“Oh no—we’re late!” Kaitlyn’s voice was squeezed and anxious as she wrapped her arms around herself protectively.
“It’s okay—at least we’re together,” I tried to comfort her and that was when our Gym teacher came into view.
Coach Vasquez, as I later learned her name was, appeared to be a short, sharp-faced, muscular woman somewhere in her mid-thirties to early forties. She had black eyes set in a hard face and she was wearing spotless white tennis shorts and a short-sleeved t-shirt to match. Around her neck was a silver whistle and her short black hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail.
“All right, ladies—what’s the hold up?” she demanded, glaring at us. “Every other student in Period One is already lined up and waiting for roll call. Why aren’t you?”
“S-sorry we’re late, Coach Vasquez,” Kaitlyn faltered. “We were just…just…” But here she seemed to run out of words.
“It’s my fault,” I said, jumping into the breech. “I’m new here—this is only my second day—and Kaitlyn was showing me the way. We’ll come right out on the field so we don’t hold you up any longer.”
“Oh no you won’t! Not until you dress out,” the Coach said, frowning. “Snap to it, ladies—let’s go.”
Kaitlyn made a show of looking into her black leather satchel.
“I’m afraid I forgot my gym clothes, Coach,” she said humbly. “I guess I’ll have to take demerits again today. Sorry.”
Coach Vasquez’s little black eyes narrowed.
“Oh no you don’t, Miss Fellows—I’m on to you! Ever since the start of term it’s been one excuse after another. ‘Oh, Coach Vasquez, I have a cold,’ she mimicked in a high, girly voice which sounded nothing like Kaitlyn’s soft, pleasant tone. ‘Oh Coach Vasquez, I’m on my period and I have cramps. Oh, Coach Vasquez, I forgot my gym clothes!’”
“But, Coach—” Kaitlyn began.
Coach Vasquez held up a hand to stop her.
No more excuses!” she declared, glaring at poor Kaitlyn. “Today and for every day for as long as I am your teacher, you will dress out. And to be sure of it, I have taken the liberty of having the Laundry provide some extra gym clothes just in case you ‘forget’ yours again.”
Turning, she went to the pile of towels by the showers and grabbed some black and white folded clothing which was sitting there. She thrust these at Kaitlyn, who had no choice but to accept them, though I could tell she didn’t want to.
Then the Coach turned to me.
“Well and have you forgotten your gym clothes too, Miss Latimer?” she demanded.
Actually, I had. Also, it was not encouraging to see that the extremely strict coach already knew my name.
“Yes, Coach,” I said. “I’m sorry—I didn’t think to put them in my bag.”
“Fifteen demerits, Miss Latimer,” she snapped, handing me a set of the black and white gym clothes as well. “For tardiness and for failure to be prepared for class. Next time maybe you’ll remember your gym uniform and make more of an effort to be on time. Now hurry—both of you—change!”
Kaitlyn and I retreated hurriedly back to the lockers and, our backs to each other, began to disrobe. My stomach knotted as I saw that the gym clothes were black shorts and a white t-shirt with cap sleeves which barely covered my shoulders. Great…just great.
As I took off my uniform and hung it in one of the empty lockers, I couldn’t help examining myself to see exactly how much my new gym clothes showed.
The answer was basically everything.
The long lines of neat white scars marched up the insides of my forearms from wrists to elbows, extremely visible in the harsh florescent lights shining down from overhead. Likewise, the cutting scars on my inner thighs flashed when I moved my legs. Despite my pale skin, or maybe because of it, the scars stood out bleakly, as obvious as though I had drawn on my pale skin with a sharpie—albeit a white one instead of the traditional black.
Strangely, after my mother had died, I had lost the need to cut myself to ease my own emotional pain. But the scars remained, stark and white, never letting me forget that awful part of my past as well as advertising it to anyone who saw me in short sleeves and shorts.
If there was a better way to scream, “I am a troubled teen cutter with emotional issues and a history of depression!” I didn’t know what it was.
