Skin (44 Chapters #1)

by B. B. Easton

  I was so lost in thought that I barely realized that I had gotten out of my mom’s car, entered the building, and was rounding the corner to my locker when I saw him. Standing there. Waiting for me.

  Pale blue zombie eyes locked onto mine, and a series of still images from Friday night came rushing to the forefront of my mind. Freckles. Drawings. A knight on horseback. A smile.

  But this Knight wasn’t smiling.

  Instead of walking past him to get to my locker I stopped just a few feet in front of him, deciding that I was close enough. I tried to make my face contort into something resembling relaxed indifference, but I couldn’t tell if I was pulling it off or not. From the way Knight was studying me, I guessed not. Was he waiting for me to do something?

  Oh! I know!

  I pulled the muffin my mom gave me that morning out of my purse, still wrapped neatly in its paper towel.

  “Hey. I brought you something, just to say, you know…thank you.”

  Knight looked at the muffin like it disgusted him, then turned those undead eyes on me like I disgusted him too.

  “Y-you don’t like muffins?” I asked.

  Knight let my question hang in the air, giving me a look that made me feel like a piece of shit for not already knowing the answer. What the hell? How was I supposed to know he didn’t like muffins?

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Knight practically spat the words at my doughy offering.

  “Um...no?” I just stood there, blinking my big confused eyes at him, the soft hunk of carbs still outstretched in my hand.

  “I have food, Punk. I eat. You’re the one who’s fucking starving. That’s your breakfast, isn’t it? You probably told your mommy some bullshit little story about how you were gonna take it to school and eat it with your friends, didn’t you?”

  I knew his stare was powerful. I knew it hurt when he turned it on me. But until then I didn’t realize it could slice me open and expose my insides like a laser. I didn’t know it had the power to gut me.

  “Well, we’re friends now—aren’t we, Punk?”

  I slowly nodded my head, embarrassment and anger probably screaming back at him now that my mask of cuteness had been cut to ribbons.

  “Good. Then you can eat that fucking muffin. Now.”

  When I hesitated Knight narrowed his spectral eyes at me. Then he slammed his palm against the locker just above my head. I ducked and pulled my hands up around my ears automatically, the tingle of unshed tears building behind my eyes.

  Staring down at me as I cowered, Knight said, “Punk, either you take a bite of that muffin or I’m gonna shove it down your fucking throat.”

  I went to turn away from him—both to shield myself from his stare and to keep him from seeing the angry tears that were welling up in my eyes—but in doing so I accidentally smashed my huge backpack into the lockers next to me. My clumsiness only added to my embarrassment.

  I took a bitter bite of the baked good in my hand, and it was so surprisingly delicious that I almost forgot why I was so upset. I closed my eyes and savored the sweet, fruity fluffiness, floating away on a flesh-colored cloud of calories.

  “Give me that.” Knight’s clipped tone cut off my moment of pleasure, reminding me that I was supposed to hate food, and hate him even more.

  Knight extended his hand toward my back and flicked his fingers up twice, gesturing that he wanted my backpack. I gave him my best sideways eat shit and die look, but when his nostrils flared and the muscles in his jaw contracted, I shrugged that shit off and handed it over.

  “Jesus, Punk. What the fuck do you have in here? A dead body?”

  Now it was my turn to let the question hang in the air. I took another spiteful bite of muffin, leaned back against the lockers, and crossed my arms over my chest.

  Knight glared at me for a second before turning around and kicking the bottom left corner of my locker door. The metallic sound clanged and echoed down the hallway as Knight swung the door open and stared into my completely empty locker.

  “Where’s all your shit?”

  I flicked my gaze from his face to the bag in his hand and then resumed my staring contest with the wall across from me, taking another exaggerated bite of muffin that no longer tasted like anything other than contempt.

  “You carry all of it?” Knight’s tone was significantly softer, and I heard something in it that made me feel even worse than I already did. I wanted to explain, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even look at him. I simply stared straight ahead while he put two and two together, and continued my mechanical cycle of biting, chewing, and swallowing.

