from school tomorrow, ok?”
“Good.” I nodded, knowing he couldn’t see my actions, see how much I
meant it.
“Ok. Sweet dreams. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Ok. Get some sleep tonight, alright?” I decided that was better than: keep
your ass at home and stop breaking your promise to me.
“I will,” he said. It sounded like an honest statement. “Bye.”
I hated that word coming from his mouth. “Bye.”
Lying in bed, images of Adrian and FADE subsided as Hayden took over. I
pondered the fact I’d never felt so strongly for a boy in my life, and I wanted him
with me. All the time. I never wanted a guy with me for more than a couple hours
a day. They drove me nuts with their “guy talk” about cars or sports or work. I
even made dad shut up about motorcycles sometimes because I really didn’t have the brain for mechanics—I just knew how to ride them. And I always left the room when people like Race and Preston started in on their “Who would you rather do” games starring Pamela Anderson, Britney Spears, and numerous other celebrity women who had big boobs and tiny waists.
Where’s this going, Rose? Dad’s words replayed in my head. True, no one ever knows for sure where a relationship will go, but you can still plan, right? I could make plans, lay things out. Organization always made things better anyway.
That does it. I closed my eyes. Before anything else could go wrong, before Hayden and I had another tense period or Adrian showed back up or I found out another dark faerie secret or FADE discovered that I knew something after all—
I was going to do something for me.
I was going to make me and Hayden an official pair. No more of this boy space friend business; I wanted the whole word. The whole three syllables together. Sappy as it sounded, I wanted to call him mine.
I wanted to hear him call me his…
*
Five minutes. My leg jiggled under the desk. I caught a glimpse of the clock over Schzinow’s world map that was still taped to the whiteboard. Four minutes forty-eight seconds. I was dying. I could feel Hayden’s energy through the walls, down the hallway, in the lobby. He was waiting. And I was so anxious to see him, talk to him about us. Not FADE, not Adrian, but me and him.
Four minutes fifteen seconds. What if he said no, though? What if for some reason—whether it be me or him or the fey—he didn’t want us to be together officially? Images of that night in his room resurfaced. Fey weren’t meant to be with humans, Rose. That’s what he’d said. Did he still think that?
Three minutes thirty seconds. No. He’ll want this. He’ll say yes to us. He liked me… more than liked me—I think. Two minutes four seconds. What’ll happen when he finally kisses me? Oh jeez, I hadn’t kissed a guy in centuries. Is there a wrong way to kiss someone? One minute. God, this love stuff was sure easier when people were in junior high. Twenty five seconds. We worried more about hugging the guy we liked rather than kissing him! Ten seconds. Maybe I shouldn’t push it. He’ll come eventually. Seven seconds. No. I wanted him. In fact, I’d almost—five— say that maybe—three—I just might—two—love him?
The bell blasted and everyone leapt to their feet. I threw my bags over my shoulder and headed out into the mass, digging in my purse for my sunglasses. “Hey!” I dug deeper. They weren’t there! I pulled off to the side of the hall, thinking of the last time I took them off. Had I had them at lunch?
No, I thought. Cooking room, first period. I let out a growl. Just my luck. And it was bright enough today I really didn’t want to go without them. Plus, talk about expensive. They were designer and everything!
I practically ran to the F hall. Twice I nearly tripped in my wedge heels, and I cursed myself for trying to look so cute today. Hayden didn’t care what I wore, yet I had still spent an hour putting together a tight, colorful ensemble in hopes of drawing his attention when we met up… and, ok, I was hoping it would bribe him to say yes when I popped the question.
I pushed open the cooking room door, panting as I called, “Mrs. Jansen?”
She didn’t even look up from her desk as she held a pair of white-rimmed glasses in the air. “These look familiar?”
“Yes,” I breathed gratefully, trotting over to take them. “Thank goodness.”
“I had to save them from my third period cheerleaders.” She smiled, hands crossed neatly in front of her as we made eye contact. “They were planning on keeping them.”
I stuck my glasses safely on my head. Freaking cheerleaders. “Thank you.”
