Why didn't you text me or Ruth?"

"Seems like you were already having a rough night yourself, Mila. I didn't want to add to it with my own lousy problems. Besides, I stayed with Jughead."

"Did Betty-… mind that?" I ask uncertainly.

"So, this is where things get kind of complicated. They broke up. And we-…we sort of… kissed."

"You and Betty? Or you and Jughead?"

She laughs at me and bumps my shoulder with her fist. "Me and Jughead, moron. I might like girls, but discount-Nancy-Drew has never really been my type." She watches me for a moment and adds, "Sweet Pea called me last night, you know. After Jughead officially joined the Serpents."

I had not known about Jughead and his official membership, but I had seen it coming for a while. I brush it off at the thought of Sweet Pea. "I really don't want to talk about Sweet Pea right now, Toni."

"I know," she smiles softly. "That's why I told him not to bother you today – give you some space. Then I thought it would be hard for you to walk into school and see him anyway, so I thought I'd walk right in there with you."

I am struck by that warmth that I had felt the first night that I had met Toni and felt a similar connection with her, as if we had been destined to meet one another and become friends. She holds her arm out and lets me loop mine around it before she snatches her bags and we stroll toward the school.

iv

Sidling into my seat for English, I really try to listen to Mags and Toni sat behind me. In a heated discussion, they ramble about a new brand of make-up sold only in the bigger shops on the Northside, but my eyes are continually drawn toward the door and the sea of students, which flood through it in small groups. I wait for a tall, broad silhouette to burst through, strong arms latched around Fangs and Birdie, playfully pushing them into their seats and then throwing me a gentle smile meant just for me – he is always gentler with me. I know it will not happen today, though. He might avoid me, or he might be annoyed that I had never replied to his texts. I am so lost in my thoughts that I hardly notice another tall silhouette until it blocks my view of the door and I look upward at War-Boy – or Warren Boyce, the Ghoulie who had turned my pencil case over and bothered me the very first day that I had joined the student body of Southside High.

"Heard you had a little falling out with some friends, Mila. Particularly a boyfriend." he drawls. His skin is lined in raised, thin white lines that he supposedly made himself with a pocket-knife a couple of months beforehand. I heard that he had been held in an institution afterward, but there are a lot of rumours in Southside and most are whispered in the halls without much proof behind them. Still, Warren has a certain aura around him, an unstable blend of violence and perversion. He muses onward, "I thought to myself, if the Serpents don't want this pretty girl, why don't I offer a bit of Ghoulie protection to her instead?"

I bite my tongue hard and glare at him, aware that the Serpents are just behind me. I never really thought about whether the Serpents would revoke their friendship and protection if I was not with Sweet Pea. I swallow at the thought, because I had become friends with a lot of them and hope that it would never be an issue. War-Boy leans low, crouches like an animal and licks at his rotted teeth, then smacks his lips together. He lifts a hand, his fingernails crusted in blackened dirt, and reaches out as if he wants to cup my chin or brush the bluish stain of a bruise on my cheek.

Instead, his wrist is gripped by another hand and he lets out a howl of pain; he contorts himself, his shoulders hunched and his body hobbled, bent against the desk to hold himself upward and the grip on his wrist only tightens. I follow the hand which holds him and find Sweet Pea, his face oddly blank of expression, but his eyes are coal and swollen in violence, his left eye bruised in a red stain.

Behind me, I hear the scrape of a chair and I know that Toni has stood because she calls out, "Sweet Pea!"

She warns him, because the Ghoulies slink from their chairs behind him and surround the Serpents stood alongside us, and there is sudden chorus of pocket-knives pulled from pockets and cracked open. Sweet Pea seems not to hear much apart from the thunderous gush of anger in his eardrums, because I recognise that fury held in him, I had felt it too, so I bolt upward from my seat and latch my own hand around his arm to make him focus on me rather than War-Boy, whose skin has flushed in a splotchy red, his lips flapping like that of a horse as he breathes through the pain of his wrist, still crushed.

