by Zac Brewer
Julian looked nervous. I doubted that anyone else could tell, but I knew him. He was fiddling with his wedding ring and darting his eyes from one student to the next. I wondered how long he’d practiced his spiel in the mirror. If my classmates noticed, they didn’t show it. They merely sat in silence.
Julian slapped his hands together to break the tension, flashing us all that Julian smile—the one you wanted to trust, even if you were hesitant to. “First off, I want you to move your chairs into a circle. We each have an equal voice in our discussions and I want to make sure that all of your voices are heard. After that, we’ll discuss our class objective in detail.”
As everyone stood and began shifting their chairs around, I remained where I was, locking eyes with Julian. I held my hands palms up in a question. What the hell, Julian? Seriously. Were we in elementary school and this was sharing time?
But Julian merely pointed to my chair and then to the empty spot left in the broken circle. Reluctantly, I picked up my chair and moved it into the place intended for me. Immediately, the girl to my left and the boy to my right slid their chairs several inches away, like I had some kind of disease or something. This was so childish. The next thing you knew, he’d be dividing us up into groups.
“Every day we’ll participate in group discussions and group activities, but seventy percent of your grade will be dependent on a single project—one which you will complete together. In groups of two.”
A pinprick headache formed quickly above my left eyebrow. I knew what was coming, and I knew that Viktor must have had a hand in it. I didn’t have to look across the room to know that Grace was feeling the same way. Golly gee, I wondered who I’d be working with.
Julian began reading off names in pairs, moving down the list until he came to the one I’d been waiting to hear. “Grace Dane?”
I glanced over at my sister, who was looking at Julian stone-faced. For a second, I saw our mother in her profile. My heart softened in a moment of mourning at the hint of the woman who had soothed my nightmares and bandaged my wounds, but it didn’t last. I refused to let it. Grace was nothing like our mother. Still I watched her, wondering what cracks would form in her expression when Julian spoke my name. Surely, she had to know it was coming.
“You’ll be paired with Marissa Connelly.”
Relief filled Grace’s features. Confusion must have filled mine. I’d been pretty well convinced that I’d had it all figured out, that Julian was planning to use this class project as a way to bond my sister and me together somehow. The notion that I’d been wrong shook me slightly. But the shock didn’t last long. Good. I still wanted to know what she was up to, but I didn’t think being joined at the hip for the next month was the best way to achieve that.
A girl sitting three chairs to my right said, “Marissa’s out. Apparently there was a mix-up at the chemistry lab this morning and she had to be taken to the hospital. They think it might be cyanide poisoning.”
Marissa. Marissa. The name sounded familiar. And then it hit me—the girl Grace had been arguing with at the party last night.
“Jesus.” The word left my mouth without thought. Everyone looked at me for a moment before returning their collective attention back to our instructor.
“That’s terrible. I hope the rest of you will be that much more careful around all those chemicals. I heard Mr. Meadows has you trying to blow up furniture, first thing in the school year? Even one mislabeled bottle can do so much damage.” Julian shook his head. I wondered how far my parents were from his thoughts. “Ah, well. Moving on. Let’s see . . . ah. Grace, it looks like you’ll be partnering with Adrien instead.”
Of course.
My tension returned, but as I glanced back at Grace, I noticed her tension had intensified as well, and I took a small amount of satisfaction in that. Looking on the bright side, I realized that spending more time with Grace might lead me to the answers about her involvement in what happened to our parents. The best place to begin was at her side.
Grace raised her hand, and when Julian nodded at her, she said, “Exactly what will this partner project entail?”
“I was just about to get to that.” Julian turned to the smart board and began typing out bulleted points on his laptop, which then appeared on the board. “Each member of the partnership will be responsible for creating an extensive case study on the other member. I want you to learn their background, what you think are the major influences in their life, and what you’d say is their preferred method of communication. Ultimately, I want you each to tell me in thirty pages why your partner communicates in the way that they do, and how best to reach them in a way that will encourage them to effectively and freely communicate.”
I snorted. “Sounds more like social psychology than communication.”
Julian locked eyes with me. “You don’t consider the two linked, Mr. Dane?”
“I don’t consider them at all, actually. As I’m sure you know, I prefer the actual sciences.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dane, for demonstrating why this class has been put on the list of electives here at the Wills Institute.” A girl seated across from me chuckled. A guy near her laughed and then coughed into his hand. To my right, someone snorted. Julian retrieved a stack of paper packets from his desk and began passing them around the circle of roughly twenty students. Each packet looked to be about five pages thick, presumably his class syllabus and further, detailed instructions for our ridiculous partnered project. As he passed one to me, he said, “Seems like you have a lot to learn . . . particularly about communication.”
It was strange, my return to Wills. When I’d left, I wasn’t popular, but I was well liked by most everyone—staff and students alike. And now I was a joke, a pariah, and an arrogant dickweed who had abandoned his sister in her time of mourning. Her time. As if I were not allowed to have had my own. And now even Julian was joining their chorus of dissent.
