Unknown (12 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Apparently, I swung into school at just the right moment for maximum exposure and attention.

Everyone was either arriving by bus or, if they walked to school or had a car of their own, they already were talking to their friends outside before the bell rang.

It was a beautiful day—warm and sunny, perfect for the Audi’s top to be down.
 
As I looked for a parking space, every head turned to look at me.
 
Some stared openly at me.
 
Conversations ignited.
 
I was wearing dark Prada sunglasses and last night, I added a bit more bulk to my body.
 
The T-shirt I wore clung to me.
 
So did my new jeans.
 
I now had the chest, the abs and the arms I always wanted.

I stepped out of my car and put the top back up just as the bell rang.
 
I hit a button to engage the alarm, tossed my backpack over my shoulder and walked with a purpose and with a confidence I’d never known.
 

There wasn’t one person who wasn’t looking at me.
 
I took off my glasses and looked back, which caused some glances to fall away.
 
I looked over the crowd for Hasting, Tyler, Gibson and the others, but either they weren’t here or they already were inside.

As I neared the door, I wasn’t surprised to find Principal Roberts waiting for me, but I was surprised to see Mrs. Branson standing there.

Roberts came out first.
 
“Seth, we’re so sorry.”

“Really?
 
I didn’t see you at the funeral.”

That caught her off guard.
 

I looked over at Branson, who was looking uncomfortable, either because she was shoe-horned into some God-awful pink suit that was three sizes too small or because she’d been hauled out against her will to greet me.
 
“And I didn’t see you, Mrs. Branson.
 
At the very least, I expected to see you given the kindness and support you’ve shown to me over the years.”

Ever the politician, Roberts spoke through my sarcasm.
 
“We thought it was a private affair.”

“By default, I suppose it was,” I said.
 
“I have no family and only two friends, so it was just me, a few people my parents used to get loaded with on a regular basis, and Alex and Jennifer.
 
So, it certainly seemed private, but the posting in the paper clearly stated otherwise.
 
I’m sure you noted that.”

I looked at Branson.
 
“Is there a reason you’re here, because I don’t understand your concern.”

Her hands were clasped in front of her.
 
She titled her head and managed what appeared to be a smile.
 
Or maybe she was just passing gas.
 
Who knew with this woman?
 
She was like a pin cushion stuffed with rats.
 

I considered her every bit as evil as any kid who had ever targeted me.
 
Actually, check that—I considered her worse.
 
Here was an adult professional hired to teach us and, if things got out of hand in class, to protect us.
 
And yet after all the classes I had with her over the years, she never once protected me.
 
She only ever looked away when they started in on me.
 
In her silence, she freely allowed it to happen.
 
Why?
 
First, because she was one mean mother of a bitch.
 
Second, because all she saw in me was the poor kid with the pimply face who came from the alcoholic parents and thus was a lost cause not worthy her time.
 
It was the same way with many of my teachers, which proved what I’d always known—teachers could be the worst bullies.

“I’m just here to lend my support, Seth.”

I thought of the last time I saw her, when Hastings called me a freak and she did nothing about it.
 
I remembered catching a glimpse of her face as I was being bullied, and how it was clear that she was enjoying the show.
 
Thank you for catching it on video, Jennifer.

“Your kind of support I never want for reasons we all know.
 
I think you’re here because Principal Roberts demanded you be here to smooth things over between us.
 
I think you’re here because I have a tape of you willingly looking away while I was being treated like a piece of shit in front of your class.
 
I think you’re both scared I’ll do something with that tape.”
 

“Are you planning to?” Branson asked.
 
She said it quickly—too quickly.

“YouTube comes to mind.
 
So does a lawyer.
 
But going forward, we’ll see how you behave toward me and the other kids who are picked on in school.
 
I think you’re one of the worst people here.
 
I think you’ve got a rotten soul.
 
I think you’re one of those teachers who collects their favorite students in an effort to fuel your own ego.
 
Anyone who doesn’t kiss your ass gets the shaft.
 
I’m sick of it.
 
It’s time for a change.”

Her face turned bright red, not with embarrassment or humility, but with rage.
 
I looked at Roberts.
 
“Can I go to homeroom?”

Because of that video, her hands were tied.
 
She couldn’t say a word to me.
 