"Sweet Pea," I whisper urgently, "please!"

Robotically, he releases his hand. There is a familiar tenderness in him once he meets my eyes. Hesitantly, he places a hand on my arm, so light that it is barely a touch at all. He shuffles me toward the next row just beside me. He pulls out a chair that he motions for me to sit in. I do so, my hands a little shaky, and he grabs my backpack and coat from my previous place, only to drape the coat on the back of my chair and my backpack alongside me, all without a word. He takes my old seat so that he sits between me and the Ghoulies, like a barrier. My heart swells in warmth and floods with guilt, all at once. War-Boy is hauled off with the other Ghoulies, whose beady eyes narrow at Sweet Pea, numerous threats hissed out while they shuffle toward their side of the classroom.

Sweet Pea does not react. He sits rigidly, his arms stretched out in front of him and his legs tucked close against his chair. I am a little dumbstruck that he had still tried to protect me and still does it now by sitting in my old chair, pushing me into the circle of Serpents who watch us carefully but then return to their own conversations as if the Ghoulie-Serpent stand-off had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. I had thought that Sweet Pea might not want to be near me at all, after all that I had said. I sink low into my seat, conflicted by my emotions. I want to be angry with him because he had picked fights and put himself in danger so many times – put me in danger too, albeit indirectly and without any desire to do so.

But I also know that he beats himself up more than anybody ever could, too.

Quietly, I mumble, "Thank you, Sweet Pea."

I almost think he has not heard me, because he stares straight ahead at the chalkboard, unblinking. I am about to look away from him – and then it comes, a quick nod and his posture soon loosens, his shoulders dipping and his jaw loosening from its tight clench.

v

The bell just barely cracks out a ring once English finishes in the crescendo of chairs and bags collected before the class swarms toward the hall. I hold still, my eyes latched onto Sweet Pea who has still not stood from his seat. Toni raises her eyebrows at me, but I nod reassuringly. She shrugs, trailing behind Mags and Max into the hall. I wait for him, but he remains seated. Finally, I plop into the seat in front of him and turn toward him to lean my arms on his desk and look at him. He swallows, then lifts his eyes. I find them rimmed in a reddish line, bloodshot from lack of sleep.

"Which smiley-face do you feel like today?" he asks lowly.

I blink at him in surprise and then let out a loud laugh, smiling fondly at him. I remember that stuff I had told him in his trailer-park about my old anger-management sheets from my darker days. "Sad. Confused, I guess."

"Toni told me that you wanted space," he states, nodding his chin toward my arms on his desk. "Did I misunderstand what space meant?"

I snort. "I found it a lot harder to stay away from you once I was near you again – if that makes any sense, because I realise how it sounds. And I'm not trying to mess around with your feelings or give you mixed messages, Sweet Pea, but I'm really-…"

"Sad. And confused, you guess?"

"Yeah," I agree, still smiling at him despite myself. I let out a deep sigh. "And scared."

He straightens, his expression flushed in anger. "Scared? Mila, you know that I would do anything to protect you, and that night on the Northside, I-…. I didn't expect you there, and if I had known, I never would have started that fight, all right? So, I'm sorry you-…"

I grasp his hand in mine, which slows his words into complete silence, his eyes darting downward to glare at the ground as he inhales deeply to calm himself. I murmur, "How many times do I need to tell you, Sweet Pea? I'm as scared for you as much as I am myself. A boy was stabbed. And-…"

"And what?"

"And what if it had been you?" I ask. He pauses, his words stolen from him in a single breath. He straightens his jaw and flops backward against his chair, but I continue, "What if it had been you, and I had to watch you bleed out over there? Like you said, Sweet Pea – even if I had gotten you to the hospital, those nurses would treat any Northsider with a paper-cut before they would touch you. I know that now and that is what scares me. I'm scared for tonight, too."

"Why tonight?"

"Helena," I mumble. "… the new social-worker. She wants to come around again tonight. Our second meeting."

He closes his eyes and curses under his breath. "Can't you call her and rearrange?"

