Vixen (The Fox and Hound Book 1)

by Catherine Labadie

  “Why?” I sound like a little kid as I repeat this question.

  “A friend brought the letter to me, so I kind of…” Lyle breaks in, pausing for effect. “I made sure copies of the letter were sent to the school SMARTpads of every half-breed here.”

  I’m stunned. Why the hell would you do that?! My thoughts shout at Lyle…then fly to Belinda and the administration. If this advertisement of that ridiculous letter has any effect on the student body behavior, I’ll be blamed for it even if I wasn’t the person who sent it out. Rabble-rouser. Troublemaker.

  “And you did this because?” I ask once I’m certain my voice will remain steady and at a normal level. “It wasn’t a big issue that needed to be publicized. It was

  enough that people saw me give him the letter and

  knew I wasn’t just submitting blindly. The letter was just rebellious enough to make a point without causing too many waves. And I did it so other people wouldn’t get in trouble!” That was the plan, anyway, I think acidly.

  Lyle smiles at me like I’m supposed to be happier than I am with this scenario. “Don’t you see? This way, if Katrina was planning for Bryan to lie about the letter there are copies in several places for back up,” he

  explains.

  “I already planned for witnesses,” I say, thinking of the people in the hall who already saw the nightmare of me having to do something so pointless.

  “Look around, Sierra!’ Lyle says excitedly. I do, and it dawns on me why all my fellow half-breeds so proudly display their heritage. Oh. Oh no...

  I’m happy for the courage my classmates found in the face of all the social oppression from the humans upstairs; it’s such a relief to be able to look around and see the familiar pattern of DNA matches in the people around me. I just wish my influence—my indirect influence—hadn’t been necessary to get the ball rolling. I remember the way Hasida and Femi and even some of the other half-breeds looked at me when I came in: like I’m a leader, some sort of savvy and brave and coolly rebellious person.

  Rebellious enough to throw caution to the winds? I think, hoping not. Harold would kill me, and then there’s the administration to deal with. People who make too many waves are removed from the water, my thoughts hum ominously.

  I have no desire to discuss this any further; the damage is done. “It’s almost time for the bell,” I say.

  Since Lyle and Morgan stare at me curiously instead of moving, I lead the way to our homeroom. I check in and make it to my seat un-harassed, but my mind is too busy to pay much attention. I probably seem horribly moody to my friends, but I don’t care.

  As Marlow Hynes calls roll—he’s slowly improving speed-wise—I wonder what Belinda will think about the passive-aggressive revolution taking place among the

  half-breeds.

  You have enough to worry about already, S.

  z

  I’m very drowsy in between my first and second classes: Business Math followed by Psychology seemed good originally, but that must depend on the day. Some stresses of this past week are taking their toll; I walk out of the math classroom and into the hallway in a slight daze. But I wake up soon enough as my eyes notice the tall ginger coming around the corner. Duncan isn’t looking at me right now; since he’s with a few people, I assume they’re his friends.

  I forget not to stare because I want to see who my human friend spends his time with. He’s debating something with a tall boy with round rimmed brown glasses and bright red jeans, and the girl with long, straight strawberry blonde hair standing beside them is short in comparison.

  Another boy with brown hair under a hipster beanie with some obscure band logo decorating the fabric laughs with what I guess is another couple; he turns his head and I see he has at least four ear piercings. The boy the kid with piercings is speaking to has curly black hair, and a confident stride that bespeaks a distinctive blend of arrogance as well as healthy self-assurance. He has his arm around a tall,

  sunny-looking girl with a few freckles, short blonde hair with lighter highlights, and cocoa brown eyes.

  They all look very happy and fun-loving. I allow

  my fox senses a brief moment of luxury so I can catch their scents on the breeze of the air conditioning; their aura is relaxed, comfortable, and the two girls wear simple floral perfumes which blend with their human scent. Watching even in a few seconds of this dialogue reveals that Duncan is more of a listener than a talker, at least with them, but he’s clearly happy to be with this group. Some musky cologne tickles my nose, and I taste the air on my tongue so I will remember the scent later…

  “What’s up, Sierra?” Shelby interrupts my staring and I startle, hurrying away to my next class after almost dropping my donated SMARTpad.