Taking a detour, I short-cutted through the cafeteria. I’d just passed the doors when the pocket of my shorts buzzed. Fishing out my phone, I was poised to answer Hayden’s call when a figure jumped out in front of me. Startled, my phone jumped out of my hands, clattering to the cafeteria floor.
Derek stood there, arms crossed, eyes floating over me like an X-ray machine.
“You’re such a jerk,” I snapped, feeling invaded by his stare.
“Yeah but I’m a sexy jerk.” He shrugged.
I rolled my eyes, bending to pick up my cell. “Yeah. Right.”
His sneaker stepped lightly over the phone’s surface. “Saw you with your little boyfriend the other day,” he said, leering downward. “Again.”
“What’s it to you? And get your foot off my phone!” I made a fist and socked him in the calf.
He withdrew his leg. “Ouch! Jeez, you’re such a feisty thing,” he laughed.
I wiped my phone on the side of my shorts, leaving behind minor dust stains. The screen had two new scratches, but at least they were off to the side, and the cover was replaceable.
Derek smirked. “I always liked that about you.”
I looked up, mouth open and about to throw a vicious comment, only to find myself jumping back. He’d tried reaching for me! “Touch me and die,” I snarled, in slight shock. He’d never tried that one before.
“Ooh.” His eyes sparkled like livewires, dangerous and excited. “You’re even sexier when you’re threatening.”
“Back off!” I spat, but I wasn’t fast enough. He reached for me again and succeeded in catching my arm, fingers curling around my wrist. “Eff off, Derek! I mean it! I don’t have time for this! Get off or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” He laughed, watching his victim rebel in his iron grip. “Sick your little boyfriend on me?”
Blood boiling, I lashed out at him. My free hand came up in one swift movement, striking his cheek. The sound of skin colliding with skin actually echoed off the cafeteria walls.
Derek’s game face was gone, instantly cast in shadow as his head rotated back around. His teeth were grinding as his eyebrows fell over his eyes—which had gone from hotwires to forest fires in a second.
“You think you’re so much better than everyone else, Ridgewood,” he hissed, shaking me by the arm. “Why is it I can have everything but you?! What, I’m not good enough for you?!”
His grip was constricting my wrist and I cried out in pain. I had never been truly scared of Derek, not before now. Where were the students? The teachers? Someone to stop this before he snapped my hand off!
“You’re hurting me, you dick!” I managed to yell, despite the fear.
“Awww, baby,” he teased as usual, only now he sounded cruel. “What, the wittow bunny can’t take—”
In the split second that I blinked, Derek’s steel hold was gone and his body was shoved across the cafeteria. I’d been ripped from his hand so hard and fast, my wedge heels lost balance again.
A set of arms caught me around the waist. “Damn, you alright?”
Hayden pushed me into an upright position, where I braced myself against his chest. “Y—Yeah,” I stammered, shaken but incredibly thankful he was here.
His blue irises were tinted with silver. He turned to Derek with a near bloodthirsty expression, one that reminded me too much of Adrian, and the silver darken
ed… right into cold, hard black.
“You son of a bitch!” Derek roared, covering his left eye as he clung to the wall by the student store windows. As he dropped his arm, I could see the swelling already turning bright red. “You think you can just walk in here and disturb my business?”
Hayden’s lip twitched. “Touch her again and I’ll beat the shit out of you.” It was more a promise than a threat. He didn’t want to fight him. Not unless he had to.
“Oh yeah?” That awful, arrogant grin absorbed Derek’s face. He slowly sauntered forward, bouncing on his heels. “Alright, punk. Just remember: you brought this upon yourself.” With his last words, Derek charged.
A scream left my throat as Hayden shoved me aside. Derek collided with him, the boys toppling to the ground. Frozen, I watched in horror as the two teenagers tossed and turned and smacked and punched each other. Derek’s elbow collided with Hayden’s cheek. Hayden’s fist collided with Derek’s stomach. One second Derek was dragging Hayden by his dreadlocks, the next Hayden caught him under the ankle and threw him down.