"For when? The end of the week, when I'll still have a bruise or cut? I'm not make-up would do much good against the cuts."

"You really think she'd take you away just for that, Mila?"

"Maybe not. But she would ask questions and if she doubted us, she might start an investigation. How long do you think it would take for her to find out about Jughead and the forged documents that let him stay alone in his Dad's trailer? Documents forged by Ruth."

"We can figure it out. It'll be fine," he promises. "All right?"

"All right," I echo quietly.

"Mila," he starts awkwardly. "I wanted to tell you-… that I'd really like to leave the pocket-knife at home from now on but I'm-…. I'm scared too – to be without it."

I soften, aware of how difficult it is for him to admit that. "Sweet Pea…"

"Hear me out. I started carrying that knife when I was thirteen. Had a run-in with some Ghoulies long before I was even a Serpent." He lifts his shirt and shows a thin, raised line in his abdomen, a line like those which litter War-Boy's body, but I can tell that this cut on Sweet Pea was not intentional. "That thing that I said about the gurney in the Northside hospital-… I said it because I experienced it. I was left there for four hours in a hall before a nurse even took my details and they only got the doctor to see me because I collapsed in their hall and I was blocking the janitors who wanted to clean the floors. They looked at me like I was the dirt."

He takes a deep, shaky breath again. "So, I carry that pocket-knife because I know the other guy will be carrying one, too. I'm not that old, but any time I see a new Serpent, I tell them to carry one. I know I shouldn't, but I do – because I don't want that kid to be like me, caught in an alleyway and surrounded by guys stronger and bigger than him who are willing to do the things with a pocket-knife that I keep hoping I'll never have to do."

I stand from my chair and move around it to hold him, hug him against me. I kneel against the ground and hold his head against the crook of my neck like I had done with Rosie, rub his back and feel him hold me tight, lifting me upward to sit on his lap. Normally, I would blush, but there is nothing more than desperation and anger in him, mixed with sadness and frustration in me that it has to be like this for us.

"Please don't think of me as a mistake," he whispers, his words breathed against the flesh of my throat, soaked into my skin. I realise that he thinks my text last night had implied that he was the mistake, and I hold him even closer.

"I could never think that, Sweet Pea," I tell him softly. "I sent that because I think I tried to pretend that I could handle the Serpent stuff better than I really can."

He leans away from me to look into my eyes. "If you want us to leave you be, I promise we will – all the Serpents, I'll make sure of it. I'll still keep the Ghoulies away, but other than that, we'll stay away."

I stare into the serious, honest expression in his face and lean forward to kiss him. I take him by surprise, which is still there even when I pull away from him. "Sweet Pea, I don't want you to stay away. Not you, not the Serpents. But the Ghoulies? Yeah, they can stay away. Especially War-Boy."

He snorts. "For his sake, he should."

I roll my eyes. "Sweet Pea, I can handle myself just fine. But I have been trying to avoid fights and violence for a long time. A year might not seem like a long time for you, but it is for me. I worked so hard every day to make sure I could clean my record up and find a better place – a permanent place. Now, I've found it, and I'm trying just as hard not to lose it. I freaked out last night because-…"

"Helena," he finishes for me.

"Helena," I repeat.

"I promise that it will never happen," he tells me, his hands tight around my waist. "No matter what happens – Serpent, Ghoulie, social-worker…You're a Southsider now, Mila. Nobody changes that, and nobody can take you away from the Southside. They'd have to get past me first. And Ruth."

I laugh at him, warmed by his promise but unsure if he could really keep it with how much the tide seems to turn against us in this town. Still, I feel his sincerity. "I think they'd be more afraid of Ruth."

"Well, I sure am," he mutters under his breath. I feel his smile against the skin of my throat when I laugh. He presses a kiss there.