  “Nothing really…just looking forward to another day ending in a few hours,” I blurt without much consideration for what I’m saying. She skips past the small talk and moves on to another topic right away.

  “So…what was all that about yesterday? With the human boy?” Shelby asks me as we walk to Psychology

  class. I’m relieved she just came out and asked instead of beating around the bush.

  “Nothing really. We hung out after school, got drinks from Omnium Beanery,” I offer carefully. Shelby raises her eyebrows skeptically, dark lips pursed.

  “Are you sure?” she asks.

  “Sure about what?” I’m uncertain what she’s going for with this talk, so I continue. “I don’t think it was any more than that.”

  “Okay,” Shelby pauses before continuing. “I just

  want to make sure you know what you’re doing. He’s a human, after all.” Now I’m a little aggravated, and my fur is bristles with offense. How are my friendship choices your business? I want to ask.

  “I’m aware,” I say crisply. Shelby analyzes me; her arms are crossed, and her walk is firm enough for her smart fuchsia heels to click on the hard floor.

  “Lyle asked me for your SMARTcall number earlier. He said he wanted to ask you for it, but he thought I might know already so he asked me,” she says.

  I blink at her, trying to figure out why she randomly changed the subject. “And?”

  “I told him I didn’t have it, because I don’t, and he said he was going to get it from you later,” she answers. Her tone makes the issue seem more important than it actually is, and ordinarily I’d be very interested in a situation where a boy was so keen on furthering contact with me. But now…

  I haven’t willingly thought about Morgan’s theory regarding Lyle’s interest in me. My mind, while it has been busy with other thoughts, keeps shying away from the topic.

  “Thanks for telling me,” I say with an anti-climactic tone. Shelby nods a few times. Her scrutiny grows more

  unbearable by the second, and I’m very glad to reach the Psychology classroom.

  I’ve only been here a few days, but I feel like I need a bit of space from my friends. I hope this feeling wears off, but Shelby speaks again and I don’t feel so guilty for wanting a bit of distance anymore.

  “I don’t know if you want to hear this, but a lot of half-breeds here look up to you, Sierra. Hanging out

  with humans probably isn’t the wisest decision,” she says. She means well; she may be serious, but her tone isn’t condescending or authoritative. Nevertheless, I’m still aggravated.

  Just as I sit down in the clean, minimalist lecture room, the high tech intercom buzzes into activity with a faint chiming sound. Periodically, trivial announcements reverberate through the halls via the intercom, so I don’t pay much attention to the voice.

  “SIERRA MAURELL NEEDS TO COME TO THE ADMINISTRATION OFFICE.”

  My name sounds smooth over the upstairs intercom, and everyone in the room spins around to gawk at me. People know who I am now, unlike my first day after the assembly meeting when Harper called me up to her office. I was hoping I’d never have to go back; it was just dumb luck that got me out of a visit on the day Bryan insulted me.

  Froz
en, I sit with a rigid spine as my thoughts race chaotically through my brain. A call to the principal’s office in an ordinary school isn’t necessarily a cause for alarm, but the way of life here at Hostetler is very

  different.

  I guess Belinda read the letter, I think as I come up with reasons why I might be in trouble.

  I gather my bag and stand up, wanting to flee the classroom as quickly as possible, before anyone realizes the significance of the principal calling me in.

  15

  Once I’m in the hall, my thoughts settle down; it’s easier to think now that my friends’ concerned glances are absent along with the glares from the humans who were in the classroom. I work on calming my feelings so my fox ears will stand up straight again. At least I don’t have listen to another lecture about half-breeds not following “normal” psychological patterns, I comfort myself.

