by Jordan Ford
Deep, I know.
But I’ve seen that look before.
I don’t know why he’s really here. I’m wondering if that fluff story I heard about him transferring for a better education is true.
He’s seen something that’s scared him.
I can tell by the look in his eyes.
I know that look.
I still see it sometimes…in the mirror.
#7:
Pity Party in the Shower Stall
Christiana
“Christiana!” Uncle Marco’s voice is loud and sharp.
I jump away from Robbie, my nostril’s flaring with shame. My moist lips glisten. I can still taste Robbie’s tongue.
My giggle has disappeared though. Dried up by one shout of my name.
“W-what are you doing here?” I want to sound strong and indignant, but my voice wobbles. It always wobbles around him. I hate that.
His eyes narrow, and my insides knot as he walks closer. His shoes are loud in the empty parking lot.
“You are supposed to be home by now.”
“You’re not my babysitter.” I pull my shoulders back.
His eyes snap away from my face, lingering over my cleavage. I lose courage, slumping my shoulders and trying to make the deep V in my top less slutty.
Robbie’s hand rests on my shoulder, capturing my long hair as he squeezes me against him. “Who is this guy?”
His bravado shrivels as my uncle draws near. There’s always been something about him that unnerves me. He’s not physically intimidating, but he gives off this vibe that makes you want to wet yourself. I shouldn’t feel that way around him. But I do.
He should be someone I can trust.
I hate that I can’t.
“Roberto Candella?” he asks.
Robbie’s fingers grip my shoulder, like I can somehow give him the strength to face off against this guy.
“We’re not doing anything wrong,” I snap.
“He’s got his hands on you.” His dark glare burns through my fight. “His tongue was in your mouth.”
The contempt and disgust is so blatantly obvious.
“It was a kiss…and it was delicious.” My last flare of defiance before he destroys everything.
Snatching my arm, he yanks me away from Robbie. “Get home,” he seethes. “Leave now and I won’t tell Daddy Dearest what a filthy slut you are.”
I pound his arm for release, throwing him a venomous glare.
“Stop! Don’t hurt her!” Robbie cries. “It’s okay, Ana.” His voice softens to sweet perfume, wafting towards me, taking the sting out of this ugly end to our evening. “You go home. We’ll catch up later.”
His sweet smile melts my heart. He’s always so kind.
My expression crumples with apology and he shakes his head and gives me a little wink.
“Start walking.” I’m shoved away by the devil, my heel catching on the concrete. I right myself against the trunk of Robbie’s car and glance back.
Robbie’s glaring at Uncle Marco, who seems unfazed.
He’s staring at me, his dark eyes telling me to hurry it up. “Move.”
I make a face, letting him know how much I hate him in this moment. Then I turn to Robbie, my voice soft and sweet. “I’ll see you later.”
He mouths a goodbye and winks at me again, pulling the keys from his jacket pocket.
I walk away, fuming at my uncle for being such a dick and already plotting the next time I’m going to see Robbie. I don’t care that my father doesn’t want me dating. Robbie’s sweeter than some of the other guys I’ve hooked up with. If Daddy only knew the things I’d gotten up to…
My cheeks flare red, wondering if Robbie and I will ever take things that far.
A gunshot echoes through the air.
I jolt to a stop, my first thought fear. I’m in a dark alley. Home is just around the corner. But where did the shot come from?
But then I know.
My eyes bulge wide and I sprint back down the alley. I skid to a stop against the fence and peek around the corner.
Another gunshot makes me flinch.
This one’s loud.
Clear.
And I can see the gun it’s been fired from.
I bolt up with a gasp. My heart is thundering, images torturing me as I try to orient myself. I snatch my watch and make it glow—03:16 a.m.
All is dark.
All is still.
Just like the aftermath of Robbie’s death.
The air was sucked into oblivion that night. Horror froze time for a long, painful beat…until my brain sparked, stifling the scream that would give me away.
The devil tucked the gun into the back of his black pants then crouched down behind Robbie’s car.
Robbie’s foot twitched.
I convulsed, fighting a surge of bile.
And then I ran.
I still don’t understand why Robbie had to die. There was no reason to kill him. I blame myself a little. I shouldn’t have turned back for that kiss. But I blame the devil more, which is why I have to testify against him.
Make him pay.
Scraping my fingers through my hair, I want to fist the locks at the nape of my neck like I always used to.
But there’s nothing to hold onto.
I thump my fists on the bed with a frustrated scream.
No one’s awake. No one can hear me. I can be myself for a few minutes. Slipping out of bed, I pull my suitcase free and open it, unzipping the small pouch in the lid. With trembling fingers I pull out the photo I wasn’t allowed to bring. I slipped it in when Rybeck wasn’t looking. I thought I might need the motivation. Taking the flashlight from beside my bed, I flick it on and study the image with a watery smile. Robbie’s making a face while I laugh at the camera. We’d been messing around on Lincoln Road in South Beach, shopping and eating ice cream sundaes. A guy was walking around with his Polaroid camera, selling photos for a dollar. We bought two—one for me, one for Robbie. He stood behind me, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, his cheek pressed against my hair.
