Southside High

by Mankin, Michelle

  “Hey, beautiful.” Brown Eyes’ full lips slowly curved and my stomach flipped. His perfectly pitched voice was as good as his eyes. “Wanna join us?”

  I shook my head, noting as I backed away that there was an additional pair of black boots inside one of the bathroom stalls. The walls of the stall rattled, accompanied by fleshy slaps and heavy breathing.

  My cheeks burning, I exited the way I’d entered. In other words, just as shakily. I turned around as the door closed behind me.

  Sabrina waited outside, her arms crossed, and rolled her eyes at me. “I tried to warn you.”

  “Who was that?” I asked, glancing at the bathroom door again, my heart racing.

  “Warren Jinkins. The king of the losers.”

  “He’s . . .” I envisioned him again in my mind’s eye, with his long sun-streaked brown hair, warm brown eyes, and lean muscular body. Chill bumps coated my skin, and I hugged my arms around myself. “He’s kinda handsome.”

  I undersold it, knowing not to overstate my interest in any guy. Sabrina might not be a mean girl, but I knew to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself, or mean girls would trample them.

  “Jinkins is all right. A good lay. Not that I’ve gone there, but I see chicks throwing themselves at him all the time. But he only fucks seniors.” Sabrina hooked her arm with mine. “Avoid that restroom in the mornings unless you wanna get an eyeful.”

  Numbly, I nodded.

  “If you think Warren’s good-looking, wait till you see his best friend. Bryan Jackson is super-fine.”

  War

  “Blond, smoking curves, amazing amber eyes . . . she was fucking gorgeous.” I strutted down the hallway, my hallway, spray-painted with the warning if karma doesn’t get you, war fucking will. Bryan strolled alongside me while I tried to shake off the spell the blonde had put me under.

  “Sure you’ve never seen her before?” Bryan asked, giving me a funny look.

  Yeah, so I’d never asked about a chick before. They came to me. They came for me. And repeat. It was boring.

  But not this girl. She was different. I knew it.

  “She must be a new student.” I stopped in front of the door to Mr. Yurelli’s classroom. “Stop by the office later, and see if that chick who has the hots for you can find out who she is. Get the new girl’s schedule. Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Bryan nodded. “I hear you.”

  I yanked on the metal handle to open the classroom door, and we sauntered in side by side. The dudes clapped and muttered approvingly as we returned to our seats. Everyone knew where we’d been and what we’d been doing.

  I got a couple of glances from chicks who wanted to be next, and a few glares from jealous jocks wearing varsity jackets like Randy’s. I didn’t get what it was about them that made some of the chicks automatically drop their panties.

  After settling into my seat in the back row, I stretched my long legs out into the aisle. My wallet chain swayed on my hip. Bryan settled into a seat on my right side. He wore the same basic shit—worn T-shirt, faded jeans, even the chain.

  “Comfortable, Warren?” Mr. Yurelli looked back at me, the chalk in his hand poised over some stupid-ass equation on the blackboard.

  “For the moment.” My lips curved as some girls giggled and a few guys guffawed.

  Shaking his head at me, Mr. Yurelli returned to teaching.

  Bryan opened his notebook and started writing shit down. He had a mom who cared about him and how he did in school. Mine didn’t give a shit. Besides, what fucking use would I ever have for algebra?

  I was going to be the lead singer in a band . . . a world-famous rock band. Bryan would be my guitar player. We just needed a few additional members to round out a group. Some good tunes under our belt, and we’d be out of Southside fast.

  Fame. Money. Chicks. Booze. We’d have all we wanted, in that order. My old lady wouldn’t be able to ignore me when I was on the cover of Rolling Stone.

  After a lot of boring stuff, the bell rang. From the back of the room, Bryan and I ambled out last.

  “War?” Mr. Yurelli extended his arm into the aisle, stopping me.

  “Yeah? What’s up?” I jerked my chin high, giving him respect. I didn’t understand the stuff he taught. But since he basically let me do whatever I wanted in his class, I liked him.

  “Mr. Garrett wants to see you in his office.”