  By the time I begin walking, I’m more or less ready to face Belinda Harper. No one loiters in the hall, and my steps echo uncomfortably loud even with my high top shoes. I’m almost relieved to reach the less cavernous administration wing. The assistant at the desk has been expecting me: she motions me through with a well-manicured hand after giving me a cursory

  once-over. I nod, deciding to be polite; she personally has done nothing to offend me.

  I don’t have to knock at the principal’s door: it glides open as I raise my hand.

  “Come in, Sierra,” Belinda speaks as if she’s inviting me to share a friendly exchange of neighborhood gossip.

  Perhaps it’s because I haven’t heard her voice

  since my first day at school, but I forgot how charitable this woman could sound. I don’t know if it’s on purpose, but her voice doesn’t match her perfectly manufactured face and angular form.

  She stares at me as I walk in, and I’m wary of her smile. Ironically, I notice we’re both wearing the same color shirt, although in very different styles: hers is a silk peach blouse, and mine is a glorified scoop neck t-shirt with ribbed sides and three-quarter length sleeves.

  “Thank you for arriving so promptly,” she says, her posture rigid and her blinding smile cold. Like I have a choice, I think, wishing I could give this awful woman a piece of my mind.

  “What’s this about?” I ask as I slide into the seat facing her desk. I want to keep my distance, so I very subtly begin sliding the chair back with small pushes with my feet against the floor. It’s only a small rebellion, but it certainly makes me feel better.

  “This shouldn’t take much of your time. We’ll probably be finished in time for you to return to class and catch up on the material being discussed today,” she says. “I had two subjects I wanted to chat about with you.”

  Here we go.

  “Am I in trouble?” I ask. It’s a stupid question—I’m here, after all—but I’m trying to gauge exactly how much trouble I’m in so I can call Harold after this meeting if necessary.

  “Firstly, I want to discuss the letter I required you to write for your classmate Bryan,” she says, acting like I hadn’t asked a question at all. A surge of anger pulses through my head again, but I clench my hands into fists

  and mentally push it back.

  “That was an...interesting method for handling the issue,” I say delicately. Belinda’s responsive smile is infuriating. I try to picture her as a half-breed, but I can’t: it would be an offense to any animal I could think of, even a goldfish.

  “Exactly. I really wanted to make sure you understood the seriousness of what you did, and why it was so very wrong,” she tells me. I have no desire to reply, but she stares at me expectantly.

  “Well, I did write the letter the same day you asked me, and I gave it to him after the morning classes,” I say. She nods slowly, her dark hair neat in a sleek French twist.

  “So I’m told. In fact, your guardian sent me a copy of your letter last evening. I’m thankful he did, because it gave me a chance to really read your letter to judge the content thoroughly.”

  I’m relieved Harold sent her a copy, but for a different reason: this way, she never felt compelled to search for another copy at all. I’m hopeful that Lyle’s virtual publication of my letter will pass by unnoticed by the powers that be.

  “I’m glad,” I say dully, wanting this entire situation wrapped up.

  “I’m sure,” she says in a tone that sounds like she wasn’t listening. “However, as I was reading, I did notice the tone of your letter seemed to require a few observations on my part.”

  “Oh?” I ask, imagining just the sort of “observations” Belinda might have for me.

  “I noticed what I believe to be a significant lack of

  repentance in your overall attitude,” she begins, watching my face with eyes as cold as her voice. “I understand how difficult it might have been for you to lower your pride and admit your wrongdoing, but I am still very concerned about what the tone of your letter implies.”

  I don’t instantly reply; it’s become a norm for this woman to offend me. I’m amazed Belinda, principal of a huge and prosperous high school, has time to nitpick a ridiculous letter, but perhaps she was put here just for this purpose. After all, in spite of what the government’s current party line is regarding equality, most of society would like to keep half-breeds shamed and cowed.