I run my finger over my luscious brown locks, tracing my painted lips before touching Robbie’s smile. We both look so happy and free, so blissfully unaware of what awaited us in the isolated parking lot. We should have found a park on the beachfront. But it’d been such a nice night we decided to leave Robbie’s car in the secret spot where we agreed to meet and walk from there.
I don’t know why I’d wanted to keep Robbie a secret, but I had. No one knew about the boy I’d bumped into one Sunday afternoon. Deep down, had I known the devil hated him? Is that why I’d snuck around, not telling my parents or my friends?
But how could I?
I don’t even know why the devil pulled the trigger!
Slipping the photo back into hiding, I click off my flashlight and slump against the side of my bed. A shake twitches my spine and my teeth begin to chatter. I can’t get warm in this damn place. I wrap my arms around my knees. This building is an icebox. Everything is so cold and unwelcoming.
Tears burn. My nose hurts. Tired muscles ache. The trauma of what I saw is a heavy burden. The stress of what I’m trying to do is wearing me down.
They may have made me look like a boy, but I don’t feel like one.
I’m a joke. A pathetic, shivering excuse of a boy.
The bandage that’s covering my chest feels like a python trying to cut off my air supply. I’m compelled to rip it off, but I’m supposed to stay strapped all the time.
“What if there’s an emergency and you have to jump up quickly?” McNeal warned. “You can’t give yourself away.”
“There’s hardly anything there anyway! And it’s uncomfortable.”
“There’s enough to notice.” Rybeck winked. “It’s only temporary.”
“Eton is the best place for you,” McNeal said, so sure of herself. “No one will think to look for you there.”
I couldn’t argue with them. I was running out of fight.
/> But now all I feel like is a shower. I want to wash the dream from my mind, warm my trembling core, and crawl back into bed clean and relaxed.
Jumping up, I grab the towel off the back of my door and clutch it to my chest. I creep down the hallway, hoping to sneak by the jail cells undetected.
I listen out for clomping feet on patrol but all is quiet.
Entering the bathroom closest to my room, I release my breath, my shoulders sagging as I walk to the empty shower stalls.
There are no curtains to hide me, so I keep the lights off. I’ll have to be quick. It may be the early hours of the morning, but people still stir in the night.
Pulling off my pajama top, I unravel that bandage around my chest. My body expands with relief, a moment’s reprieve from having to hide my gender. The cool bathroom air touches my bare skin. Goosebumps ripple over my torso.
I reach for the shower but am stopped by the creaking of a door.
Holding in my gasp, I duck into the shadows, pressing my back into the corner of the stall. My heart is racing, my eyes darting every direction as I listen to the shuffling of feet.
A yawn.
A fart.
A steady stream of pee.
Closing my eyes, I swallow and wait it out.
He’s like a horse, whoever he is. It feels like an eternity before the door creaks and I’m once again alone.
I lose the urge to shower.
McNeal and Rybeck told me to wake an hour before everyone so I can clean up in private, but I’m now thinking a sponge bath in my room is a safer option. I have basically no hair to wash so what’s the big deal, right?
I feel disgusting.
I don’t know if I can do this…any of it!
I fight the sting of tears as I carefully wrap my chest back up, flattening my breasts so I’ll look like a boy.
It’s been just over twenty-four hours and I already need to quit. It’s more than a want. I seriously don’t know how I’ll manage another day with Ivan the Terrible and his concrete fist, Trey the Intruder and his sexy-ass smile. I want out! I need my old life back!
I go still, my chest heaving with a question I don’t want to ask.
What life?
Like I can unsee what I saw. Unlearn a truth I always suspected.
There is no going back. There is no old life.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
Brushing a fine tear off my cheek, I sniff and pull on my shirt.
Damn that killer for putting me in this position.
Damn him for shooting Robbie!
“Why?” I whimper and slap the wall. “Why’d you do it?”
My lips wobble and distort, forming an ugly line. Anger stirs in my belly, scalding my self-pity.
“You’re going down for this, you asshole. I won’t let you win.”
Raising my chin, I clutch the towel to my chest and creep back to my room.
#8:
A Weak Loser
Trey
The gym is filled with sounds of intensity. Grunts, puffs, thumps—proof of committed exertion.
Every student at Eton has to take PE right through, and four times a year we have to complete The Gauntlet, designed by Hades himself to test our bodies to the limits.
I love it. Because I can do it and still come out smiling.
Riley hated it the first year, managed to finish it the second year, and nearly creamed me last year.
I laugh as I reach the top of the climbing wall before him. Gripping the rope, I sail down the other side, landing with a thud beside Kade.
“You’re not beating me either,” I tell him before sprinting ahead to the tires.
Kade’s laughter catches up to me. “Whatever, dude.” He flies past me, his long legs eating up the tire challenge.
My face puckers with a determined frown and I concentrate on my footwork. Next up are the high steps, then the rope swing over the gym pads. That’ll take me to the last section where we have to cross the beam, climb the wall bars, scale across, and then jump down to the medicine balls. Lunges, sit-ups, push-ups and pull-ups are the final test before we can get our time and then collapse into an exhausted heap.
