by Zara Rivas
The first thing he noticed when he looked up was her. Leaning so casually against the lockers like she owned them, dressed in that short schooolgirl skirt that probably made countless guys lose concentration in classes they shared with her. She was crossing an arm over her chest, her other arm reaching up so her fingers could absentmindedly rest on her lips. Lips, he saw, that were doing a very bad job at containing what was sure to be a very loud laugh once it escaped.
The second thing he noticed was that the hallway was a complete and utter wreck. Papers strewn everywhere, some shredded by the foot traffic of the students, others taped haphazardly to the lockers in highly visible places. And then he saw the headline. And his picture, blown up onto the front page.
"Student Makes History, Reward for Information," the large headline read, followed by the smaller subtext, "Sinclair first Carroway student to undergo sex change."
Transfixed by the headline, Sinclair walked over in a haze to the newspaper on the locker and ripped it off, reading it.
"Xavier Sinclair, 18, of Carroway High made history last week by undergoing the first sex change in our prestigious school's history. However, the procedure was completed without his consent and he has since issued a reward for information regarding the whereabouts of his genitalia. Sources say Sinclair was—"
He stopped reading after scanning the rest of the front page, noting that the article continued on pages four through seven. Astonished, he saw Sloane less than three feet away, looking for all the world like the Cheshire cat. Somehow she managed to inform him silently that he'd lost, the game was over. Give up now or face something worse than being the subject of ridicule for the rest of your high school life, her sparkling eyes said. He didn't see her phone until she'd already snapped a picture of her face, shaking her head in amusement.
"Photogenic, Sinclair, even when you're gaping like a moron," she said, voice silky. She tucked her phone away.
He closed his mouth and let out an incredulous breath of a laugh. Running a hand roughly through his hair for a second, he met her gaze again. Sloane was definitely in her element, he saw, every bit the queen putting her unruly subjects in their places. Well, he thought, I'm not one of your subjects. And I'm sure as hell not conceding defeat.
"You know," he said smoothly, "you must spend a lot of time thinking about my dick if you decided to write a five-page article about it."
"Lack of a dick," Sloane corrected.
"Aren't reporters supposed to be well-informed?" he said, undeterred. "If you're so convinced I have no dick, I could show you." He heard a choked and badly-muffled laugh and turned to see Sloane's friends Avery and Torrance pressed up against the wall, gasping for air. "Ladies," he greeted.
"Oh please, Sinclair, you wouldn't have the guts to," Sloane scoffed, "although it would be interesting. I've never seen the results of a sex change before." The troublemaking smile back on her face, she shifted as though to push herself off from the lockers and move towards him.
Oh, no, you don't, Xavier thought, this is my move. He stepped closer and grasped her wrists, smirking a little at her gasp. Pushing them down to her sides but not letting go, Xavier watched her eyes go wide as he backed her up against the lockers and closed in on her personal space. She swallowed and stared at him.
"Don't have the guts, hmm?" he murmured, leaning his head down so he was nearly eye-to-eye with her. "Talking like that, you're practically begging for it."
"Am I now?" she said softly, recovering quickly from his intrusion and letting the coy smile pull at her beautiful lips again.
He made an affirming noise in the back of his throat, moving closer.
"Ahem." They both froze.
Xavier didn't move, but Sloane edged out from his grasp and he released her wrists. She peered around him and brightened considerably.
"Hey Hotchins! Long time no see," she grinned. The man standing before them did not look amused.
"Mr. Sinclair, Miss Lexington, to my office please," he said, voice chilly.
Chapter Six
Ink cartridge for printer: $35. A shit-ton of paper: $29.99. Hotchins' face when he sees paper strewn like confetti across the whole school: priceless. ;)
"Are you texting, Miss Lexington?" our irate headmaster called from in front of me and Xavier, leading us on to his office. I quietly snapped my phone shut after I sent the text to Finn and slid it out of sight.
"No, sir," I said lightly. "Not at all."
Sinclair snorted from beside me and I shot him a look.
Ten minutes later we were acting like chastised children, seated in the uncomfortable chairs across from Hotchins' desk and pretending to quail under his glare. He steepled his fingers and surveyed us over them, remaining silent for a full two minutes. Straightening suddenly, he looked directly at me.
"Miss Lexington, do you think I am dumb?"
"Nooo," I said quickly. "Noo no no." Calling the headmaster dumb? Death wish.
"So essentially," he continued, "when you say that you don't think I'm dumb, you're agreeing not to play stupid with me."
"Err, yes?"
"Excellent." His satisfied voice bode ill for both Sinclair and me. "Miss Lexington, did you print that bogus article in the school paper, and then proceed to defile my hallways with it?"
That man had a stare that could make a diamond drill go dull out of intimidation. "Yes."
He nodded, unsurprised. He turned to Sinclair. "Mr. Sinclair, did you continuously harass Miss Lexington by having students barrage her with questions about Valentine's Day, and also convincing some of the school choir to serenade her at her locker?"