“Stop it!” I shrieked. This was more than your typical guy fight between football players; they were getting violent, like wolves fighting for position as Alpha. We were gaining eyes from teens across the cafeteria.
“Hey, fight!” Some kid with a big nose and buckteeth called out, pointing in our direction. If he’d been in arm’s distance I’d have strangled him as groups started heading towards us instead of out to their cars and buses.
Derek grabbed a nearby chair from one of the lunch tables. “What makes you think you’re good enough for her, huh, punk?!” He yelled, blood dripping from where Hayden had torn his lip open. “Why the heck would she pick you, street trash?”
“Eff you, Derek!” I snarled, then turned to Hayden and gasped. He was cut, too. Only his was spread over his eyebrow instead of his lip, and it wasn’t swelling and dripping red.
It was swelling and dripping black.
Images of Arizona, of his friend Harvey consumed me. Oh, crap. “Hayden!” I cried, seeing he didn’t notice.
He staggered backwards, barely sparing me a glance. He caught me pointing at his face as an ink-colored trickle streamed down the ridge of his nose. He shivered. Swiping a sleeve over his brow, he smeared the black blood over his forehead. The color left his face.
Derek screamed, “Take THIS, street trash!”
Hayden snapped up, but it was too late. Derek swung the chair, catching him in the chest and face and sent him backwards through the air. His skull smacked a table before he fell to the cafeteria’s cement floor.
“Hayden!” I scrambled to my feet.
He was on his stomach, unconscious. He didn’t move, but his dreads were slowly darkening with new blood. I had to grab the edge of a table for support, my knees shaking—a sign the stupid things might give out.
Derek turned to his nearby crowd of onlookers and threw both fists into the air. “YEEAAAHHH!” He screamed triumphantly.
Some of the guys from the sports teams joined him with, whoo-hoos, and, go Derek, but most were silent, glancing between me and the lifeless form on the floor. Their faces said unspoken words: they didn’t know what to think.
My blood boiled worse than before, like the innards of a live volcano. “Look what you DID!”
“What?” Derek nodded his head at me, challenging. “What did I do, Rosie baby? I’ll tell you what I did: I just got rid of a low down, street rat, mother f—”
Hayden bolted up at the speed of light, chair in hand, and struck Derek deadcenter. The jock soared through space like the footballs he loved so dearly, right through the student store window. The glass smashed on impact, every last shard crumbling from the frame. He landed with a hard thump right before the drink counter, the glass raining over his blood-stained Abercrombie clothes.
My jaw practically hung to the floor. Gazing over my shoulder, I watched as Hayden threw the chair down, panting as he stared at his fallen enemy. But he in no way looked triumphant. He looked afraid, guilty maybe… and it seemed to be physically painful for him to have to look at his wet, blackened sleeve—though luckily most of his blood was on him, and the few spots on the table and floor were already turning dark red.
Hayden turned first to the crowd of students, all gaping. Some had their hands over their mouths, others muttering and taking off from the scene. The football players were clearly enraged, but even while their muscles flexed and their chests puffed up, none had the guts to step forward and challenge him after seeing their best friend lose. There were no teachers present yet.
But there was a security guard.
The dark-skinned man with the FADE bracelet, the one I’d seen with Mr. Thomas numerous times this week, stood off behind a band of cowering nerds, watching Hayden with intensity. A cell phone was attached to his ear and his lips were rapidly moving.
We were in trouble. Severe, severe trouble.
Hayden finally looked at me, but made no attempt to come. We stared, reflecting the terror and sorrow in each others’ eyes. Mine were burning with oncoming tears. I could feel our connection crumbling like dirt.
“Hayden.” I took a step forward.
He started backing away. “I’m sorry, Rose,” he said, wiping more blood from his brow. “Really, really sorry.” Throwing his hood over his head at the sound of incoming staff members, he turned and took off for the doors that led to the courtyard.
And he was gone. All over again.