Then I heard a muffled sob behind me.
Turning, I saw that Kaitlyn was dressed out, just as I was. What I saw on her creamy, light brown skin pushed my own neat rows of scars out of my mind at once.
Her hands weren’t the only place where the skin was twisted and pinkish-white. The awful burn marks she wore ran all the way up the backs of her arms and around the front of her neck—what little I could see of it when most of her face was hidden by her long hair. It looked like she had worn a shirt made of flames and it had left its mark all over the top half of her body.
But those scars weren’t the only ones she had. Her entire left leg was covered in the twisted pink and white scar tissue as well. It occurred to me now, that Kaitlyn always wore dark tights under the white knee-socks which were standard issue with the Nocturne Academy uniform. I hadn’t thought much of it before—supposing her to be cold natured.
Now I saw the pitiful truth of it. She’d been trying to hide her scars, the same way I had been desperate to hide mine. Only hers were so…so much worse.
“Coach Vasquez, please,” she said in a muffled voice, turning to face our Phys Ed teacher. “Please, don’t make me go out in front of the rest of the class like this!”
“I most certainly do not expect you to go like that!” Coach Vasquez declared.
For a moment I thought Kaitlyn’s soft, desperate plea had softened the Drake teacher’s heart. But then I saw the mean little gleam, far back in her tiny black eyes and my heart sank.
“You’ll need to put your hair back in a ponytail—both of you,” she snapped out. And, pulling two black hair elastics out of the pocket of her pristine white shorts, she shoved them at me and Kaitlyn.
Kaitlyn looked at the black elastic band as though it was a poisonous snake.
“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking a little. “No, please—you don’t understand…”
“I understand that the two of you are looking at more demerits and possibly a suspension if you don’t get that hair back and get your asses out on the field in the next thirty seconds!” Coach Vasquez snapped. “Now, move!”
Kaitlyn and I both took the black bands and began mechanically putting our hair in ponytails. My new friend moved with quick, jerky movements—as though she just wanted to get the act over with. When she was finished, she kept her head down, her eyes pointing at the ground—but I could still see what she had been trying so hard to hide.
The entire left side of her face looked melted.
It was as though someone had held her skin to the fire and it had softened and run like wax. Her pert little nose was all right but her left eye was drooping and nearly closed. Likewise, the left corner of her mouth drooped downward and her left ear was nothing more than a melted lump of pinkish tissue.
It was an awful, disfiguring injury, made somehow worse by the fact that the right side of her face, which was unmarked, was remarkably lovely.
I suddenly felt guilty about worrying so much about myself earlier. My own neat white rows of scars seemed insignificant beside Kaitlyn’s. It was like comparing a shallow scratch to a gaping wound.
But even with the terrible scarring revealed, Coach Vasquez’s face didn’t betray even a shred of compassion.
“That’s right,” she said sternly. “Finally ready to go. The two of you will have to run in your uniform shoes today which will probably give you blisters. Serves you right for making the rest of the class wait—hopefully you’ll learn a lesson.”
She turned to lead the way out of the locker room but I ran forward and caught her by the arm, unable to stand seeing the mute misery on Kaitlyn’s face.
&
nbsp; “Wait!” I demanded in a low voice. “Coach Vasquez—”
“How dare you?” She yanked her arm out of my hand. “That’s another five demerits, Miss Latimer! Keep going and you’ll lose your homeward privileges this weekend!”
But at that point, I didn’t give a damn about demerits or privileges. All I could see was Kaitlyn’s scarred and melted face and the miserable look in her one good eye.
“Listen,” I said to the Coach. “I know this is a magical school and all but haven’t any of you people ever gone through any kind of sensitivity training? What the hell is wrong with you, forcing Kaitlyn to go out and show herself to the class this way when she clearly doesn’t want to?”
Her small black eyes narrowed meanly.
“Just for that remark, Miss Latimer, you will be running laps in the sun this entire period. And if you don’t want your friend, Miss Fellows, to join you, I suggest you go now!”