I feel my phone vibrate and take it out to find JUGHEAD flashing against the screen. I stand, and Sweet Pea follows suit, grabbing my backpack for me as we walk toward the hall. I answer Jughead just as we turn into the main hall and I glimpse him at the other end, his phone held against his ear. I almost call out for him but spot a now familiar redhead behind him, gripping his arm and pulling him away so that his phone drops from his ear – Archie Andrews grabs him and takes him away.

"Jughead?" I call aloud, although I am sure that he would never hear me from that far away.

Yet his eyes flash to meet mine and I spot an odd emotion in them: regret.

vi

Then I hear the loud crash of the doors behind us, thrown open by the boots of policemen, the hall filled with the cries of officers who order us to remain still, their hands latched around the leashes of dogs whose muzzles froth in whitish foam; their lips lift to reveal sharp canines, dripping in a froth that is spat outward with each harsh bark.

Sweet Pea has a quicker reaction, perhaps from all the other times in which he has fled from the police. He pushes me forward to run, although my limbs are filled with that familiar lead that makes them heavy to lift. I rush from outstretched hands and feel Sweet Pea right behind me, once again putting himself between me and another threat.

I dart under the arm of an officer, my hand still clasped tight around Sweet Pea. I skid toward the next hall and find Toni ahead of us. I yell for her to run, but an officer catches me around my waist and spins me away from her. I feel Sweet Pea's hand slip from mine and frantically look for him in the blurred rush of police around us. I am thrown against a locker and it hurts the bruises on my arms, quickly gripped at the wrist by an officer who harshly yanks them behind my back.

I look to my left and find Sweet Pea there, grabbed by two policemen to struggle to hold him. A third joins and kicks at his legs, making my eyes widen. He had told me enough times that the policemen in Riverdale did not care much for the safety and wellbeing of Serpent kids, but I watch him being roughed up and feel my chest tighten with each shove and push.

I scream his name in the crowd and his head snaps toward me, right when an officer grabs a fistful of his hair and then thumps him against the locker. Sweet Pea raises his fist as if he might retaliate, but the officer grips it tightly, as tightly as Sweet Pea had gripped War-Boy. Sweet Pea bucks like a wild animal against their hold. I realise that somewhere in all of this confusion, I had started to cry from the sight of him being thrown around like that.

I feel them pat my legs, my arms, all parts of me until there is nothing left, and I am spun around. I feel them release me and think that maybe they know now that I am not a Serpent. Sweet Pea had told me that night in the laundromat that they only want Serpent blood, but I look into the cold stare of the officer in front of me and wonder if their bloodlust has grown into something even more sinister.

The metal of the handcuffs is cold and startles me from my thoughts, makes me drop my eyes toward my wrists as if they are not mine – and Sweet Pea holds still now, he does not fight against him. He breathes heavily, his chest heaves from the effort. He looks between me and the officer with wide eyes before his face fills with rage and he roars, "What are you arresting her for? She hasn't done anything! Get off of me, get off-…Get off of her – hey, she hasn't done anything wrong!"

Dimly, I realise that Jughead had been calling to warn me, because he knows that if the cuts from that fight last night did not convince Helena to take me from Riverdale, then an arrest would definitely seal my fate.

I am not sure if it is that thought which sparks it or the noise that Toni lets out when an officer pushes her against the lockers like us, but I push at the policeman in front of me and feel the familiar rush of hands around me when I start to fight like Sweet Pea had. I also remember how much the social-workers used to try and lift me at the waist to pull me off other people because I am not that tall and not that big, so when an arm snakes around my waist and hauls me up, I use the momentum to kick at the officer in front of me.

I can hear that loud, white-noise static which screams in my eardrums and drowns out all other noise – it used to happen whenever I fought, but the unfairness of it all drives me to struggle and struggle until I am suddenly pushed down onto the floor. I feel a knee pressed into my back to hold me there, but it hardly matters because I can see the numerous leather shoes in front of me, the beige pants of deputies and officers, and I know that there is no point, anymore.