  “I did everything you asked. I wrote the letter and gave it to Bryan. The apology message was clear in the content, so isn’t that all that was required?” My voice is cold too now, not quite as silken as hers, but I hear the frigidness in my words. Belinda must be able to hear it too, because she pauses just a moment before replying.

  “Why are you at this school, Sierra?” she asks. I blink at her, different answers rolling through my mind. I’m pretty sure “I sure as hell don’t want to be" is not an acceptable reply.

  “The latest desegregation laws required all half-breed students to attend human schools,” I say, choosing the easy route of the textbook answer. She nods, a friendly smile back on her face.

  “Very good. I note that you called this a human school,” she says. “You are quite right; Hostetler high is an excellent academic institution that has been educating privileged human students for many, many

  years.”

  “How do you know all that, seeing as you got here roughly the same time I did?” Perhaps I shouldn’t have blurted that out, but her repeated and pointed use of the word “human” is galling. Her smile slips into a tight line before making a quick return.

  “I may be new to this particular school, but I did my research. I was formerly on the government education board in this district, so I do know what I’m speaking of,” she says. Whoopee, I think acerbically.

  “Attending this school is a recent advantage we have granted to your kind, Sierra. M-DNA students have been accepted in schools they were previously denied access to, and this is a considerable privilege.” She pauses for effect. “But privileges can be taken away, you see. I have the power to arrange that, and if I informed the school board of all of your activities, or even read them your letter, they would agree with me in reconsidering your place at this establishment.”

  It isn’t difficult to catch her meaning. I direct my gaze to her perfectly shaped eyebrows, thinking back to what Harold said about drowning this school in bad press. She knows it’s a virtually empty threat, I realize with a sinking feeling in my gut.

  “Is there something else you would like me to do?” I ask, entering damage-control mode. I’m nervous, and the urge to fidget in my seat is maddening, but I grit my teeth and think of my brothers. For all their complaining about how the desegregation laws are forced and ineffective, it would hurt them if I got thrown out my last year of high school. It would hurt the other half-breed students in this and other schools; I can’t help but feel

  like this whole school-related desegregation act has been an experiment. There’s not really a predictable outcome, but I don’t want to be the one to bring everything tumbling down. Belinda warms perceptibly
, apparently pleased with my response.

  “This is the kind of attitude I like seeing in you. A willingness to comply with the rules can take a person—someone like you, Sierra—far in life.”

  It’s not a question of bravery when I lower my gaze from hers; it’s a struggle to not pick up the silver vase filled with yellow chrysanthemums sitting on her desk and chuck it at her head. “Someone like you” according to Belinda is definitely an expression of her opinion that half-breeds are less than people. It’s not something she would ever voice in those words, but the representation of the thought is there in her face, her words, and the way she smiles at me like I can’t comprehend ideas the same way pure humans can.

  Finally, I can look up again. “Is there something else I’m required to say?” My voice is monotone; I almost sound bored. Belinda shakes her head.

  “I won’t belabor the issue with the letter. I am quite capable of mercy, so we can move on from this incident with the full knowledge that you admit your wrongdoing in attacking that boy, and that you must learn to control your nature,” she says, leaning back into her rigid chair in what I assume is supposed to be a relaxed position. I would say she looks like a cat that’s got the cream, but there is nothing animal in her posture or expression. I see nothing but cold, human calculation.

  I nod curtly, unwilling to answer; my hair falls in my

  face again, but I toss it back with a quick movement of my head. My muscles are sore from tension, like I’ve been fighting, but I’m glad that heightened senses for half-breeds are optional; I don’t want to smell her satisfaction as well as see it.

  “Peach as a color becomes you, Sierra. You could be almost pretty,” Belinda says randomly in a backhanded compliment. “You must have admirers among your kind.” Okay, this definitely took a weird turn, I think warily.

  “Maybe,” I grunt the word, resisting the urge to slouch in my chair and stick my tongue out unattractively. My chair is pretty far from her desk now; I’ve pushed it back slowly but surely.