Not that I was wallowing in self-pity or anything.
Inside my pants pocket, my phone buzzed. No one heard it, but if I were caught with it on, I’d get a demerit and assigned chores. I was mad enough at Julian that I almost didn’t care. But then Julian got a phone message of his own and stepped into the hall for a moment to check it, giving me the chance to pull out my phone and look at it. As I’d suspected, the unknown number from before had texted again. Where does she go at night?
I held the phone out of sight and texted back. Who is this?
What does she do there? What is she hiding?
Answer me, asshole. For the last time, who is this?
Watch her. Tonight.
“Adrien.” Julian stepped back into the room, looking less than pleased with me. “You know the rules.”
“Come on, Julian. Give me a break.”
He looked at my phone, disappointment filling his eyes. “Hand it over and report to the headmaster. And just so you know, I want you and Grace to focus your background research largely on the past four years you’ve spent apart.”
I stood up and slapped my phone into his palm before walking out the door. I’d agreed to take Julian’s class to help him out, so he’d have a familiar face in the crowd, somebody to have his back in case things got sticky. But now he was just being a dick to me. And why? To prove a point? And exactly what was the point, anyway?
I ambled down the hall and knocked on Headmaster Snelgrove’s door. He opened it, looking surprised to see me. “Adrien Dane. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company so very early in the semester?”
“Jul—Mr. Smith sent me here for using my cell phone during class.” It was impossible to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“Not a wise way to begin your senior year, now is it? You know the rules.” He took his seat behind his desk and gestured for me to sit down across from him. “One demerit. You’ll spend an hour assisting our custodial staff after class tomorrow. Now, why don’t we have a little chat?”
Reluctantly, I took a seat, sighing. “Awesome.”
The headmaster met my eyes, his expression warm. I’d known him for as long as I’d been attending Wills. He was a kind man, and fair, but firm. Of the staff here that weren’t family to me, he was probably my favorite, if I’d been asked to choose. It didn’t hurt that he and my dad had been very close. “How are you, Adrien? Adjusting okay? I’ve already heard a few things that have given me some concern.”
I didn’t know how much to tell him. It wasn’t the Wills Institute that was making me miserable. It was Grace. It was me. It was my parents, my past, and the sick glue that stuck it all together. I shrugged as casually as I could manage, but it was clear he saw through my calm facade. “Nothing I can’t handle. Mostly gossip and speculation and people taking sides where there are none to take.”
He sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers together on his stomach. “I was happy to learn of your return to the Wills Institute. I hope it was your decision, and not something that you regret doing.”
“Truthfully, I would have much rather stayed in California, and I plan on returning there in the next few weeks. Just have some things to sort out first. But I’m happy to be here. Everyone has been so warm and welcoming, it’s almost as if I never left.” Sarcasm practically dripped from every last syllable I spoke. Mostly because I was making no attempt to mask it. We both knew I didn’t want to be here. Why pretend?
Headmaster Snelgrove tilted his chin into his chest and eyed me over his glasses. “I understand that your godfather asked you to return. Sort of a personal favor.”
“He did. It’s fine. I just . . . I have some things to work out and then I’m sure the rest of my time here will be smooth.” It was a lie, and we both knew it. I wasn’t sure of anything, and I wasn’t happy to be back. It was nothing against the school. But the Wills Institute was my past, and I had left it a long time ago. I cleared my throat against my fist. “Can I go now?”
He looked at me as if gauging my potential reaction to what he was about to say. Then he offered up a thin-lipped frown. “We have a wonderful new counselor on staff. Perhaps you’d consider stopping in and saying hello?”
“Yeah, maybe.” Another lie. Apparently, I was full of them. Speaking of being full of things, I’d also already had my fill of counseling, thank you very much.
“I’ll let you get back to class now. And Mr. Dane . . .” He sat forward, raising his eyebrows at me. “Rules are in place for a reason. Please try to remember that.”
I stood without another word and exited his office. As I walked out the door, Mr. Garrow passed by and said, “Tie, Mr. Dane.”
I muttered, “Screw your tie.”
He whipped around to face me, his eyes wide at what he thought he’d heard. “Excuse me?”
I blinked at him, then smiled politely, adjusting my tie. “I just said I needed a new tie. This one doesn’t like to hold its knot.”
He narrowed his gaze at me—not entirely certain he’d misheard me the first time. “Get back to class.”
“Yes, sir.” As I turned away from him, I loosened my tie again and headed to Julian’s classroom.
I opened the door, and whatever discussion had been going on ceased. I held my hand out to Julian, my jaw clenched. “I’m here for my phone.”
The look in his eyes was pleading with me to just calm down and realize that he was in the right here. But I was too far beyond pissed for that now. It was bad enough that the entire school was against me. But Julian? That was too much.
He handed me my phone with an air of reluctance, and then I picked up my books and moved out the door. His voice followed me into the hall. “Adrien—”
“Nope.” The door clicked shut to punctuate my response. As I moved down the hall, I thumbed through the school directory site on my phone until I found Marissa’s father’s number.
