I went inside and found Alexandra crouched on the ground, working in silence. Her white jeans had black marks all over them, and she’d kicked her boots over into a corner. She wasn’t even halfway done.
“Hungry?” I asked, setting the tray down next to her.
“Starving.” She snatched the pizza off the tray.
I plopped down on the floor and started into my salad. Picking at the lettuce, I looked up. Something was changing. She was changing. Being here . . . it was maturing her. Alexandra didn’t do work. Especially not the physical sort. She usually just outright refused, despite the repercussions, and occasionally resorted to having a lackey do it. Yet here she was, on her hands and knees with a gum scraper and bucket. I smiled, but my joy was short-lived. I needed to tell her the truth; that was the real reason I’d come back. The pizza was just to butter her up.
I sighed.
“I didn’t want to box because I’m scared of losing control. To actually get the release I need, I would have to beat those boys to a pulp. As you’ve said, I’m not eight anymore, and the stakes are higher. It takes more than it ever has to keep myself under control.” I looked away, not sure I was ready to see what was in her eyes.
She put her hand over mine and squeezed. “I knew you weren’t telling us everything. I did know more than you’ve given me credit for. I know what it will cost you and your morals to keep your sanity. I get that. You don’t want to be a monster. If you don’t do this, you will go insane. If you don’t do this . . . I don’t think you have even a year left.”
I turned to look her in the eye. She was serious.
“I can’t lose my sister.”
If I were capable of crying, it would’ve brought tears to my eyes. As it was, all I could do was grip her hand.
“I know what I’m asking, even if Lily doesn’t. We can’t lose you.” Her eyes watered, and I gave her a sad smile. We both knew what she was asking.
“So, I need you to do this. Box again. Please. We’ll worry about the rest later.” Her eyes were pleading, and though she would never know how much it would kill me if I lost control and ended someone—I would do anything for them.
They come first.
My mantra rang true.
“I’ll start tomorrow,” I promised.
Chapter 12
“Meet me today at, like, five, and we can go together, okay?” Alexandra told me as we were walking out of Russian.
“No, I want to do this alone.”
She tore her eyes away from the upperclassmen boys walking out of the gym. I waited for her response. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but if I was going to do this, it would be on my terms.
“It’s your decision, sister. You know I’d rather do nothing if I can get away with it.”
I liked the twinkle in her eye I’d been seeing since we got here, since she’d used her ability without fear of repercussions.
“I’ll see you later. Relay the message to Lily so she gets off my case, will you?” I rolled my eyes..
“I’ll deal with Lily. You worry about tonight.” She laughed, walking away only to be surrounded by admirers almost instantly.
I took a deep breath. This was just the beginning of another very long day.
Professor Anderson’s class went about as slowly as expected, and by the time the bell rang, I was already out the door. My third period was awful in comparison. Professor Monroe paid abnormal attention to students, and what they did during class. With eyes like a rat, she was the only teacher I’d ever met who could enforce silence without saying a word. Of course, that came in handy when Aaron sat next to me and brought his whole crew along, surrounding me in testosterone. I wasn’t going to let him think he made me nervous; I wouldn’t flatter him like that. So, I did the opposite: I leaned back, relaxed, and enjoyed the ride. He slipped me a note when Monroe’s back was to us, but I didn’t touch it. I didn’t even look at it until she turned around and was staring in my direction. Then I stretched my arm forward and opened it silently.
Before I could read it, Monroe snatched it off my desk. “Passing notes, Foster?”
“Actually, I didn’t get to respond yet.” I smirked, thinking of a smart-ass quip.
“Well, let me read it for you, and you can tell me what your response is. ‘Meet me in the library at five today. We have a health project to work on, and I don’t want to wait until the last minute. Signed A.’” Even for her, she sounded abnormally bitter.
“Well, Professor, I would say that I have plans, and that if he’s hitting on me, he really needs to stop. He’s not my type, and I do hope his girlfriend gave him hell for being a douche bag,” I said, without taking my eyes off the board, even though she was standing next to me. I smirked at the snickers that broke the silence. I hoped he hated me.
“Language, Foster,” she scolded as the bell rang.
I stood in one swift movement, my stuff already in hand. Aaron was still watching me as I walked out the door. It seemed to be happening a lot lately. I hope he didn’t make a habit of it for much longer. Creepy bastard.
After lunch, Alexandra and I walked to P.E. together, and she told me that Michael had asked her out. I asked questions when needed, but paid as little attention as possible without letting her figure out she was basically boring me to death. When Coach Boreguard told us we were running today, it was a relief. I already needed a break from her.
I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and changed into the unbelievably short shorts they provided for gym. All around me, girls were applying makeup, fixing each other’s hair, and taking selfies. Gag. I left the locker room immediately.
“Outside!” Boreguard grunted when everyone was there.
“I don’t wanna run,” Alexandra complained, coming up on my left side.
“Well, I guess it sucks to be you,” I said unsympathetically.
“We’ll see,” she said and disappeared.
