On Edge (3 page)

“My parents were freaked, too. They drove me to school every day last week after the shootings. Practically ran over the entire student body to get me as close to the door as possible.”

I grinned, feeling suddenly giddy. Haze talked to me as if we had a long-standing friendship and chatted over lunch instead of him kidnapping me from the hallway and imprisoning me in a closet.

I would've been a fool to think he did it because he liked me.

I sensed an ulterior motive coming on.

“I'm not going to tell my brother.”

His forehead puckered. “What?”

“You're wasting your time if you think I'm going to run to my brother and tell him about this so the two of you can use me as an excuse to beat the hell out of each other.”

He stared at me so long I started to feel uncomfortable.

“Is that what you think I'm doing?” he asked.

He made a mistake assuming I was doing much thinking at all. My brain had been on autopilot the second he turned on the light. “Uh…yeah.”

“Then you're dumber than I thought.”

“Hey!”

Grinning, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the metal supply shelves lining the wall. “I pulled you in here so your brother
wouldn't
find out. So we could get to know each other and figure out if it's worth making trouble for ourselves.”

“Oh.” The supply closet got smaller.

“There's a lot going against us. You're from Kennedy and I'm from Branfort. I'm a graffiti artist…”

“A writer,” I said, letting him know I wasn't ignorant of his extracurricular activity.

“Yeah.” He smiled. “And you're into the freerunning? Or do you prefer to call it parkour?”

“It doesn't matter. You can call it either. Kinda like soccer and football, yanno? And anyone who practices it is call a traceur.”

“Cool.” Haze said. “Good to know. My point is, this school isn't ready to see us mingling together. Every group of kids is tense and ready to take out perceived competition to gain the true power here.”

I thought of Warp. “That's for sure.”

“So…” he pushed from the shelves and gave them a tap. “Supply closet it is.”

I thought about what it was he proposed and couldn't help but question his intentions.

He must have sensed my hesitation. “I just want to get to know you, LL.”

“LL?” How did he know that name?

“Isn't that your name? I heard one of your friends call you that when you stood on the wall making sure I got away. Thanks, by the way.”

Oh God. Why couldn't the floor swallow me?

“Do you prefer something else?” He kept talking to me, oblivious of my self-esteem melting into a pool at my feet.

I cleared my throat. “No. LL is fine. And do you go by Haze?”

“If you like. Brennen is my legal name.”

I really liked that name! But I wasn't going to gush over it in front of him. “Cool.”

I could feel the incoming awkward silence and shifted, but he seemed perfectly at ease. His confidence was a little annoying, actually. “I, um, don't wanna be late. I have no idea where any of my classes are, soooo…”

“Do you have a free period this year?” he asked.

“Fourth.”

“Fourth…I can do fourth. Same closet? 'Cause it's the only one I have a key to.”

“Right.” I blushed. One question burned in the back of my brain and it fell out of my mouth before I could add garnish to it. “Why?”

“I'm only just getting to know most of the teachers here, but give me time. Their keys shall be mine!”

I bit my lip, trying not to giggle. Only idiot flighty bitches giggle. “Why do you want to get to know me better?”

He reached forward and tucked the single strand of blue hair behind my ear. The tip of his finger grazed my skin and I stomped on the urge to shiver like a love-struck goon.

“I meant what I said last week. I think you're…beautiful. As shallow as that sounds, attraction is the beginning of most relationships, isn't it?”

Logic. Ugh.

“I suppose.”

He seemed unaffected by my wariness. “If you hate me, no harm. No one but us knows we even talked. And, hey, feel free to tell me to get screwed right now if you'd rather.”

I thought about it for a minute. Haze. Hot guy, talented, bold…I'd be an idiot to say no. “All right. Fourth period.”

Of course, I'd be an idiot to fall for someone, knowing it could start a war.

Five

“What's it like in your world?”