Sweet Pea is pressed down against the floor alongside me, on my right, and Toni is pushed to my left. I look at them through misty eyes and find them equally distraught. He opens his mouth to yell something to me, but hands grip his arms and pull him up, pull him away from me and toward blocky police-trucks outside the school.

vii

The cell is clammy and dark, lit by a bulb which sputters out a weak hum of lime-green light into the cramped space. I pace around while Toni stretches out on the bench and Sweet Pea leans against the bars, hands draped outside of them, his fingers tapping a frantic rhythm against the metal. Birdie had been caught in the bathrooms and we could only barely muster a laugh at the fact that his pants had still been around his ankles when the policemen broke the door of his stall. He had been searched for this jingle-jangle stuff. The door in the hall creaks open and another student of Southside High is dragged into this tight, confined cell – and of all the students in the school, it had to be War-Boy who slinks toward us with a slick grin. Sweet Pea straightens up and narrows his eyes at him. The Sheriff must notice, because he warns, "No more rough business, boys. Not in my cells. We barely have enough to space for all you Southsiders."

"Probably should have only arrested just the dealers and not the whole school then to spare you the useless paperwork," Toni states lightly. She looks at him lazily and tacks on a sickly-sweet, "Sir."

He glances behind Sweet Pea and hums. "Ah, Ms. Topaz – can't say I'm too surprised to see that you're back in here. You really gotta start paying rent for the amount of times we've put you up in this place, you know."

"Fix the leaky pipes and you got a deal," she replies bitterly.

The Sheriff nods, seeming unaffected, and then looks over the cell toward me, an eyebrow raised. "You Serpents caught the new girl pretty quick, huh? Mason, wasn't it? We contacted your guardian, she just arrived."

I push around War-Boy and his smarmy grin to reach the bars, standing beside Sweet Pea. I feel a rush of hope, although I know she might be angry with me anyway, but I can explain it all. "Ruth is here?"

The Sheriff smiles. "No. But a Ms. Helena Blackwood is here. Your social-worker, if I'm not mistaken. Due to this recent development, Helena will be taking over from here on out. She'll discuss it all with you, but I believe they're figuring out a new placement for you. Seems the Southside just isn't quite working out like they had hoped. What a shame."

He throws a pointed glare at Sweet Pea and then turns to walk out, whistling a light, airy tune. I drift from the bars in a daze and bump against the concrete wall of the cell, my skin prickled in a red-hot heat and my heart thumping much too quickly, so quickly that I feel dizzy and think I might really faint. Toni leaps from the bench and reaches out to gently hold me in her arms, murmuring soft words into my ear that I can barely hear because my brain feels as if it has been stuffed with cotton. My eyes swell with tears and I blink through them to find Sweet Pea looking at me, his arms useless at his side and his fists squeezing as if he wants to punch something but cannot summon the strength. You're a Southsider now, Mila, he told me. Nobody changes that, and nobody can take you away from the Southside.

viii

Another two hours trail from us in a slow crawl of ticks and thumps from the old clock stabled by the door; an officer enters and orders me to hold my wrists through the grate in the bars and then he latches handcuffs around me, warns the others to line against the wall and pulls me out into the hall before the gate swings shut behind me. He puts his hand around my arm and tugs me toward the main door. I attempt to root myself and say, "Wait, I want to tell my friends-…"

"I could not care less what you want to tell your friends, kid," the officer mutters lowly. "I got twenty minutes left on this shift, all right?"

"Sweet Pea!" I shout, twisting awkwardly in the chains to turn toward him. I glimpse him, just barely, pressed against the bars with his arms stuck through them to try and reach for me, as if he might pull me from the officer and out of this place. Toni calls for me, too, in between his roars, in between his yells that he will get me out of this, he promises it, he swears it with all that he has in him, and I feel it like I had felt his words spoken against my skin earlier, soaked into me.

ix

I sit behind a panel in which I can watch the reflection of myself; curtain of black hair, skin flushed in a colourless pallor and my cuts even more prominent in the cold, blue light which hangs over me. I really wish Ruth was here. I really wish I could hold Rosie once more and apologise for all of this mess that I never meant to happen. I never meant for tonight to happen like it did. I made a mistake. I'm sorry. I think of Sweet Pea's text this morning and how much it means to me now. The door opens, there is the shuffle of documents, the scratch of the chair against the tiles and then Helena is sat in front of me with a weak smile.