  “Fuck,” Bryan said. “What do you think he wants?”

  “Dunno.” I hadn’t done anything wrong. But the principal summoning me to his office on my first day back, within the first hour or so of my return, was good for my bad reputation.

  “I’ll head there now, Mr. Yurelli.”

  “Thank you, Warren.”

  “No problem, Mr. Y.”

  I headed through the doorway and stopped just outside it. The corridor was crowded with Latinos, blacks, and whites, all mixed together and shuffling along apathetically. Why study? Why care about anything? We all knew we’d end up going nowhere, just like our parents.

  “Catch up to you in history class?” Bryan asked.

  “Yeah. Probably. I might skip, pick up another bitch.” And fuck her while thinking about the new girl, I added silently. That had worked to make the finish spectacular with the brunettes. “If not history, then lunch. Grab us some chips from the caf and a couple of sodas. I’ll meet you outside on the corner.”

  “Okay.” Bryan lifted a finger in the air and dove into the flow.

  I turned left and went upstream against the traffic. Holding my chin high and my shoulders back, I slid on my shades. People jumped out of my way. No one wanted to mess with a six-foot-one badass with an attitude.

  Plus, word of what had gone down with Kyle had probably already made the rounds. My reputation remained intact. I might not be a rich piece of shit like my old man, but here on my end of Southside High, I ruled.

  With the fluorescent overhead lighting shining down on me like the spotlights on a stage would someday soon, I confidently strode through the rapidly emptying hallways on my way to the office.

  “Mr. Jinkins.” The secretary rolled her eyes behind purple-framed glasses when I entered the office. “You’ve returned from the great unknown.”

  “Had to, Mrs. Hodges.” I leaned over her desk and lowered my voice, dropping my shades a second to give her a low-lidded scan. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, well.” Looking flattered and uncomfortable, she shifted in her chair.

  “Warren,” Mr. Garrett barked from behind her. “Quit flirting with my secretary.” He hooked his thumb toward his glass-enclosed space. “My office. Now.”

  “Later, Mrs. H.” I tapped her desk with my knuckles, and I swore she sniffed the air as I strolled past. Her reflection in the glass revealed she was fanning her face with a paper file.

  The alternative school had been shit, but I still had my touch with the ladies.

  “Hey, Mr. G.” I entered his office and folded my frame into the red plastic chair on the right. It was my preferred roost.

  “Mr. Garrett,” he said predictably, correcting me as always. “And remove the sunglasses, young man.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I put my shades on my head, watching him round his desk and take a seat to narrow his brown eyes on me. “You summoned. I came. Whatcha need, Mr. Garrett?”

  “For starters, I’ll take that switchblade you brought with you onto my campus.” He tapped his desk with his large black hand. “Now, Mr. Jinkins. I really don’t think you want to violate the terms of your parole. Or do you?”

  After a short stare-down while I wondered how he knew, I shook my head.

  “The weapon, if you please.” He tapped his desk again.

  I leaned back in my chair, shoved my hand into the front pocket of my jeans, and withdrew the switchblade. When I placed it on his desk, the metal glinted, reflecting the overhead light.

  “Oh, Warren.” Mr. Garrett shook his head, looking resigned. “What am I going to do with you?”

 
“Dunno.” I tensed, my gut tightening, though I actually liked him. He didn’t just let me do what I wanted like Mr. Yurelli. Mr. Garrett seemed to really give a shit about me.

  “Not going to turn you in, though I should,” he said, and I exhaled a sigh of relief. Too fast, apparently, because he put on his dead-serious face. “But if you ever bring a weapon into my school again, I’ll send you back to juvenile detention so fast, your head will spin.”

  “Noted,” I said grimly.

  “Good. Glad to hear that. You don’t seem to note much of anything I’ve said to you over the years.”

  He leaned forward, picked up the switchblade, and moved it beside a thick manila folder with my name scribbled on it. Opening it, he skimmed a page, flipped it over, then skimmed another and yet another.

  As I waited, I squirmed in my seat. But I stilled when he lifted his gaze.