Everything happened in a glut of images after that. Panicked students were coming forward, teachers were finally appearing—some screaming—as they saw Derek’s body mangled on the store’s tile. Clusters of kids that I didn’t even know surrounded me, asking questions, trying to help. An ambulance cried somewhere in the distance. I was sitting in the principle’s office with security guards who were not from FADE. Dad and Joe came into the school, faces absorbed in the perfect definition of astonishment.
The whole time, I felt like a ghost, floating over the scenes as they happened. My body was involved in moving and being moved, yet I was far away, head playing repeats of my protector’s face, his eyes, his words of I’m sorry before he turned away. Gradually, the scenes turned fuzzy, and—just like Hayden’s blood—went black…
*
“Rose.” A voice in my head spoke. “Rose, wake up.”
Someone gently shook me. Ok, maybe the voice wasn’t in my head. “What?” I moaned, blinking my eyes open.
Dad’s silhouette sat at the edge of the bed. The clicking of my fan overhead was heard as I came to and realized the whole room was dark with the exception of my night light. Where was the afternoon sun?
“Dad? What time is it?” My voice was hoarse, like the voice of someone who just got over having strep throat.
“It’s about seven, Rose,” he answered, tapping something in his hand. It was the house phone. “And we need to talk.”
“Why—” A flood of pictures consumed my brain. Hayden, Derek, ambulance, FADE security guard, black blood. My stomach cramped. “Oh no.”
Dad took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “What happened today, Rose?” he demanded. “How did this happen?”
Where is Hayden? I had to find him, had to be with him. Where had he gone? Did he go home? He ran—I remembered that much for sure.
“Um.” I could barely focus on dad’s question. “Derek Harland grabbed me on my way out to meet Hayden and… Hayden threw him off me.” Knowing dad would go berserk with the details, I summed it up: “Derek started the fight, and Hayden ended it.”
Dad dropped his head to his hands, ruffling his hair. “He didn’t just end it, Rose. He sent Harland to the hospital. I just got done talking to his parents!” He waved the phone in the air. “Do you know how pissed they are?! And they’re chewing me out for information that I don’t have! Do you know they can sue Hayden for this? Send him to jail, even?”
“How badly is Derek hurt?” Not that it was Derek I cared for, but if Hayden cou
ld get sued, jailed. Mr. and Mrs. Harland weren’t my favorite people, either. They would find someway to punish Hayden. Like their son, they were good at getting what they wanted.
“He’s spent the last two hours in surgery getting the glass removed from every inch of his skin!” Dad spat. “You’re just lucky he didn’t kill him, Rose. If he’d killed him…” He left the sentence hanging. The way the words came out, it suddenly dawned on me that he didn’t blame Derek for this; he was blaming Hayden.
“This is not Hayden’s fault,” I hissed, unable to believe whose side he was taking. “He’s the only reason Derek didn’t snap my freaking wrist in half! He defended me, dad, you should be thankful he protected me!”
Dad rubbed his mustache and groaned. “Rose, I do thank him for protecting you. Really… but this is his second offense against the law. The police are looking for him.”
A black frost crept over my body. “Have they… Have they found him? Dad! You didn’t tell them any of his personal information, did you?”
“No,” he grumbled. “I didn’t tell them, and they weren’t happy about it. But because he’s my employee I will keep all records confidential… unless he’s fired.”
A lump invaded my throat. “Dad, you wouldn’t.”
“I could. But I haven’t yet.” He turned, face wilting in sorrow. “You can’t see him anymore, Rose. If the police catch him, they could easily put him away. It’s over.”
I shook my head. He might as well have been taking Chinese from Chanel; I couldn’t grasp his words. “You can’t,” I croaked. “I won’t leave him—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Rose!” Dad stood up abruptly. “Why are you doing this to me? Listen, I told you as long as he didn’t make trouble I wouldn’t ban him from you! Two fights, Rose!” He jammed two fingers in the air. “Two on his records now! What can that possibly tell me as a father protecting his only daughter?”
“He’s not violent!” I sat up in my bed, tousled hair falling everywhere. My fingers squeezed the blankets like stress-balls. “Yes, he’s been in two fights but both times he was trying to protect someone—”
A Taste of Silver Page 27