Chapter83 – Just us
Atticus had grown fast—so fast she could barely keep up. Just three years ago, they’d worn the same size. Now his jackets hung down to her thighs, his sleeves so long she had to roll them up three times before her hands were free.
She wrapped his coat a little tighter around herself and smiled faintly.
Not far away, a small group of students had gathered—girls mostly, whispering, watching.
“Who is she?” one of them asked, squinting at Clarissa. “Why is she wearing his coat?”
The one in front, Helena, narrowed her eyes.
She was beautiful in that effortless, high school queen kind of way—long legs beneath a short pleated skirt, soft curls framing her heart-shaped face. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. Pretty enough to turn heads in any hallway.
“I saw her wiping Atticus’s face,” another girl said, jealousy creeping into her tone. “He was smiling. Like… smiling smiling.”
“I heard she’s his sister,” someone else offered. “From the basketball team.”
Helena blinked. “Sister? … biological?”
“Not sure. They said they grew up together. ”
Before anyone could respond, Atticus reappeared—changed into a black T-shirt and jeans, hair damp, still radiant with the adrenaline of the game.
Every girl there turned to look.
But he didn’t look at any of them. His eyes found Clarissa instantly, he walked straight to her.
“He didn’t even glance our way,” one muttered.
“Can you blame him?” another sighed. “With her around? She’s stunning.”
Helena didn’t say anything. She was focused on the way his eyes softened only when they landed on her.
Something was wrong. Helena’s instincts, honed from years of playing social chess, whispered the same thing over and over.
That wasn’t how a boy looked at his sister.
......
The teacher’s evaluation of Atticus was simple—and unanimous.
“Atticus is a very good child.”
Clarissa smiled, warmth blooming quietly in her chest. Every time someone praised him, it filled her with a pride she couldn’t quite explain.
“That’s such a relief,” she replied, placing a small gift box on the table. “Please accept this. And… thank you for looking after him.”
“Oh, there’s no need. It’s just part of the job,” the teacher said modestly.
On the way back, Clarissa seemed lighter, her mood visibly lifted. A soft, content smile lingered at the corners of her mouth, her whole expression touched with calm.
Atticus noticed immediately. “So,” he said, half teasing, “you’re finally at ease?”
Clarissa glanced over and chuckled. “You’ve always made it easy for me to relax.”
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, admiring how he’d changed—grown. Strong, capable, quiet but sure. That decision she’d made years ago… taking him in… guiding him through the darkest years of his childhood—it had all been worth it.
“You did great today,” she said softly. “You even won a prize. What do you want as a reward?”
Atticus looked at her, his tone suddenly lower. “A reward… hmm. I want you to spend the weekend with me.”
Clarissa smiled, thinking nothing of it. “Sure. I’ll take you and Mom out. We’ll go shopping, maybe get you some new clothes. Those sneakers of yours are just about begging to be replaced.”
Atticus was rough on his shoes. Between his intense training and how quickly he’d been growing, he practically wore through a new pair every month.
As she opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat, Atticus didn’t even bother with formalities—he vaulted straight into the passenger side with a thud.
Clarissa raised her brow but didn’t say anything. She was used to his little dramatics.
“I heard Aunt Clementine wants to play cards this weekend,” Atticus muttered, sounding less than pleased. “Just us.”
Clarissa laughed softly. Clementine had recently become obsessed with card games, despite being absolutely terrible at them. She mostly lost—but the stakes were always small, and Clarissa hadn’t had the heart to stop her.
“Well,” she said, glancing over, “we’ll go out tomorrow then. Before she ropes you in.”
Atticus’s lips curled, satisfaction gleaming faintly in his eyes. “Okay. But you have to dress up for me tomorrow.”
Clarissa blinked at that. “Dress up?”
He didn’t answer. Just leaned his head against the window, that faint smile still tugging at his mouth.
The next morning, Clarissa stood in front of her closet, scanning through outfits when she felt a pair of hands reach in beside her. Atticus, of course.
He pulled out two hangers. “Try these.”
She looked at the clothes. A crisp white blouse. A soft linen skirt that fell below the knee. Classic college-girl style—clean, feminine, understated.
“You’re picking out my clothes now?” she asked, amused.
Atticus shrugged. “It’s sunny today. This outfit’s perfect for the weather.”
He was already dressed himself—in a white T-shirt, pale khaki pants that matched her skirt, and a dark jacket that brought it all together. Whether by accident or intention, their outfits mirrored each other.
Atticus smiled at her with just a hint of mischief, though his gaze lingered longer than it should have. His eyes were calm… but heavy. Like they were hiding something.
Clarissa didn’t notice. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s go with this one.”
She turned, blouse in hand, and nodded toward the door. “Now out. I need to change.”
Atticus stepped back, but not before adding, “Tie your hair up today. That shirt’ll look better with a ponytail.”
“You’re unusually opinionated this morning,” she said, finally nudging him toward the door.
“And next time,” she added, giving him a playful shove, “knock before you walk into my room like you own it.”
She pushed him out and slammed the door with a smile.
Atticus waited outside for nearly half an hour before Clarissa finally stepped out of the house.
She had changed into the outfit he picked, her long hair swept up into a sleek ponytail just like he’d suggested. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror before leaving, she couldn’t help but laugh softly.
“You actually look really pretty,” she murmured to her reflection.
Wearing that crisp white blouse and soft linen skirt, she looked years younger—like a bright, beautiful high school girl. The look was pure, clean… effortlessly alluring in its simplicity.
As soon as she appeared, Atticus stepped forward and grabbed her hand without hesitation.
“You’re even prettier than I imagined,” he said, his voice quiet, but heavy. “You don’t look like a sister at all.”
Clarissa raised an eyebrow, smirking. “And what exactly do I look like, then? You’re not trying that trick again just to stop calling me your sister, are you?”
This boy—no, this young man—was getting harder and harder to manage as he grew. Sometimes she felt she had no authority left in front of him.
Even Clementine, with her naturally soft nature, seemed to obey Atticus without question these days.
Atticus’s lips curled slightly, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Why don’t you tell me, Clarissa?” he murmured.
Despite still carrying some of the quirks and bad habits from the past, Atticus had changed. He was no longer withdrawn, no longer cloaked in that heavy, villainous gloom. He smiled more now. Laughed. He even acted spoiled around her sometimes.
Clarissa turned with a sigh and headed toward the car. “No matter how I look, I’m still your sister. Let’s go, before the day slips away.”
Atticus caught up in a few quick strides, his long legs easily closing the distance.
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