I blinked, and focused on the face hovering over the black lab table talking to me. My biology teacher, Mr. Fewd, squatted down so he could peer up at me. I could only see from his nose up. He, and the rest of the snickering class, awaited my answer.

Still in a daze, I said the first thing that came to my newly awakened brain. “Shiny.” Like his bald-ass head.

Mr. Fewd frowned and I felt guilty for a split second. It didn't last long, though.

Students from the dawn of school time to the present all knew the truth. Teachers aren't real people. They're part of the school system that brings us all down. Besides, they wouldn't take the job if they couldn't handle the massive amounts of verbal abuse thrown at them every day. Still, I'd answered reflexively without intending to insult him.

Unfortunately, that argument wasn't enough to keep me out of the principal's office. Of course, Liv's giggling hadn't helped either and I became the recipient of a red paper pass straight to the “doom room.”

I held my books to my chest as I walked the post-apocalyptic-like hallways. Last year, you'd often run into kids haunting the corridors, goofing off and taking advantage of little to no authority shepherding wayward students about. After the shootings, though, no one wanted to be in the halls. Not alone.

I wasn't entirely alone. I had company in the form of the blue-haired mafia standing in the alcove near the emergency exit. Their job was to keep skippers from skipping and to check hall passes, which they rarely did. Maybe it was because they knew most students were afraid to get in trouble when it was dealt with so severely now, or maybe they were afraid of the students knowing that at any moment, one of us could lose our respect for life.

Either way, from what I could tell, the hall maids now got paid to hang around a plastic chair all day gossiping about the happenings in the teacher's lounge. They were comfortable knowing if I did manage to get past them, the parking lot officers would just walk me back in none-too-gently and throw me into a chair in the office.

As I passed the group, I held up my piece of paper, not at all shocked they barely nodded before returning to the huddle. No wonder tax dollars went to new school safety measures. Any toddler with a pad of construction paper and a pair of scissors could've bypassed that effective security system.

Shaking my head, I continued my death walk to the doom room.

The usually transparent front of the principal's office had a ton of red cut-out hearts taped to the glass. On each was a scrawled message to one or several of the gang members who died in the parking lot incident last week. For me, this was an abrupt reminder of the violence bubbling up from underneath us all and I found myself drawn up short before entering.

I had guilt again, and this time it didn't fade like it had with Mr. Fewd.

This disposable monument made me feel more deeply than any of the TV news spots or newspaper articles I read about the tragedy. The inadequately expressed mourning trapped on crude artwork was a testament to the total screw-up the city would never admit to. Even I'd blown it off, pushing the deaths to the back of my mind as I floated around the new school preoccupied with finding my classes, meeting up with Haze, and building my friendship with Liv. I hadn't whispered so much as a word of sympathy for those who were destroyed far too early because of the school merger.

I bit my lip and stared at the names of the victims. I didn't know the kids since they'd been bussed in from even farther than Kennedy or Branfort, but it didn't make me any less sad.

I thought about the moms, dads, and siblings of the deceased. I thought about their friends forced to walk over the very sidewalk where the victims died and see the chalk outlines, even though they weren't there anymore.

Every day.

The school as a whole had no time to digest the devastating events or to remember and mourn.

Since the deaths were on the sidewalk off the main parking lot, the school didn't have to close. The board did, however, let the students go home early on Friday for a half day of grieving, patting themselves on the back for their generosity.

The community wasn't pleased.

The local paper accused the district of insensitivity, railing against everyone from the school janitors straight to the mayor. The school board shot back with this wall of hearts and extra counselors on staff for the next month. As if a month would erase the blood stains.

As if strength was in pretending no one could be faulted.

We, the students, knew, and the parents were beginning to understand that the death of the young men could've been avoided if the board had taken into consideration the potential for gang violence. But they hadn't, out of ignorance. Or maybe they just didn't care.

Well, I cared.