She couldn’t piss me off any more than I already was.
 
She nodded.
 
“If there’s anything we can do—”

“Just keep the canned concern to a minimum.
 
That’s all I ask.
 
I don’t need it and I don’t want it.
 
I just want to get through this year and then get the hell out of here.
 
The happiest day of my life is going to be when I never have to see either of you or anyone else here again.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The last time I tried to enter homeroom, Jake Tyler blocked my path with his meaty arm and the salty, sweaty stink of his own B.O.
 
This time, I stepped inside and the room went silent.
 

So, you know, progress.

I walked to my desk and could feel dozens of eyes on me.
 
Somebody whispered something, but I couldn’t hear what.
 
I looked for Jennifer and Alex, found them and felt relieved that they were here.
 

I’d missed them.

I took my seat behind Alex, who turned around and put his hand on my shoulder.
 
“You okay?”

I looked him in the eye.
 
“So long as no one fucks with me, I’m fine.”

He wasn’t expecting that and his eyes widened.
 
I intentionally said it with a raised voice because it was time to send a message.
 
It wasn’t business as usual with me.
 
Come after me and I’ll come after you.
 
That’s the vibe I was giving off because they’d given me no choice.
 
Amulet or no amulet, it was time to stand up for myself.

I looked to my right and saw Hastings sitting two rows over from me.
 
He was staring straight ahead, his hand was in a cast from punching my little finger and he was wearing a T-shirt that had a bull’s-eye on the front of it.
 
Underneath it, there were a few words written in black marker:
 
“Careful.
 
This could be you.”
 
Had he written that?

“You always threaten people with your T-shirts, Hastings?”

He didn’t look at me.
 
We had our round in the woods a week ago, which he’d never forget even though I made certain he’d forever be unable to discuss it.
 
I wondered if he knew that I saw him with the crew who torched my parents’ trailer, so I tested the waters.
 
“You smell like gas,” I said.
 
“And smoke.
 
There a reason for that?”

He lifted his eyes to the blackboard in front of him.
 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude.”

“Yes, you do, but we’ll get to that later, when it’s just you and me.”

“Whatever.”

“I’ll show you whatever.”

“Why don’t you leave him alone, loser?”

It was Ginny Gibson.
 
She was sitting in front of Hastings and, frankly, I couldn’t believe she had the balls to speak to me after what she’d done.
 
Her brown hair, perfect as always, hung down her back in a shiny cascade of reflected light.
 
Her brown eyes, dark as always, penetrated mine with the aggression of somebody who only had known privilege and popularity.
 

“Where were you when my parents died, Ginny?”

That got her.
 
Her eyes darted back at Hastings, who was still staring at the blackboard, only this time with sweat on his forehead.

“What are you talking about, Moore?”

“Okay, Ginny, I’m going to talk really slow so you can understand what I’m saying.
 
I know your comprehension skills are something you’re working, so just try to follow along.
 
Here goes.
 
Where were you when my parents were murdered?
 
Were you getting the gas?
 
Buying the matches?
 
Or were you just encouraging the others?”

“You better watch yourself.”
 

“I better watch what?”

“You heard me,” she said.
 
“You’re up to something.
 
You’re not the same person anymore.
 
Look at you.
 
You’re different.
 
Something’s off.
 
If you weren’t so damned poor, I’d think you were taking roids, which is illegal.
 
So, just check your mouth before you speak to us.
 
We’re watching you.”

“You’re hilarious, Ginny.
 
I mean, come on—is that all you’ve got?
 
You’re squirming around my question for a reason.
 
You’re deflecting it.
 
You’re
worried
about it.
 
So, I’ll ask again in front of the entire class.
 
Where were you when my parents were murdered?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Actually, it is.”

“Actually, it’s not.”

“Do you think I don’t know where you were that night?”

“What are you insinuating?
 
That I was there?
 
Where’s your fucking proof?
 
Just shut the fuck up.
 
You don’t know shit.
 
You never have because all you are is a piece of shit.”

“Well, that last part doesn’t even make sense.”

“Whatever.”

“Poor, Ginny.
 
There is one thing that can be said about you.
 
You’ve sure got the mouth of a lady.”

A few in the room giggled at that.

“And you’ve sure got the face of a faggot.”