  “Been doing this a long time, Warren.” He no longer looked resigned, only sad. “I know a lost cause when I see one.”

  My gut churned. I’d been a lost cause my entire life. Rejected by my old lady from the day she popped me out, and my old man too. He’d been married to someone else when he fucked around with my mother.

  I’d only recently discovered his identity, but I shouldn’t have bothered. He refused to acknowledge me when I tracked him down and confronted him, but he did say a few words to the judge on my behalf before my sentencing. Otherwise, I never would have gotten off as lightly as I did for Bryan stealing and wrecking his precious car. The asshole cared more about his Beemer than he did about me, his own son.

  “You aren’t a lost cause, Warren,” Mr. Garrett said, and that surprised me so much, I almost fell out of my chair. “Not yet, anyway.”

  Shocked, I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at him.

  He pointed to a page in my file. “Says here you have an interest in music.”

  “Fucking social worker.” They’d forced me to talk to a counselor after the last fight I got into. I sat back in my chair and shrugged.

  “Hmm.” Mr. Garrett tilted his head and studied me. “Tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you.”

  “What kind of deal?” I narrowed my eyes.

  “I won’t tell anyone about the weapons violation if you meet with Mrs. Floyd twice a week after school.”

  “The choir teacher?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Isn’t singing an ambition of yours?”

  “Maybe. But I ain’t interested in that sunshiny shit she teaches.”

  “It’s up to her what she wants to do with you. Where she wants to start. What songs she wants you to practice. But it’s up to you what you do with what she teaches. Are you hearing me?”

  “I got any say in this?” I glanced at the blade, then up at him.

  “Actually, you do. You have all the say, really. Sure, life dealt you a shitty hand, but that’s the same story for nearly every single one of my students.”

  Mr. Garrett sighed, leaning back in his chair.

  “I’m giving you a new card, Warren. You can take it and use it to improve your odds, or you can toss it aside and continue playing the shit hand you have. The choice is up to you.”

  Lace

  Bryan Jackson is here. At Southside High.

  I was so surprised by the information that I didn’t even recall Sabrina leaving, nor did I care. At least, not as much as I usually did as I stepped inside the classroom and everyone stared at me.

  I hated being the new girl.

  “Miss Lowell,” the teacher said, and I turned to look at him. Mostly bald, he was overdressed in an outdated suit and tie, but had friendly eyes behind his gold wire-rimmed glasses. “I’m Mr. Schubert. We’re studying Shakespeare’s Tempest. If you’ll introduce yourself to the class, we’ll continue our discussion.”

  One of the reasons I really hated being the new girl was this part. I never understood why teachers always insisted on doing it.

  “I’m Lace Lowell. I transferred to Southside from Alliance Prep.”

  Some kids gasped. I’d gasped too when Uncle Bruce had told us that he was changing jobs and we’d have to move again, during the middle of my sophomore-credited year and Dizzy’s junior one. Going from a great school to a not-so-great one would make it even harder for me to get the scholarship I wanted so I could study fashion.

  “Well, hello, Lace.” A blond guy in a red-and-black football letterman jacket whistled low and scanned my entire body with his dark blue eyes.

  I lifted my chin and marched down the aisle, pausing at his desk and kicking one of his neon-green Nike sneakers. Locating an empty seat on the back row, I took it, feeling his gaze and more than a few others on me. Ignoring them, I unzipped my backpack and withdrew paper and a pen.

  Luckily, Mr. Schubert returned to teaching, and heads swiveled around to pay attention.

  I listened and took notes. He had an engaging style, asking interesting questions that involved the students. I’d studied Tempest at Alliance, but his analysis of the material was fresh.

  The class went by fast, and the bell rang again. I packed up my supplies, not surprised when the blond guy made his way back to me through the line of students exiting.

  “Hey, Lace. Sorry if I pissed you off somehow.” He raked a hand through his short hair. “It’s just that you’re pretty.”

  “So?” I wasn’t opposed to using my looks to get what I wanted. But I knew what this guy really wanted, and I wasn’t willing to give it to him.