"Yes," he said, sounding bored.
"Right," Hotchins said, still satisfied. "You are right to say I'm not an idiot, Miss Lexington. I thought this little scuffle would disappear on its own, after you," he pointedly looked at Sinclair, "called out Miss Lexington over the speakers, and you," he said, glancing at me, "filled his locker with gum. Apparently we aren't dealing with maturity here, though, so I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands."
"How did you find out about the gum?" I asked, curious.
"A member of the janitorial staff informed me. He seemed to think it quite hilarious."
"That's because it was," I chirped.
"Indeed," he said frostily. I quieted.
"How did you get into the school, Miss Lexington?" Hotchins demanded swiftly.
I shrugged.
"Don't," he gritted his teeth, "play games with me right now."
"Lockpick set," I whispered meekly.
"A lockpick set," he repeated skeptically. He sighed when I vigorously nodded my head. You're not getting those keys, I thought triumphantly.
"What do you think your brother would have to say if he knew you were pulling stunts like this again? I thought you'd gotten over it last year."
"My brother recognizes that some things need to be done," I said defiantly, raising my chin slightly.
"Such as attempting to destroy one of your classmates?"
"Isn't that a bit dramatic?" I bit back. "I wasn't destroying him. We were playing a game. That's it."
"A game including insults, teasing, bullying, destruction of school property and breaking and entering!" Hotchins sighed. "I like you, Sloane, you're a bright student, you're at the top of your class, and you have gifts that you could do a lot of good with, if you chose to. But if you don't get yourself in line, I may not be able to help you if you go too far."
I nearly couldn't keep myself from rolling my eyes. I'd received this speech from him so many times I could nearly recite it by heart. He saw my lack of enthusiasm and refrained from delivering the rest of it.
"What would your father think of this behavior?" he said heavily. A sharp spark of anger shredded through my chest.
"My father?" I bit out savagely. Sinclair flinched, not expecting the outburst. Rage coloured my voice and it rose in volume with every word until I almost shouted. "What would my father have to say? Oh, let's see, why do
n't we. How about a big 'fuck you, Sloane!' Where is he? If he cared, where the hell is he? My father doesn't give a shit about me so don't bring him into this!"
Hotchins sat behind his desk, resigned. "My apologies," he finally said quietly. "Your father isn't the issue here. However, destruction of property and breaking and entering aren't offenses to be taken lightly, Miss Lexington. And you, Mr. Sinclair, are a new student, but we have high standards for you nevertheless."
"What's the punishment, Hotchins," I interrupted hollowly. I slumped down in my chair, disappointed in myself for letting my control slip.
"Detention," he said finally, and I stared at him in surprise. Hotchins didn't think detention was productive. "Saturday."
"Detention."
"Detention," he confirmed with a small smile, "and one more thing." I knew he wouldn't let us get away with it that easily. Hotchins liked to come up with creative punishments. I understood, though. He really cared about his students, and he recognized that making them sit around with nothing to do in a classroom full of vagrants wasn't really an effective reforming tool.
He looked at me. "You're probably the most talented artist in the entire school right now, Sloane. You have a lot of unusual ideas and creative energy. And I have been informed courtesy of your former headmaster that you," he said to Sinclair, "are an excellent photographer and a fantastic concept artist."
"What do you want us to do?" Sinclair asked, showing something more than indifference for the first time.
"We have something called a Collaborative Art Project every year," Hotchins said, and my eyes went wide. "I am sure Miss Lexington will explain the details to you in full later. I am ordering you both to work together and come up with an idea for the focal piece of the Project. It is a great honor to be chosen for this task, and as you're both seniors, whatever you come up with will be the focus of the entire school's creations, not just the senior class's."
"Holy shit," I breathed, heart racing. A stunned half-smile froze on my face in disbelief, and Sinclair shot me a quizzical look. I shook my head to clear it, and looked at Hotchins, who smiled at me.
"You're both excellent artists," he said softly, "and you have a lot of potential to be great partners at it. One more thing. This project is to be your interpretation of each other. That's your punishment. You may go."
I stood to leave in a daze and bumped into the chair on my way out. Sinclair's face clearly said 'what's wrong with you?' but I ignored him.
Standing outside the closed office doors, I released a huge breath and grinned. Sinclair looked bored when I rounded on him.
"Truce?" I said, tilting my head.
"Truce," he remarked flatly, "says the girl who mocked my penis to the entire school. I don't think so."
"Says the boy who had a bunch of morons follow me around and profess their attraction to me."
"Touche. Still no truce." He started walking away. That was my job.
"Hey!" I jogged to catch up, and he eyed me out of the corner of his eye. "We have to work together on this project," I said, as though explaining it to a two-year-old. "So truce? You don't want to fail, do you?"
"Worried I'll bring down your average, Miss Valedictorian?"
