Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

line and scanned the room for an empty table, but they were all occupied. He saw other students glance at him, and noticed how quickly they turned away, afraid that he might misconstrue their looks as invitations. He understood the meaning of those stubbornly hunched shoulders. He wasn’t deaf to the snickers, the whispers.
    God, he’s weird
.
    The cult must’ve sucked out his brains
.
    My mom says he should be in juvie hall
.
    Julian finally spotted an available chair, and as he sat down, the other kids at the table quickly scooted away as though he were radioactive. Maybe he was. Maybe he emitted death rays that killed anyone he loved, anyone who loved
him
. He ate quickly, as he always did, like some feral animal afraid that his food would be snatched away, gulping down the turkey and rice in a few ravenous bites.
    “Julian Perkins?” a teacher called out. “Is Julian Perkins in the cafeteria?”
    The boy cringed as he felt everyone turn to look at him. He wanted to duck under the table where he could not be found. When a teacher yells your name in the cafeteria, it sure as hell isn’t a good thing. The other students were gleefully pointing at him, and already Mr. Hazeldean was coming toward him, wearing his usual bow tie and scowl.
    “Perkins.”
    Julian’s head drooped. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.
    “Principal wants you in his office.”
    “What did I do?”
    “You probably know the answer to that one.”
    “No, sir, I don’t.”
    “Then why don’t you go and find out?”
    Regretfully abandoning his uneaten chocolate pudding, Julian carried the tray to the dirty dishes window and started up the hallway toward Principal Gorchinski’s office. Truly he did not know what he’d done wrong. All the other times, well, yeah. He should not have brought his hunting knife to school. He should not have borrowed Mrs. Pribble’s car without her permission. But this time, he couldn’t think of any infraction that would explain the summons.
    When he reached Gorchinski’s office, he had his all-purpose apology ready.
I knew it was stupid, sir. I’ll never do it again, sir. Please don’t call the police again, sir
.
    Principal G’s secretary barely looked up as he walked in. “You can go straight into his office, Julian,” she said. “They’re waiting for you.”
    They
. Plural. This was sounding worse and worse. The poker-faced secretary, as usual, gave nothing away—just kept tapping at her keyboard. Pausing outside Gorchinski’s door, he prepared himself for whatever punishment was waiting. I probably deserve it, he thought, and stepped into the room.
    “There you are, Julian. You have visitors,” said Gorchinski. Smiling. This was new and different.
    The boy looked at the three people who were seated across from Gorchinski. He already knew Beverly Cupido, his new caseworker, and she, too, was smiling. What was with all the friendly faces today? It made him nervous, because he knew that the cruelest of blows too often came with a smile.
    “Julian,” said Beverly, “I know it’s been really rough for you this year. Losing your mother and sister. All those questions about the deputy. And I know you were disappointed that Dr. Isles wasn’t approved as a foster parent.”
    “She wanted to have me,” he said. “She said I could live with her in Boston.”
    “That wasn’t an appropriate situation for you. For either one of you. We have to weigh the circumstances, and think about your welfare. Dr. Isles lives alone and she has a very demanding job, sometimes with night call. You’d be left alone far too much, without any supervision. It’s not the sort of arrangement that a boy like you needs.”
    A boy who should be in juvie hall
was what she meant.
    “That’s why these people have come to see you,” said Beverly, gesturing to the man and woman who had risen from their chairs to greet him. “To offer you an alternative. They represent the Evensong School in Maine. A very good school, I might add.”
    Julian recognized the man as someone who had come to visit him while he was still in the hospital. That had been a confusing time, when he’d been foggy with pain meds, and there’d been detectives and nurses and social workers trooping through his hospital room. He didn’t remember the man’s name, but he definitely remembered those laser eyes, which were now fixed on him with such intensity that he felt all his secrets were suddenly laid bare. Discomfited by that gaze, Julian looked