I lifted my hand and traced the crookedly cut edges of a paper heart and swallowed hard. If Warp wasn't careful, I would be scrawling my own goodbye message in Sharpie and adding my lament to this wall of sorrow.

The thought scared me, bringing tears to my eyes.

In the past few years, I'd lost much of what I'd grown up knowing, and now I was losing my brother, too. For the moment, Warp was only emotionally distancing himself, but soon…oh God, soon it might get worse.

I didn't realize I'd been crying until I felt a gentle hand squeeze my shoulder. I jumped and hurriedly wiped at the tears beneath my eyes before facing whoever consoled me. And because my luck sucks large, I found myself looking into the kind eyes of Haze for the second time that day.

I sniffled and had enough self awareness to wonder if I looked like a melted M&M.

“Did you know them?” he asked in a low whisper.

I shook my head. “Not at all, and yet, as cheesy as it sounds, I know them very well.”

A lopsided smile complemented his gorgeous face, instantly curing my crying problem. “How very poetic of you,” he said, and I wondered if he was mocking his use of flowery words last week. “I get it, though. It's hard not to relate, or see our future in these cheap hearts.”

The way he talked, I knew he drew parallels to his own loss a few years ago and I had no idea how to say sorry or if I even should. I settled for a lame answer.

“Yeah.” Not my best. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.” His hand dropped from my shoulder and I wished I would've just fumbled through the topic to keep physical contact. “We could talk about you skipping out of class.” He tsk'd. “Not very responsible of you, LL.”

The growing weight of biology knowledge made my arm feel like it would fall off any second. I shifted my books to my other arm and flashed my “doom room” ticket. “I have a right to be here! I have a naughty pass.” I waved the red piece of paper in the air between us hoping the draft would dry up my nose.

Haze looked from the pass to my face, lifting a skeptical brow. “You're here because you're in trouble?”

“I blame the light reflection off Mr. Fewd's solar dome. If he hadn't face-blasted me with it and seared my eyeballs, my inner thoughts would've stayed inner.”

Haze burst into laughter and I felt my face flush with pride.

I made Warp or one of his friends laugh all the time, but making Haze crack up had to be the best feeling in the world. His opinion mattered to me, and I wanted it to be a very, very good opinion. One worth defying my brother for.

“Nice,” he said, sobering. “I'll never see a solar panel again without thinking of Mr. Fewd, but I forgive you for the image.”

“You're such a nice guy,” I teased. “So, what are you doing out of class? Did you get in trouble?”

“Nah. I'm never in trouble.” The way he beamed triumphantly led me to believe it wasn't that he was never in trouble, just never caught in the act.

“Right. Right.”

“I came down here to switch my schedule.”

“They screw something up?”

“Yeah. They didn't give me fourth period free.”

Anything cool I might've said shriveled up and died right there. I realized what he meant. He tweaked his schedule just so he could meet me in the art closet. Holy sh—

“Miss Harvey.”

My head snapped up when I realized the door to the principal's office stood open and the principal himself waited for me. Whoops. Damned wireless networks. Since each classroom was outfitted with a laptop linked to the principal's personal PC, taking one's time to get to the main office was no longer an option. “Modern convenience” was a misnomer for computers, in my opinion. Especially when they outted me for lingering in the halls.

“Sorry, Principal Meisen. I saw Miss Harvey grieving and detained her to offer a shoulder, yanno, in case she needs it.”

Principal Meisen smiled his patient smile. It made me think that he had paranormal abilities in lie-detecting. I was willing to bet his keen eye is what saved him from getting the axe when the schools merged, too.

“That's very kind of you, Mr. Craig. But I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss any more Trigonometry.”

“How do you remember my classes? Truly, you have a gift, Mr. Meisen.”

“I have many gifts. Hope you only experience the one,” the principal said and then turned toward me, sweeping a hand in the direction of his office. “Miss Harvey, if you wouldn't mind.”