We walked for another five or so minutes before we got to the track. It looked almost new with the freshly cut grass, fresh coat of paint, and security cameras partially concealed on the edge of the woods.
“Coach, I just had lunch and I really don’t feel like running today, so could I, like, do it another day maybe?” Alexandra piped up next to him.
“Ha, you think you’re different and deserve special treatment, do you?”
She just looked at him. The funny thing was she did believe that.
“Well, just for that, princess, you earned yourself another mile. And while I’m making a point here, since you aren’t actually any different, I think you should all run another mile. Make that two.” He raised his voice as if daring anybody to complain, but the worst they did was mutter under their breaths or glare at her.
She groaned, but didn’t say anything as she got in line next to me.
“When I blow this whistle, your time starts,” he said to the line of thirty kids.
I watched the others prepare to try to sprint it. Foolish children. Here, their Supernatural abilities were hardly what I would’ve called mature.
Enhanced senses.
Hmmm . . . maybe now was the time to use that to my advantage.
At first, I stayed in the middle of the front group, which was sprinting, but one by one, they faded in the first lap. I was only getting started. When I hit the marker for the second lap, only four others were with me. Amber was one, which didn’t surprise me with how fast she’d been on my first day. Aaron was another, which did—I’d expected him to be all talk. We were also joined by Michael and Jack, but they were both losing speed.
It was then that I fell into a trance-like state.
Faster . . .
Instinctively, I raised the level and lost Jack and Michael instantly. I was halfway through my third lap when I heard it again.
Faster . . .
My heart beat with a steady thrum like a hummingbird’s wings as I began truly running. I didn’t notice who I was with anymore, who was behind me, or even what lap I was on.
I was just going . . . faster, faster, faster. The whisper continued until I was practically gliding. I felt weightless.
It stopped. In my head, I counted the laps as I rounded the corner to where the coach was standing. Eight. I was done, and I wasn’t even sweating.
I looked around. Only Amber had finished before me. I searched for Alexandra; it wasn’t too hard to find her with her bright red hair like a flame in the sunlight. She was running steadily, but her skin was all pink and she’d already broken a sweat. There was no way she could go to her next class without a shower.
I waited patiently as kids came and went. Slowly, people finished their laps, and when every last person was done, we waited for Coach’s next order.
“You princesses have got a long way to go this year.” He looked over his clipboard. “Out of thirty students, eighteen of you run under the average, nine of you are barely making the cut, and only three of you are above.” He glowered down at us, but I refused to buckle. I had no reason to.
“That’s not that bad,” Alexandra muttered under her breath. She’d been one of the average runners.
“Not that bad? You’re right, that wouldn’t be that bad if I weren’t grading by human standards.”
How could eighteen Supernaturals be slow by human standards? We are superior, mentally and physically.
“By Supernatural standards, twenty-seven of you are below average, one of you is passable, and two of you are above average. You know what that means, right?”
Silence followed.
“It means that from now on, we’re running at least four miles every day. You kids are lazy and worthless, a bunch of princesses, just as spoiled as the rest of your generation. Not in this class. If you plan on passing this class and going to eleventh grade, you’re going to work. It’s going to hurt, and there’s going to be sweat, blood, and tears. That’s the only way you’re moving on, so get used to it.”
This undoubtedly would’ve brought a lesser being to tears or pumped them up for the year. I was just disappointed. I’d expected better from my race, from my sister, from those who shared my DNA.
After the talk, I showered and changed. My hair was still damp and felt heavy on my neck as it drenched my clothes. Cursing myself for not cutting it, I left for health.
Crap. I still had to figure out that project. I was going to have to work with him on it sometime. Sighing, I took a seat in the back and waited for the rest of my class to trickle in. Professor Clearwater and her milky irises zoned in on me all through class as I listened to my music, but she didn’t say anything. It was bizarre how often my teachers stared. The students were one thing—I was new—but the professors should’ve been more professional. Unless . . . were they watching for something? Paranoia made its way into my mind, but I quickly quelled it by reminding myself that no one had said anything. Perhaps it was all my imagination. Or . . . perhaps I was actually losing it.
Battle Simulation went off without a hitch. Professor Vonlowsky gave a lesson that was . . . intriguing.
He spent the entire class asking us questions, but no one could answer them. Not correctly, at least, and he made sure you knew it. No explanation. No answer. Just wrong. It was madness. How could a teacher expect you to learn when all he ever did was tell you ‘wrong answer?’ By the end of class, he’d offended nearly everyone, and they were all waiting for someone to get something right, so that maybe he would shut up. That never happened.
“So tell me, students, did you enjoy today’s lesson?”
No one answered. Prick.
“Or maybe you found it infuriating that I cared so little, didn’t explain anything, nor had any kind of structure.”
Most of the class instantly looked down, as if their hands were suddenly extremely interesting.