  “Why don’t you use your locker, Punk?”

  Bite.

  “Why the fuck don’t you use your locker, Punk?”

  Chew.

  “Are you fucking crying?”

  Swallow.

  “You know what? Fuck this.”

  Slam.

  Knight dropped my bag of books on the floor where he stood and stormed off. Once he was gone twin black tears slid down my face, as I slid down the locker I’d been leaning against. My backpack and I sat side by side—two lumps of similar weight but one was far too heavy for its size.

  And one was far too light.

  I felt exposed. And humiliated. And attacked. But that wasn’t why I was crying. I was crying because of what I heard in Knight’s voice when he asked me why.

  Evidently, the boy who hated everybody had feelings, and I’d just crushed them without saying a word. By standing there trying to look tough I’d allowed him to believe that the girl he took care of Friday night—the one he’d shown his drawings to—would rather suffer day in and day out than risk standing next to him for a single minute. I could have easily come up with some lie to spare his feelings, but I hadn’t. Because I’d wanted to hurt him.

  And now I just wanted to take it back.

  The first bell rang, indicating that I had seven minutes to get my ass to first period. I looked at my backpack, but for some reason I couldn’t make myself pick it up. I couldn’t shoulder the burden of my own cruelty.

  So I stood up, smoothed the wrinkles out of my Ramones T-shirt, adjusted my studded belt, and kicked open my locker with one tiny black combat boot—nailing it on the first try. In they went. All of them. Book after book after book. With every pound that I unloaded my conscience felt lighter, but not light enough.

  I never felt light enough.

  I went back to my locker after first period to switch out books—and to hopefully apologize to Knight—but he wasn’t there. My locker was just a few feet away from the exit that led out into the student parking lot, so if I hurried I’d still have enough time to get out there and suck down a cigarette before second period. Which my nerves desperately needed.

  I emerged from the woods into the church parking lot and saw him immediately. He was standing on the opposite side of the parking lot, away from everyone, smoking and staring at me. Like he’d been waiting to see if I’d show. From that distance he looked even more intimidating somehow. His stance, his glare, his Neo-Nazi boots and braces, the word Oi! splashed like blood across his T-shirt which barely fit around his chest and arms. It was no wonder he always stood off by himself. Knight’s presence alone filled half the parking lot.

  I lit a cigarette and took a step toward him. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to say—or if I would even make it all the way over there without having a panic attack—but I had managed to piss off Skeletor the Skinhead and I had to make it right. Both for my conscience and for my safety.

  I made it about three steps closer before the world spun out from under me. Literally. Lance scooped me up from behind and spun me around at least a half dozen times before setting me back down on my feet and rotating my floppy body around to face him. I laughed and clung to his biceps to steady myself, still clutching my Camel Light between two fingers.

  At nine o’clock in the morning it was already well over eighty degrees outside, but Lance had that goddamn hoodie on anyway
. The one that made me weak in the knees. The one that made me homesick for a bathroom stall. I looked up at his Prince Eric face, with that stripe of brown and green hair, and smiled.

  “You’re so pretty.”

  Shit! Did I just say that out loud?

  I wanted to cringe and clamp my hand over my mouth, but when I saw the megawatt, Disney-caliber smile it earned me from Lance, I relaxed. At least on the outside. On the inside my brain was screaming, Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me!

  Right on cue, Lance began to lean toward me. I closed my eyes and waited to feel his lips on my lips again.

  Oh my God! He loves me! We’re sooo getting married! It’s all happening!

  But nothing happened. When I opened my eyes again, confused and disappointed, Lance wasn’t even in front of me anymore. He was bent over picking something up off the ground. I blew out an exasperated huff just as Lance stood back up…holding a dandelion.

  With his panty searing dimple-cheeked grin still firmly in place, Lance stuck the yellow flower behind my ear and said, “So are you.”