Clicking the number, I put the phone to my ear. It rang twice before a man answered. “Hello?”
“Yes, Mr. Connelly? My name is Adrien Dane. I go to school with Marissa here at Wills and just heard about her condition. I wanted to make sure she’s okay.”
His voice sounded rough, jagged with worry. “Nice of you to call, Adrien. Marissa’s . . . she’s not great. I’m afraid she won’t be returning to school anytime soon. And frankly, after what happened this morning, I’m not sure she’ll be returning to Wills when she does.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Do . . .” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “Do they know what caused it?”
His voice shook when he spoke. “It was an accident. A bizarre one that should never have been allowed to happen on a school campus, but an accident all the same.”
An accident. Right. One caused by a certain angry friend by the name of Grace Dane. “Please tell her I hope she feels better soon.”
“I will. Thanks for calling.” The call ended and I started to climb the tower stairs. I didn’t stop moving until I came to my door. Written on it in Sharpie in big, bold letters was the word traitor. I stood there staring at it for a good, long time. Is that what I was? A traitor? To whom? Grace? The Wills Institute? The entire student population? Had I committed some grievous offense, some unforgivable sin by leaving behind my parents’ deaths and a sister who hated me and trying to find my own way to deal with my grief? I’d dealt with my grief by leaving it behind. Why the hell was that a problem, or anyone else’s business for that matter?
I opened the door to my room, slamming it behind me. I could have called the resident advisor and reported the graffiti, but screw it. Screw them. If this was how the student body wanted to view me, then fine. I was a traitor. Hell, Benedict Arnold was a traitor here in the states, but a hero in England. He even got a statue. Maybe I’d get a statue, too. It just wouldn’t be at the Wills Institute. Besides, my time here was quickly shrinking. So was Viktor’s. After that, I was gone. Outta here. Never looking back.
I lay on my bed for the rest of the day, watching as the light moved down the walls to the floor before disappearing altogether. My mind was filled with more noise than anything, swirling thoughts of what to do and what I had done, analyzing and overanalyzing and coming up empty-handed. When it got too dark to see without turning on the light, I left my room and went to see Josh at the radio station.
When I got there, he looked at me with a half smile, half frown that said he’d already heard about what had happened in Julian’s class. “Ahh, if it isn’t Mr. Popularity.”
“Bite me.” I sat on the couch, placing my face in my palms with a heavy sigh. “How do I fix this, Josh? I’ve never been a good student, but I used to love being at this school. Now I’m a social pariah. It’s beyond stupid.”
“You’re not who you were when you were here before, Dane. You’re a different guy, with a different life. You can’t expect to walk in and resume your old life when you haven’t been here to live it.” “Losing Sleep” by John Newman came to an end. Josh turned in his chair and flipped a couple of switches, not taking time to say anything into the microphone. “Swing Life Away” by Rise Against started to play. Josh turned back to face me. “Grace stayed. So while her life is different, too, the whole school has watched that change in her. No one knows the changes in you. So of course they side with her.”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back in his chair. It sounded like he’d given this entire situation a lot of thought. It was comforting to know that I wasn’t alone in that, anyway. “It may sound stupid, but if you want to fix this and have a relatively pleasant time here, I’d recommend getting involved. Be seen at the parties, let shit go when people attack you. Laugh it off, even if you don’t feel like it. Basically don’t be a dick. And don’t let them push you out.”
I shook my head, dropping my hands in my lap. “I’m not kissing ass just to get accepted.”
He stood up from his chair and took a seat beside me on the couch, giving me a friendly pat on the knee. “I’m not saying you should kiss anyone’s ass. I’m saying that you have this wall around you that’s made of s
olid, four-foot-thick ‘screw you,’ and if you don’t knock it down, you’re going to have a very lonely time here.”
A hundred defensive thoughts ran through my mind—most prominently “screw you,” which only served to prove that he was right. I took a deep breath and blew the thoughts away in an attempt to take Josh’s advice. When I looked at him, I simply said, “Okay.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Okay?”
“Where do I start?”
A smile touched his lips. “There’s a small party in the art barn on Friday. Just a dozen or so people. Come with me, maybe smile at a few people, hold your tongue once in a while, and we’ll see what happens.”
He hesitated a moment before he said, “Grace will be there. But if you want everyone to stop hating you, you’ve gotta learn to be in the same room with her. Without that angry wrinkle permanently creasing your forehead.”
Josh was right. I knew he was right, but hated that he was. We both stood and I grabbed his hand after we high fived, pulling him into a hug. I said, “Thanks, man.”
As we parted, he said, “No problem. That’s what friends are for . . . right?”
I walked out of the room, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time.
As I reached the ground floor of the library, I caught a glimpse of Grace as the back door closed behind her. It wasn’t like her to be by herself at night. She should have been hanging out with her friends in the common room or at the dining room holding court after dinner. She was up to something, and it was about damn time I found out what.