Not me. There will be no heap.
I’m coming off this thing fresh as a freaking daisy.
Wiping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, I grab the thick rope and swing across, horrified to see Riley sailing right past me.
Shit!
I’ll have to get him on the beam.
I land and roll, scrambling to my feet and sprinting to the beam. He’s just climbing on, but I yank his shirt and pull him to the floor.
“You asshole!” He laughs at me, breaking the rules and jumping onto the beam.
“One at a time, guys!” Coach Baxter calls.
We both ignore him, laughing and trying to balance while we race across the beam and leap onto the wall ladders.
Riley’s puffing behind me.
Kade’s just landing by the medicine balls.
I’m not letting either of them beat me. It’s not an option.
I land and snatch the medicine ball closest to me, powering through my lunges before dropping for my fifty sit-ups. I catch up to Kade on the push-ups, grunting as I count out my final ten. He’s two steps behind me as I jump up to the bar and start twenty pull-ups.
“Twenty!” I shout and let go, landing with perfect execution and grinning at the coach.
He stops his timer. “Nice work, Calloway—eight minutes, fifteen. You beat your time from last year by thirty seconds.”
“Shit!” Kade complains, then shouts out, “Twenty!”
“You guys suck!” Riley bellows a second later, then lands on the ground and grumbles, “Twenty!”
“Kingsley—eight minutes, twenty-nine. Duncan—eight minutes, forty-one. Good job.”
I can’t hide my smug smile as I turn to face the losers. They both shake their heads, look at each other and then take a shoulder each, pushing me to the ground. I land with a thud at the coach’s feet. He completely ignores me when I get up and start a friendly tussle with my brothers.
It’s loud with laughter and the only thing to stop us is Coach shouting across the gym, “Come on, Lorden! This isn’t a Sunday afternoon stroll!”
I push the guys off me and we gaze across the gym at Chris, who is struggling up the climbing wall.
He’s the only one left. Ivan’s just finishing his pull-ups and the rest of the class is somewhere between the beam and him.
Poor Chris is miles behind.
He keeps slipping down the wall, not having the upper body strength to jump, hold and pull himself up.
Damn. The guy is really pathetic. He looks like he’s drowning in his PE shirt, and the shorts are puffy and big around his skinny legs. Sweat is running down his neck and I can see his arms shaking from here. The guy looks ready to collapse and he’s only just over halfway through the course.
Ivan scoffs beside me. “What a fucking loser.” Cupping his mouth, he yells across the gym. “You can do it, Wonder Boy!” His sarcasm is grating. “Oh no, wait, my bad! You can’t do it because you’re a weak freak!”
“Shut your mouth, Van der Belt,” Coach mutters, although he looks like he’s fighting a smile.
My fist curls as I resist the urge to land my knuckles right in Ivan’s face.
I wish I could.
Damn that one strike.
If I had two left, I’d pound his ass to the ground right now. A little scuffling and spitballs is different to total humiliation. The entire class is snickering now, staring at Chris while he attempts and fails to climb the wall.
I should walk over to him, give him a boost.
But I can’t.
It won’t help his whole rite of passage. It’ll only make him look weaker. I have to let him do it on his own, but it kills me.
I don’t understand why.
Ivan’s right. Chris is a pathetic loser.
But there’s something about him.
<
br /> His eyes are… The way he looks at me, like he’s scared…like he needs someone to take care of him. He’s so small and pathetic. It makes me want to protect him. I guess I kind of felt that way about Riley when he was being bullied, but I was pounding Ivan for my own gain as well. I had a lot of anger to unleash. I’ve pretty much dealt with that shit now, so what’s driving me this time?
Mom’s sweet face brushes the back of my mind. I close my eyes for a second, warding off the shame that always accompanies her memory.
“All right, all right, don’t kill yourself!” Coach finally yells. “We’ll call it an incomplete. You’re not the first. Looks like you’re on hockey duty for the rest of the season though. Be at the rink right after final bell. I’ll tell you what you have to do.”
Chris slumps against the wall. Defeated.
He must be having the week from hell.
We all turn away and head out to get changed for final period. I glance over my shoulder in time to see Chris’s dejected frown.
Whatever weight he’s trying to carry is too much for him.
I wonder how long he’s going to last.
*****
Final bell rings.
I love that sound. It’s my favorite one of the entire day because it means I get to skate. Shooting out of the classroom, I ignore whatever last-minute instructions are being yelled at the students and make a beeline for the rink.
Kade’s already there when I arrive, throwing off his uniform and reaching for his hockey gear.
I dump my bag into a locker and shrug off my jacket, then yank off my tie. Unbuttoning my shirt, I pull it off and scrunch it into a ball just as Chris enters the locker room.
He jerks to a stop, his eyes rounding as he takes me in.
My forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head and looks to the floor, slowly backing out of the room like he’s somehow trespassing.
He is such a little weirdo.
Kade gives me a look that tells me he’s thinking the same thing. I shrug and we both snicker while Chris backs right into Coach.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Chris pings straight and spins to face Coach, who towers over him. “I, um…”