"Hello, Mila."

I nod, my throat too tight and dry for a proper response.

Helena seems to understand that. "Oh, Mila, I'm sure we both knew that the Southside was a bit of risk, anyway. I'm sure we can find you a much better placement. I'm sure-…"

"With all due respect, Helena," I spit through gritted teeth, "… I'm sure that the Southside is the only placement for me. I have never stayed anywhere this long, and Ruth is easily the best guardian I have ever had. I want to stay with her and Rosie. Please, you have to understand, I wasn't even arrested for anything, I-…"

"You resisted arrest," she corrects. "And it seems you have quite a few bruises, Mila. Would you like to explain those for me?"

"I fell off my bicycle." I stare at her and she lets out a patronising hum, tilting her head in sympathy as if she really feels bad about it all. I draw in a breath to steady myself, because I can feel my temper flaring more than it ever has in my life, and I know that I would much rather kick and scream to express myself than sit here. "What, a kid can't fall off her bicycle?"

"Oh, of course," she clucks, "…. of course, a kid can fall from their bicycle, Mila. But you have to see this from my point of view, as well."

"You're not listening to me," I mumble angrily. "You and all the other social-workers never listen to me."

"Perhaps we should start by considering the placements left. I looked at your list of places you have already stayed at, we might be quite limited in what we can do-…"

"You never listen."

"That means we might need to consider the State Home, but that really should be our last option, and I'm sure-…"

The door bangs open in this small room, startling us both. I look up and find Ruth, dressed in wrinkled clothes, her eyes swollen and red. She throws her handbag onto the floor once she reaches me, rushing around the desk, all the folders and papers tossed aside too, then latches onto me and pulls me tight against her. I sob into her neck, feeling her orange warmth and soft whispers, her hand smoothing my hair like she had last night when she put a plaster over each wound, and this morning when she had held me in the kitchen.

Between shaky breaths, I say, "I want to stay here, Ruth, please don't let them do this-…"

She pulls me against her even more and I feel a wetness on my t-shirt from her own tears. I remember that Rosie had asked if we could watch The Princess and the Frog next Sunday. She had found a frog in the Northside park once and held it in her palm and lightly stroked its speckled, slimy skin. She could not understand why Ruth had been so grossed out by this little creature. Rosie never has much fear in her. I hope it stays like that. I hope she takes on the whole world with that attitude. I know she will need it in a place like Riverdale.

I wish I could say that I was without fear, but it never quite worked out like that for me.

"Mila, honey, even if they take you tonight, I am going to fight this like you cannot believe – they have no right to do this. Sweetie, did you resist arrest like they're saying?"

"No, I just-…I got scared, I tried to just get them off me, I swear I never meant it to be like this-… I made a mistake, Ruth-…"

"Okay, honey, okay," she nods, brushing away every tear which trickles down my cheeks. Helena watches us but does not seem very affected. She shuffles papers and clicks her pen with little patience.

"Ruth," I croak, "…. they want to take me to the State Home."

I had heard whispers of the State Home before; it is said to be a slab of concrete and glass, surrounded in mesh fences and steel bars, with rows upon rows of bunk-beds for each kid, strictly separated by their age and gender, surrounded by wardens whose reputation is that of burly tyrants. I heard that most kids in the State Home only left it once they had reached eighteen. I heard that all they got on that day was a bus-ticket for the nearest town.

Ruth seems to know about it too, because her skin pales and she sucks in her lips as if she struggles for breath, but she smiles through it for me and says, "Not on my watch, kiddo. I told you, I will fight this with all I got in me. We can do this together, right?"

"Right," I nod. "Right."