Haze grinned and saluted me. “See you later, Miss Harvey.” He nodded to the principal. “Mr. Meisen.” And then he left me alone to my fate.

***

By the time third period neared its end, I had a full-on panic attack brewing.

What the hell had I been thinking, agreeing to shack-up with Haze in an art closet? What if this was all a setup to embarrass me? What if I went to the meeting place, tried the handle, and found it locked? Visions of me standing outside the door trying every secret knock from every movie I'd ever seen passed before my eyes. No matter which knock I tried, one thing remained the same: I was pathetic at the end of every version.

“Pssst! Are you going to answer me back or what?”

I blinked Bonnie Hefden into focus, noticing her dramatic lean over her desk's edge and I wondered how long she'd been trying to get my attention.

Great. How many times was I doomed to zone-out on Haze-related crap? I wasn't a dreamer by nature, but apparently being attracted to a guy shut off a few switches in my brain-unit.

“Uhm. Sorry. What?”

Bonnie nodded her head toward my elbow. A small, folded piece of paper jutted out at me. Damn. I hadn't even felt her tuck it in there, which meant I wasn't only heart-deaf but numb, too.

Mrs. Rosnek wrote a sonnet on the board which gave me the chance to open the letter without fear of it being read aloud.

Coach Mann emailed Wenda with her permission to practice under the assistant coach from Branfort, so we can all get to know the girls from the other school. That means we're go for launch tonight. Cool, huh?

The note implied this had been a planned event with back and forth emails, which was strange considering Wenda told me at the coffee shop we were going to practice individually. What a lying little—

“So?” She whispered behind her hand, ducking when Mrs. Rosnek peeked behind her shoulder.

I tried really hard not to be annoyed by Wenda's blatant attempt to exclude me, and I knew Bonnie, in all her cheery airheadedness, hadn't intended to start a problem. She simply didn't know I wasn't wanted.

I wasn't invited.
I wrote back and handed the note over.

What do you mean? Didn't Wenda call you?

No.

Bonnie bit her lip and stared down at the letter. Next time she handed it to me, she stared hard waiting for my answer.

Why?

Pfft. Why?

Kennedy High School Gymnastics team had scraped by, winning the last regionals, and though I didn't want to admit it at the risk of sounding conceited, the win wouldn't have happened if it weren't for me.

Besides Bonnie, the other girls, especially Ramona and Wenda, all hated me with a
Titanic
passion because of that meet. I'd pushed them beyond their limits. I dared them, challenged them, and I even talked a little bit of smack until they were all performing at their best—if only to shut me up.

In the end, my scores took us to the top of the podium, but the success came at a price.

Pops reassured me the girls would get over their grudge or eventually see the value in what I did. But that was because he always supported me, no matter what.

I knew different. I'd crossed the “no-I-in-team” line, and had become Kennedy High's own Svetlana. With attitude comes consequences and, though it bugged me that the girls included me in extra events like slumber parties and bake sales only when Coach Mann was around, I knew I'd done what was necessary to get noticed and get my chance at a scholarship.

I folded the note and buried it under my book, out of sight like the hurt I felt knowing the rest of the team went along with Wenda's plan. What was done was done. I focused on the book in front of me and tried to remember that the reason I went to school wasn't to be class president.

The bell rang and I jumped. It was time.

My former nervousness over meeting up with Haze was now intensified by the feeling that I didn't belong…anywhere. People who knew me…didn't like me. They didn't get me. Why would Haze be any different?

Stalling, I waited for everyone in my row behind me to file out of the room before I stood. This class went by so fast. Too fast. Everything Mrs. Rosnek lectured about was now lost somewhere in the void between my temples due to a bizarre time warp. My ears were ringing, and my head was throbbing now, too.

I shoved my book into my bag, grumbling as the note from Bonnie fell to the ground, reminding me again of my lack of popularity. If I wasn't worried someone would find it and read it, I wouldn't have bothered wasting the energy to pick it back up.