  All of the chemicals in my fifteen-year-old brain fired at once, making me feel almost as high as whatever the fuck that yellow thing was that he gave me the week before.

  I squealed and wrapped my arms around Lance’s waist, pressing my cheek into his chest. He pulled me closer, and I inhaled him without shame. His hoodie smelled like cigarettes, sweat, and some kind of earthy vegan deodorant that was having trouble keeping up with a six-foot-three-inch teenage boy who insisted on wearing a black sweatshirt in the summertime. My favorite combination.

  When I opened my eyes they landed on Knight, who I’d forgotten was out there, and who was also walking directly toward us. The Magnolia and pine tree branches that crisscrossed overhead slashed war paint-like shadows across Knight’s hard face. As he advanced he exhaled a slow stream of smoke through his nostrils, which danced in and out of the pockets of sunlight breaking through, further obscuring his features behind an ominous, iridescent shroud.

  Knight tore his eyes away from mine just long enough to flick his still-lit cigarette directly into a broken window on the side of the abandoned church. Then he passed us by without a word.

  My stomach churned with fresh guilt. And fear. I’d come outside to apologize but instead I’d just twisted the fucking knife. That motherfucker was the last person on planet earth I wanted to piss off, and somehow I’d managed to do it twice in one day.

  Oblivious to what was going on, Lance tapped my shoulder and said, “Hey, girl,” in his silky-smooth voice.

  I painted my smile back on, looked up at Lance’s gorgeous face, and asked, “What’s up?”

  “Is it hot out here, or is it just you?” he asked with a one-dimpled smirk.

  I giggled and slapped him on the arm. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

  As Lance and I walked back down the trail I turned around to make sure there wasn’t any smoke coming out of the church window.

  Maybe I shouldn’t go out of my way to apologize to Knight, I thought. Maybe I was right to avoid him. I mean, who the fuck flicks a lit cigarette into a wooden building? A fucking psycho, that’s who. The same fucking psycho who bullied me into eating a muffin and stabbed some kid in art class and ruptured Skater Boy’s kidney and carved up Tony’s hood with a six-inch blade and cost me two hundred dollars this weekend.

  I took one last puff off my Camel Light and smashed what was left of it into the trail until I was completely sure it was out. Then I walked arm in arm with my beloved across the student parking lot, resolute.

  You know what? Fuck that racist asshole.

  Of course, my attitude was a little different once I no longer had a six-foot-three-inch punk rocker on my arm. Before lunch I sprinted to my locker, darting in and out of classrooms with the Mission Impossible theme song playing on a loop in my head. Once I’d swapped out my books, I darted out the exit doors and ran around to the front of the building just so that I wouldn’t have to walk back down C hall and risk passing Knight.

  Popping into the restroom, I touched up my makeup then headed into the cafeteria, praying that Juliet wouldn’t be there. I loved her, but being at a table with Knight was going to be uncomfortable enough. I didn’t need the girlfriend of the guy whose car he fucked up there too.

  I took my usual spot next to Lance but really wished I had someone on my left as an added buffer between me and Knight, whenever he finally arrived. Spotting August walking up I waved at him and patted the seat next to me. It was a shitty thing to do, using him as a human shield, but I’d been wanting to talk to him anyway. I didn’t like how we’d left things the week before.

  Within a few minutes August and I had fallen into an easy banter about our favorite Beavis and Butthead episodes, and thankfully, Juliet was nowhere to be found. So far so good. I hadn’t even chanced a glance at the end of the table, but I hadn’t heard him slamming shit around down there so I figured Knight was a no-show too.

  Colton leaned forward so that he could see August and me from the other side of Lance’s big body and shouted, “Hey! You guys want to come over after school? My mom just stocked the fridge with PBR.” His voice got all sing-songy on the “R,” trying to entice us with the world’s best shitty beer.

  With Juliet being MIA I was in need of a place to go. And if other people were going to Colton’s house with me then I probably wasn’t in any danger of being dry humped, either.