"I'm not the Valedictorian."
"That's not what Hotchins said." Sinclair stopped in the middle of the empty hallway. "Look, why do you want a truce? Can't we just do something separate and put it together at the end?"
"That's not how the CAP works," I argued, "it's a true collaboration. Besides, he said he wanted it to represent the essence of the other person. And if you hate me, we won't be able to work together."
"I don't hate you, Lexington." He looked at me like I was being dumb. "We treat each other like shit and you don't see anything wrong with calling a truce?"
"No, I don't." He heard the honesty in my tone and paused.
"Why not?"
"We're going to have to spend a lot of time outside of school working on this thing. We don't have any classes together."
"So?"
"Good grief, Sinclair, you spend the better part of two weeks following me around like a lost puppy dog trading insults with me, and suddenly I need you around and you're more reluctant to call a truce than a cat is to jump into a swimming pool."
An infuriating grin crossed his face and temporarily rendered my brain useless. He fell back on his favorite pastime, backing me up into the lockers. "Say it again."
"Say what again?" Acid filled my tone.
"Say you need me." His gold-green eyes seemed to get darker.
"Again with the ego trip? Can't you give it a rest? No? Well then, I need you, Sinclair, I don't know how I ever lived without you."
His eyes bored into mine, and I waited.
"Fine. Truce. But it's off when the project is done." He stalked away.
"We'll see," I said quietly. I didn't think he heard me.
oOoOo
Spring started to show up early, so I delighted in throwing my windows open dramatically and do my homework while sitting on the window-seat in my bedroom. The fresh air felt fantastic, tickling my face and gently blowing my hair around. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, letting the sun warm my face. I heard a strange noise and opened them again, finding myself face to face with Finn.
"Jesus Christ!" I shrieked, nearly falling off the seat. He burst into hysterical laughter, rolling around at my feet.
"M-My name's Finn, but you can call me Jesus if you want," he choked, tears streaming down his face. He clutched his stomach and gasped. "Oh, Sloane, I wish I had a camera for that face you just made."
"How did you get in here without me noticing?" I smacked him upside the head and he batted my hand away.
"Climbed up the trellis, of course."
Our house was extremely tall, but my mother had been fond of gardening, so there were multiple trellises and flower stands arranged around it. My window happened to be right under one of them, and it made the perfect climbing apparatus. Dominic threatened to move it when I went through my rebellious sneaking-out-the-window phase, but never followed through.
I heard a muted voice calling throughout the house, and whipped my head around to look at the open door.
"Honey, I'm home!" somebody teasingly called.
"Blake!" I screamed, running down the stairs, Finn in pursuit. I flung myself on Blake, giving him a hug so tightly he had to pry me away.
"Grip's gotten stronger, I see," he grinned down at me, and I shoved his shoulder playfully. He high-fived Finn and then gave him a bear hug.
"Good lord, what did you two do, coordinate your arrivals?"
"We'll never tell," Blake winked. "Couldn't miss the Valentine's dinner with my favorite people."
"I'm so excited you're here!" I rushed out, joyously hugging my brothers again.
"Me too, sis, me too," Blake said, and reached down to pick up his duffel bag.
"What's that? Laundry?" I eyed it critically.
"No, you know I have this magical thing in my apartment now that does that for me. You just put dirty clothes in, push a button, and they come out clean!" His eyes sparkled with sarcasm. "It's revolutionary!"
"Shut up, dolt," I grinned.
"Manners," he tsked. "I'm staying for the whole weekend."
"Look out!" Finn chimed in. "The Lexingtons are back in business."
And indeed we were.
Three hours later, after Dominic arrived at the house, we squeezed into Blake's tiny convertible and went out for our Valentine's dinner.
Alright Lex, we should get this over with. Work on project tonight? Xavier's message glared at me. I sat surrounded by my brothers in one of the booths at Fours, idly flipping through messages on my phone while Dominic and Jake caught up, Finn took a bathroom break, and Blake went outside to make a call. We were the picture of unity. We'd just arrived and it usually went something like this. In a few minutes they'd all come back and sit down, and we wouldn't leave until Mr. Elleson came over and kicked us
out when he thought we needed sleep.
Can't, out with the fam, I texted back, and Finn plucked my phone from my fingers. I didn't bother protesting as he read my conversations. It wasn't like we kept secrets anyway; he would know if I lied—twin's intuition or something like it. I'd filled Finn and Blake in on the rest of the Sinclair Situation, as I'd dubbed it, and they'd been in stitches on the floor. Finn reclaimed his keys, though he wasn't around to pull pranks at the school anymore, but that was how it should be. We would hold onto them until we could pass them on to someone worthy of the Lexington legacy. Dominic and Blake came back and crammed themselves into the booth, merrily squishing me and laughing at my futile attempts to shove them off. Ladies and gentlemen, this was what having three brothers would get you.