“It gets annoying when someone undermines you, doesn’t it?” he asked us, suddenly serious and not talking like a madman. “I hope you take today as a lesson. From now on, I want respect, and I want it always, whether you’re in this class or not. I want it quiet in here from the first bell to the next. And finally, make sure you get this ‘I don’t care’ attitude fixed, and start trying, because I won’t put up with the rest of the school year like this.”
The bell rang. Time to box.
Chapter 13
I’d grown to expect bizarre scenes and bad attitudes in my dorm, but chaos?
Clothes had been strewn everywhere as Amber tried to decide which leotard to wear for gymnastics. How that was difficult was beyond me, but apparently it was. Tori stood appraising herself in the bathroom with her cowboy boots and a flannel shirt. She looked like she’d walked out of an old western movie, and was that a cowboy hat in her hand? I snickered to myself. Hillbilly.
I dug out a clean pair of spandex shorts and a white tank then cursed under my breath when I realized that these were all I had. I now lived in Montana where it got down to twenty degrees outside during the winter—on a good day. Shorts just weren’t going to cut it when the snow came. If only I’d prepared for situations like this instead of spending forty-eight hours harping on something I couldn’t change.
It’s your own fault, my subconscious mouthed.
I snatched the clothes off the bed and changed quickly before I could find something else to be pissed about. In truth, the clothes were nothing. I would survive. It was everything else that was getting to me. Insanity. Scheming dead parents trying to protect me, even in the afterlife. Which wouldn’t be so bad if it hadn’t cost their other two daughters dearly. I stopped myself there. I didn’t need to add self-pity to the list on top of everything else.
Pushing aside all other thoughts, I dug under my bed for my gray workout shoes and hand wraps, getting caught in the cobwebs under my bed in the progress.
“Ugh,” I groaned then sneezed from the half-inch of dust.
“What are you doing?” Amber asked.
I looked up from the shoe I was tying to read her expression. “Boxing.” Wasn’t it obvious? I glanced at the wraps beside me. Maybe not . . .
“Really?” She sounded surprised.
Without looking up, I nodded.
“Are you any good?”
I laughed lightly for the first time since I’d been here. “You could say that.” Oh yes. I was very, very good. I left it at that. We may have been able to do small talk at the moment, but I hadn’t changed my mind. No friends. No attachments.
They come first.
Without another word, I took off down the stairs and across campus. As I entered the gym, I went to the last door on the right where I’d seen the boxing ring earlier. The second I went through the door, I was engulfed in loud rap music and the smell of sweat mixed with testosterone. It felt like coming home. In the five years since my parents died, it was the only thing I’d taken joy in.
The ring was to my left, and two boys were already going at it. To my right, there was a wall of mirrors with weights lined in front of it.
Eyes followed me with every step I took.
The back area was a lot larger than I’d thought it would be. Four punching bags hung off the right corner of the room while a speed bag was mounted on the back wall. There was a small table in the left corner with stopwatches and timers scattered across the laminated top and jump ropes in a pile to the side. The entire floor was matte blue. Probably more for the effect when blood splattered across it.
Moving quickly, I dropped my wraps and rewound them tight around my hands. The guy facing away from me in the ring seemed familiar, somehow, but I couldn’t see his face. There was also something unusual about his reflexes, the way he moved . . .
The guy he was fighting was tall and tanned with hair as black as mine. His chiseled features reminded me of paintings of Greek gods, and muscles rippled under his shirt . . . but that was all trivial compared to one thing. Green. Eyes so green. So alive. So vivid.
It was him. The boy from my first day. The one with the green eyes.
They parried back and forth, occasionally exchanging
punches. By the time they made a complete half-circle, I could see the other boxer’s face. Aaron. His concentration broke when his gaze left the ring for a moment and met mine. It was only a second, but I shook my head with a small smile. He was making the same mistake I’d seen so many times. It would’ve cost him if I’d been in the ring.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. A hand flashed out of nowhere and plowed into his stomach. Aaron doubled over from the impact, and the green-eyed boy hit him so hard his head snapped around. A streak of blood slapped his cheek, and the whistle signaled a win.
Turning away from the ring, I walked over to a clear spot on the mat and dropped into a split. Placing my palms on the ground in front of me, I took a deep breath and began lifting myself. I had to be patient with my body as I lifted slowly. This exercise was all about strength of body and mind. I closed my legs so that I was in a handstand. The second it was solid, I knew it was time to go upright before I got lightheaded. Kicking my legs forward, I landed facing a man.
He was tall and broad with chestnut-brown hair. His eyes were light brown and his face told me he was no student. I took in the jeans and loose red shirt. He had to be the coach.
“That was impressive, but you’re distracting my boys,” he said, motioning to Aaron, who was now climbing out of the ring.
“It’s more like your boys are letting themselves get distracted,” I countered.
“And you think you could do better?” he asked.
“I know I can,” I said without hesitation.
“This is a private gym. You only get to practice here if you’re one of my own.” Amusement touched his lips, and a grin was fighting its way through.
“You’re only telling me that because I’m a girl,” I argued, but kept my tone amused. Men didn’t take well to women telling them what to do.
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