“Are we back to that again?
 
Are you really going
there
again, as if it will hurt me?
 
As if it defines me?
 
It’s pathetic, don’t you think?
 
Worse, just saying that word reveals exactly the kind of person you are.
 
I want to guess, but I’ll let you tell us since you’re in such a chatty mood today.
 
What word do you use when you see a black person?
 
You know, like Dee over there.
 
I think we all know, but I’m sure as hell not saying it.
 
Still, I’m betting it’s just as intolerant, colorful and cruel as your frequent use of the word ‘faggot’.”

“You don’t know anything about me!”

I shrugged my shoulders and looked at her with pity.
 
“I wonder how much longer before the truth gets out about who killed my parents?
 
The police are all over it.
 
Homicides are rare around here.
 
When someone breaks this case—and they will break it, Gin-Gin, whether you and your posse want to face it or not—that’s a promotion and a raise staring them straight in the face.
 
Detectives around here don’t earn much.
 
I imagine several people are scrambling to solve what happened to me and to my parents so they can get that raise and their face in the paper.”
 

I paused and leveled her with a look.
 
“I sure hope nobody tips them off.”

She was about to say something when our homeroom teacher, Mr. Garland, walked in.
 
He saw me and came over.
 
“My condolences, Seth.
 
We’re all sorry for what happened.
 
I hope you know that.”

“Actually, I don’t.
 
Ginny Gibson just called me a loser, a faggot and a piece of shit in front of the whole class.
 
A week after my parents are buried and on my first day back to school, she calls me all those things.
 
What kind of person does that?
 
What kind of monster treats someone like that?”

He seemed genuinely unsettled by this.
 
“Is that true, Ginny?”

She shook her head.
 
“He’s a liar.”

As usual, Garland looked down at Alex for confirmation.
 
“Did she say it?”

“She said it.”

He turned to her, but Gibson already was out of her seat.
 
She gathered her things and started for the door.
 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m calling my parents.
 
Nobody treats me like this.”

“Really?” I said.
 
“Well, here’s the thing, princess.
 
You call your parents, I call the police.
 
And I’ll tell them what I know.
 
You and I both know what I’m talking about.
 
You can be smart and sit down and never say another word to me for the rest of the school year, or you can get on that phone and ruin the rest of your pathetic little unwelcomed life.
 
Your choice.”

“My pathetic little unwelcomed
what
?”

“Sit down, Ginny.”

It was Hastings.
 
On his face was his own warning.
 
He pointed his finger at her chair.
 
She looked at him and wavered.

“What do you have to say to the police, Seth?” Garland asked.

“Plenty.”

“You know something they should know?”

I wasn’t about to answer that.
 
“This is between me and Ginny.
 
I’ll handle this on my own, Mr. Garland.”

Ginny barked out a laugh, but when she did, it rang false.
 
“You’re just stirring the pot,” she said.
 
“You’re not even making sense.”

“Sit down,” Hastings said.
 
“Now.”

She whirled on him.
 
“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“You better listen to me, Ginny.”

“Or what?”

“Just sit down.”

But she was spared from doing so.
 
The bell rang and when it did, she was almost tackled as the remaining students, likely freaked out by the threats and the fact that the last time I was here, everyone literally pissed their pants, brushed past her and moved quickly out of the room.
 

Garland walked away.

As for Ginny, she glared at me while waiting for Hastings to join her before they moved toward the door.
 
When they reached it, Hastings said something in her ear and I watched her smile.
 
She stopped in the hallway and turned to me, her red skirt fanning out as she lifted her right hand, folder her fingers into the shape of a gun and pointed it me.
 
When she clicked her thumb, she said one word just loud enough for me to hear:
 
“Pow.”

Hastings grabbed her by the hand and they hurried away.
 
Though he didn’t laugh, she made a show of it.

“What the hell was that?” Alex asked.

“That would be a warning,” I said.

“What kind of warning?”

“No idea.
 
Guess I’ll find out.”

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

“About what?
 
That she shot me with an imaginary gun?
 
I’d look like an idiot.
 
And besides, nobody here would listen to me anyway.”

“Garland would.”

“Please.”

Jennifer came up beside us.
 
“What did you mean when you said they smelled like gasoline and smoke?”