  “How are we all going to get there?” I asked. “I can forge a note, but I don’t think all three of us can do it and get away with it.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  Huh?

  I spun to my left and peeked around August to see Knight sitting at the end of the table, just as still as a jungle cat. How long had he been there? He usually made such a fucking ruckus whenever he sat down.

  Knight’s newer calmer disposition gave me the creeps even more than the older angrier one did. I didn’t trust it. Something was up. And why didn’t he have a tray?

  All four of us looked at one another, then Colton shrugged. “Okay, but you’re not going to like, curb stomp us or anything, right? I mean, you can curb stomp them all you want,” he gestured to us, “but I’m way too handsome to get my teeth knocked out.”

  Everyone laughed nervously at Colton, except for Knight, who just raised an annoyed eyebrow at him in warning.

  “Cool, cool. I guess we’ll just meet you in the parking lot,” Colton said, then leaned back and whispered under his breath, “Oh my God! I’ve always wanted to ride on the Battle Ram Chariot!”

  I snorted and bit my tongue to keep from giggling. Evidently, I was the only one who got Colton’s Skeletor reference.

  When the dismissal bell rang I headed straight to the student parking lot with a bundle of nerves sparking and short circuiting inside my empty stomach. But Knight had beaten me out there. He was leaning against the flagpole with his arms crossed, waiting.

  In the bright summer sun, Knight’s skin, hair, eyebrows, and irises appeared to be almost colorless. He looked like somebody from another planet. Peach State High School was an incredibly diverse place, with over four thousand students of every race and nationality, but nobody looked like him.

  Nobody dressed like him, either.

  I remember wondering where he bought his clothes. Everybody else wore colorful Doc Martens that they purchased with their mommies’ credit cards at the mall, while Knight wore jet black kidney kickers that looked like they’d been issued to him by the military. Everybody else wore baggy jeans, all tattered at the bottom, but Knight wore his tight and rolled up to show off his bright red bootlaces. Everybody else wore studded belts, but not Knight. Nope. Red braces. His entire look was both iconic and foreign. And I hated how much it interested me.

  What made a person raised in the same town as the rest of us so…different? What happened to him that didn’t happen to everyone else? What had he been exposed to that we hadn’t? I wanted to open up his shaved head and peek ins
ide. I suspected that his insides were probably just as dark as his outsides were light.

  Without a word Knight pushed off the flagpole and walked toward me. I felt a sliver of fear before I assessed his body language and realized that he didn’t seem angry. He wasn’t happy, he was just…not angry.

  I stopped walking once I was a couple of feet away from him, but Knight kept approaching. He didn’t stop until we were toe to toe, at which point he reached up and grabbed both straps of my backpack and slid them off my shoulders.

  “It’s lighter,” he said, surprised.

  I blushed and looked down as he tossed my bag over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. “Um, yeah. I…I put my stuff in my locker. Sorry.”

  Thick fingers clasped my chin and tilted it up. Knight’s face blocked out the sun, but I had to squint to look at him anyway.

  “The next time some motherfucker makes you cry, you don’t say you’re sorry. Do you understand me?” His voice was quiet, but firm.

  I nodded and blinked rapidly.

  “You don’t get to be sorry.”

  I nodded again, looking at his mouth. His eyes were too intense.

  “Next time, you kick him in the fucking balls.”

  An unexpected laugh escaped me just as Lance, August, and Colton walked up. Horror radiated from their faces at the sight of Knight looming over me, clutching my face. Lance’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  Oh my God! Is he jealous?

  Knight dropped his hand and within milliseconds Lance smoothed his features back into their usual flawless, charming positions. Smiling like nothing was wrong Lance gestured toward me with his chin and said, “Hey, girl.”

  I swallowed hard, regained my composure, and delivered my line. “What’s up?”

  “You must be tired,” he glanced very obviously at my backpack on Knight’s shoulder, “because you’ve been running through my mind all day.”