  “So I’m Randy Rhodes.”

  My brow lifted. His name didn’t mean shit to me, but he dropped it like it should.

  “I’d like to get to know you.” He reached out and touched my arm, and it was all I could do not to recoil. I didn’t like people, especially guys like him, touching me without permission. “Can I walk you to your next class?”

  “No, that’s okay. I want to stay and talk to the teacher. You go on ahead.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, Randy,” I said quickly, cutting him off. “Listen, I’m not interested. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Got it.” He turned and stomped away, muttering bitch under his breath.

  Fuck him for not taking a polite decline. Fuck his expensive clothes. And fuck his rich, popular-boy, entitled attitude.

  I zipped my backpack and walked up the aisle, hitching the strap higher on my shoulder and clearing my throat at the teacher’s desk to get his attention. “Mr. Schubert? Can I speak to you?”

  “Yes, of course.” He set his glasses on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. “How can I help you, Miss Lowell?”

  “I enjoyed your class.”

  His eyes brightened. “I’m glad. That’s high praise. I’m sure you had great teachers at Alliance.”

  “I had a few. I’m looking forward to taking your class. Can I possibly get your notes for the lectures I missed?”

  “Absolutely.” Looking equal parts surprised and impressed, he glanced down, and I saw he’d been reading my academic report. “Send it to your Lowell email?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He tipped his chin toward the door. “Better move on to your next class. It’s best not to be stranded in the hall on this side of the building when the students clear out.”

  Shit. Sabrina had warned me.

  I stepped out into the hallway and glanced both ways. Only a few students remained, and all were wearing navy and black colors. They gave me long looks that didn’t feel friendly. I didn’t know where my next class was, but I figured that at this point, returning the way I’d come was my best option.

  Turning, I walked fast, the fine hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as rapid footsteps approached me from behind.

  “Hey, güera.” A short Latina suddenly appeared and moved right in front of me.

  I came to a screeching stop, glancing nervously at a taller girl who joined the girl who’d called me blondie. The taller girl had a cruel glint
in her eyes.

  “Qué es?” I asked them. What’s up?

  The shorter one narrowed her eyes. “You speak the superior race’s language, chica?” Girl.

  I shrugged. “Un poquito.” A little. Only enough to get an A minus in conversational Spanish.

  “I don’t like white chicks.” The taller girl reached out and fingered a lock of my hair.

  My eyes widened when I heard a click and a switchblade appeared in the girl’s hand.

  “You afraid?” The tall girl’s brown eyes glistened as brightly as the metal of her blade.

  I nodded. Of course I was afraid. I wasn’t a coward, but I saw no need to lie. Not when faced with someone wielding a blade.

  “You’re in our neighborhood. South side of the school belongs to us,” the shorter girl said. “You need to pay a tribute. Entenderme?”

  Yeah, I understood, or at least I thought I did. But before I could blink, the taller girl yanked my hair hard and sliced off a two-inch piece.

  “You bitch!” Turning on her, I put my palms on her chest and shoved her backward, reacting without thinking. The locker clanged as her body slammed into it.

  “Puta!” Her face mottled with anger, she called me a bitch as she pushed away from the metal and came at me. Her blade slashed through the air, and I jumped back to avoid it. She stalked me, her lips twisting into a cruel grimace.

  Scared shitless, I backed away more, but stopped when I ran into a wall of flesh. My heart hammering, I turned my head and saw a big Latino guy standing behind me.

  I started to scream, but the guy clamped his big hand over my mouth. I was so scared now; it was all I could do to keep from pissing myself.

  “What’s going on, Belinda?” he asked the tall girl, his voice deeply accented like hers, while I trembled.

  “That puta pushed me.” Belinda jabbed at me with her blade.

  “You cut off her hair, Lindy.” He made a low rumbly sound. Was he laughing? “Did you think she was going to thank you for that?”

  “This doesn’t involve you, King.” Belinda tossed a long lock of her black hair over her shoulder, using the hand that held the knife.