"So, Helena," Ruth starts, standing from her spot and looking very much like a warrior prepared for battle. "… I would like to speak to you privately. Mila, could you wait in the hall for me, please?"

x

I am left to sit in the hall of the police-station long after all of the other Southside students have either been released or charged. Helena and Ruth have been in that room for a while, too. I can only hear muffled voices, occasionally raised. I sit on a wooden bench, sniffling every once in a while. I hear the sound of scuffed shoes against the linoleum and glance up to watch a blonde woman approach, her eyes rimmed in dark, kohl eyeliner that has been smudged outward to surround her icy blue stare. She has a briefcase in her hand, but it seems odd for someone like her, whose sneakers are tattered, whose leather jacket matches that of a Serpent and not really a businesswoman or lawyer. She slinks with great confidence and ease, then pauses in front of me, glancing down.

"Mila Mason?" she asks.

"Um, yeah," I respond. "Who are you?"

She cocks her head and considers me, an eyebrow raised. "Yeah. I thought you would be pretty for all the trouble he went through for this."

"What?"

She turns on her heels and marches right into the room where Helena and Ruth still argue, but the door swings shut and there comes no more shouts or yells. Instead, there is the click of a briefcase and muffled words, back and forth, but it seems as if it is the blonde who speaks the most. Confused, I stand from the bench and think about stepping into the room until I hear the door of the station close in a soft swoosh and spin around to find Sweet Pea there, his body soaked in rain and his shoulders slumped. I stare at him and wonder if he has come to say his final word, but he starts to walk toward me, reaching me in just a couple of seconds from his long strides. He holds me against him, even if he is drenched from the rain. I feel his body tremble, but I am not sure that it is just from the cold.

"Sweet Pea? Sweet Pea, who is that?"

He pulls away from me and looks into my eyes. The door opens behind us, but I cannot seem to find it in me to look away from him, because there is something in his stare that makes me think there is something wrong here. Helena storms past us, toward the exit. I finally look away from him and watch her, my mouth falling open in surprise. I turn toward Ruth. Sweet Pea stands right behind me, practically pasted against my back, a looming shadow whose form seems to swell at the sight of the blonde who leans against the door and taps her long fingernails against the wooden frame.

Ruth looks pale, her arms latched around herself as if she wants to hug herself just as tightly as she had hugged me. Her lips wobble. She looks at the blonde with spite in her eyes, but the blonde only peels herself from the doorframe and approaches me. I am not sure what Sweet Pea does behind me, but she glances up at him and purrs, "Easy, tiger. I would simply like to congratulate you, Mila – you get to stay here on the Southside, honey. Isn't that some awesome news?"

I am shocked and relieved, but I can tell that the continuation of my placement has not been arranged in a way that seems to settle well with Ruth, because she shifts at those words.

Unbothered, the blonde lifts her eyes once more to look at Sweet Pea and smiles at him. "So, I held my end of the deal, Sweet Pea. Now, you hold yours."

She slinks around us, like a panther. She disappears into the dense downpour of rain outside, lost in its thunderous roar, and I turn to face Sweet Pea, worried. "Sweet Pea?" I twist to look at Ruth instead, but her eyes are on the ground. "Ruth? Ruth, who was that woman? Sweet Pea, please just answer me!"

Droplets plop from his long eyelashes, falling onto his cheeks like tears, but he lifts his eyes and I see how determined he is to pretend that this is all fine. He reaches out to hug me again, all questions smothered by the feeling of his leather jacket against my skin, but I still hear Ruth behind me. I hear the frantic worry in her voice. I hear her fall apart beneath the strain of it all.

"What did you promise her?" Ruth asks, her voice cracking. "Sweet Pea, what did you promise her!"

"I promised Mila that I would never let them take her from the Southside," he yells. I flinch from him, surprised that he dared shout at Ruth. "I kept that promise tonight, all right? So, what does it matter what else I promised Penny!"

Ruth falls against the bench and holds her head in her hands. She looks up at him, her eyes once again filled with tears. "Oh, Sweet Pea…"

He turns away from her. He looks down at me and repeats, "I kept my promise, Mila."

But what did he promise Penny?