As soon as she rounded the corner for the art wing, she heard the whispers and felt the stares. “Her and Thayer …” “Did you know she sent him away?” “His hearing is a month from now. Do you think he’s going to rot in jail that whole time?” A female basketball player with streaky highlights and a snub nose shot Emma a curious look, then leaned in to a boy with dreadlocks. Both of them started snickering. Emma winced and kept her head held high. She’d had plenty of experience with weird looks from kids at the many schools she’d attended. In fact, she’d even composed a list of nasty comebacks she could shoot at passersby if they commented about her thrift-store clothes and the fact that she was a foster kid. She’d written down the list on a pocket-size Moleskine notebook and kept it with her at all times, just like foreign tourists who carry around English translation handbooks. She’d never been brave enough to use any of the comebacks, though. Sutton probably would have been.