In any other normal school, I would have left and gone straight to the office to speak to someone in authority. There was no way Coach Velasquez ought to get away with this kind of emotional cruelty!
But Nocturne Academy wasn’t a normal school and I wasn’t at all sure how a student reporting a teacher would go over. It was conceivable that I would get not only myself, but also Kaitlyn suspended or expelled. Also, from the almost frantic shake of her head and the look of fear in her one good eye, I could tell Kaitlyn didn’t want me to take the chance.
Filled with frustration, I turned and headed through the large wooden door which led out onto a vast grassy field, flooded with mercilessly bright Florida sunshine.
There was nothing else I could do.
22
I know people who live up North think Florida is some kind of paradise. They talk about the perpetually sunny weather and blue skies like it’s some kind of Xanadu. A Heaven on Earth.
Well let me set the record straight—it’s not.
The minute I got out into the punishingly bright sunshine, I could almost feel the freckles bursting out on my pale skin. Plus, even though it was still not quite mid-morning, the air was already unpleasantly hot and clammy. Walking outside was like moving through tepid soup and the marshy smell of the lake which surrounded the vast green field I found myself on, didn’t help matters either.
Despite my discomfort though, it wasn’t really myself I was thinking of. I could feel Kaitlyn behind me, like a silent, scarred ghost. Though I couldn’t see her, I knew she would be keeping her head down, her eyes locked on the ground so she wouldn’t have to see the reactions of people who looked at her.
And unfortunately, there were plenty of people to look. Already lined up on the verdant green field were thirty other students, their arms behind their backs, as though they were military personnel standing at parade rest. I saw the guys were lined up on the right side of the field and the girls were on the left with a little space of about three feet between the two lines.
Heads turned to look as Coach Vasquez chivvied the two of us out onto the field. Then, instead of letting us just go stand at the end of the girl’s line, she took us to the head of the boy’s line and made us turn, so that our left sides were to them as we faced the end of the field.
“Listen up, class!” she shouted in that booming voice of hers. “These are the two students who made you all wait out in the hot sun for an extra ten minutes today. Take a good look so you can thank them later.”
Then she pushed me and Kaitlyn forward, one hard hand in the center of each of our backs.
“Go on, ladies,” she demanded, “Let the class see you.”
I never liked to be the center of attention so this kind of public shaming was awful—but I could tell it was pure torture for Kaitlyn. She kept her eyes down and walked stiffly, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. But I knew she must feel the curious and revolted stares of our classmates as they examined the ruined left side of her face which she had been hiding for so long.
I tried to come around to her side, so I could shield her from view—at least a little—but Coach Vasquez poked me hard between my shoulder blades.
“I don’t think so, Latimer,” she snapped. “Get back in your place!”
I gave her a swift, furious glare but I was forced to go back to my place to the right of Kaitlyn and the two of us kept walking stoically down the line.
I couldn’t help noticing as we passed by the boys’ line that Sanchez and his crew were in our gym class—which only made everything worse. I couldn’t believe I had the bad luck to share both first and second period with the Drake thugs.
As Kaitlyn passed him, Sanchez began making loud retching noises in the back of his throat.
“That’s enough of that, Sanchez,” Coach Vasquez remarked, laconically. “You know I don’t tolerate that in my class.” But she didn’t really sound angry, I thought. More like she wanted to laugh at his antics but was holding herself back since she was, after all, the teacher. I remembered that they were both Drakes and wondered if she was planning to cut her own kind more slack—it certainly seemed that way.
“Sorry, Coach—it’s just her face is all nasty and melted—like cheese on a pizza!” Sanchez said loudly, pointing at Kaitlyn. “Thought I was gonna lose my breakfast there for a minute!”
He made retching sounds again and the boys around him broke up into trollish laughter. All but one of them, anyway. I saw Reyes, the same guy who had tried to get Sanchez to leave me alone the day before, standing in line white-faced and silent, staring straight ahead. There were two pale dents on either side of his flaring nostrils and I had the feeling he was angry—furious actually. The rage radiated off him in waves, though he didn’t say a word.
