The next night when I arrive at the library there’s a very tall, very sturdy metal scaffold waiting for me beside the wall. It could have been anyone who left it here. Maybe the construction foreman wanted to check something at the top of the wall. Or maybe Sutton left it for me to use. But I have a suspicion that it’s Christopher.
Does that mean he’s going to visit again tonight?
There’s a joint in my pocket, but I don’t bother to light up. I’m already buzzed, my head floating, my body hot. Christopher Bardot is a potent drug for me; I can only handle him in small doses. Anticipation slides through my veins, and I feel high before he even comes.
Something keeps me from climbing the scaffolding or getting a ladder from the equipment out back. Instead I work with the putty on the ground,
