I don’t hear anything about the missing clothes until the next morning, when Archer bursts into my room and heads straight for the closet. He throws open the door and shuffles through the hangers.
I’m barely out of bed, still in my pajamas. My hair is a mess. I only just brushed my teeth.
Archer turns toward me, his face twisted up in rage. “So what Wyatt said is true. I had to see it for myself to believe it.”
I want to blame Wyatt for this, and I certainly do to an extent. But the full truth of it is that I did sell some of the clothes all on my own. For money. And I meant to keep it from them.
“I had more than I needed,” I say.
“These clothes weren’t yours to give away.”
“They were a gift. From you.”
“Not a gift. A uniform. You were responsible for the care of the items, not to f