When we reached the girls’ line the looks of sharp curiosity and apparent disgust they directed at Kaitlyn left no doubt how our classmates felt.
“I always wondered what she was hiding with all that hair!” whispered one Fae girl—not very quietly—to another.
“Disgusting!” the other Fae agreed. “They shouldn’t allow Norms at the Academy at all—especially not such ugly ones!” And both of them wrinkled their perfect noses as Kaitlyn and I passed by.
When we got to the end of the girls’ line, Coach Vasquez finally allowed us to stop while she strolled back to stand out front, like a general inspecting her troops.
Still looking straight ahead, I reached blindly for Kaitlyn’s hand and held it in my own. I saw her glance at me from the corner of her good eye uncertainly, as though she wasn’t sure what to think. But when I squeezed her hand, I felt her squeeze back.
You’re not alone! I wanted desperately to tell her. And it doesn’t matter what any of these assholes say about you—you’re my friend and you matter to me. I won’t leave you!
Unfortunately, I was forced to do just that only a moment later.
“All right now, class—enough wasting time!” Coach Velasquez bellowed. “We only have forty minutes of this period left and I intend to make the most of it. Boys—most of you are on the football team so go to the left side of the field, inside the track, and run plays. Girls,” she continued, looking at us. “We have the volleyball net set up on the right side—divide into teams. Soledad and Carmina—you two are captains,” she went on, pointing to two girls who were obviously Drakes. “Pick your players and let’s see some action.”
I was prepared to stay with Kaitlyn—no doubt the two of us would be picked last—but Coach Vasquez chose that moment to remember me.
“Latimer,” she bawled, glaring at me. “What are you still doing standing there? I told you to run laps all period and I meant it. Now go!”
She pointed at the vast, oval track which encompassed most of the left field and I knew I had no choice. With a last comforting squeeze of Kaitlyn’s hand, I had to let her go and jog towards the wide oval track.
The track was made of some kind of dark red rubbery material painted in chalky white lines and I soon found that Coach Vasquez had been absolutely right when she said that r
unning in my school-issued Mary Janes would cause blisters. I hadn’t jogged around even one complete lap before I felt the stiff backs of my shoes rubbing my heels mercilessly. Meanwhile, I was also developing a stitch in my side and the sun climbing higher overhead was merciless.
I’d never been much of a runner, even in the nice cool overcast weather I was used to in Seattle. And running in Florida heat and humidity was like jogging through a sauna. Still, I had no choice but to keep it up. Around and around the red oval track I went, feeling the backs of my heels rubbed raw while I watched the other students perform the activities the Coach had decreed.
The guys were running football plays—which seemed to consist of huddling together for a minute, then breaking apart and throwing the ball around in some kind of pattern I couldn’t begin to comprehend—not that I wanted to.
In the meantime, on the other side of the vast oval, the girls had finally divided into teams and they were beginning to lob the volleyball back and forth over the net. I saw it all as I ran past them, pacing around the outside of the oval track and wincing with every step.
Coach Vasquez watched the two groups for a little while, blowing her whistle and shouting occasionally. But then she seemed to lose interest and went back to the stone wall of the castle, near the locker room entrances, where there was at least a little shade from the scorching sun.
I watched her enviously, wishing I could sit in the shade myself. I was dripping sweat by now and the stitch in my side had developed into a knife blade, stabbing me with every step.
Sanchez seemed to see the Coach’s retreat too, because as soon as she was preoccupied with a magazine, which she had picked up to read, he began to “accidentally” lob the football into the middle of the girls’ volleyball game at regular intervals.
This, of course, meant he had to go retrieve the ball, which he always seemed to get from the two blonde Fae girls who giggled when they passed it back to him.
The Edict might decree that interspecies dating was a big no-no but clearly interspecies flirting was alive and well, I thought dryly, clasping a hand to my side as I jogged slower and slower. I was nearly walking now—just hoping Coach Vasquez didn’t look up and catch me at it.
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