Trust by Kylie Scott

  "No. I'm fine." I squeezed past her, a fake smile on my face. "See you this afternoon."

  She followed me out, eyes boring holes into my back.

  "Your hair looks lovely," she said.

  "Thanks, Mom." I gave my ponytail a nervous tug. Ouch. My scalp still hadn't fully healed from Chris taking a chunk out of it. At least it wasn't anything visible, like the scar above my eye. "'Bye."

  We lived in a one-story wooden bungalow on a quiet street. Lots of trees. It was nice. I gave Mom a wave as I climbed into my sensible eight-year-old white hatchback, inherited from my grandma. Edith, my namesake, lived in Arizona and was apparently going through a late-life crisis. There could be no other reason for her suddenly requiring a sexy sports car. It worked out well for me, though, so whatever made her happy.

  Grandma also footed the bill for me to attend private school. I think the "My granddaughter is on the Honor Roll at Green" bumper sticker probably cost her almost as much as the sports car she stuck it on. Once upon a time, she'd been a teacher. She strongly disapproved of girls and boys being in the same classroom. Apparently our raging hormones wouldn't allow for learning and all would be perversion and anarchy. From what I saw, the gay students at same-gender schools were doing fine. They weren't having sex on the cafeteria tables, at any rate.

  Eyes on the road, my focus straight ahead. I couldn't afford any distractions. Ridiculous, how a random person on the sidewalk could spook my stupid nerves. Any cop with a gun could be Chris; my overactive imagination swapped them out with scary efficiency.

  I drove extra slow, but it did no good. The bell hadn't rung, I wasn't late, and swarms of girls in gray uniforms filled the hallways. Never mind. Crowds were good for hiding in. This might work out even better.

  Head down and bag on my back, I made for my locker. So much noise and people pushing. But I could handle it. Deep breaths, calm thoughts, and all that crap.

  My hands were wet with sweat as I entered my locker combination and opened the door. The material under my arms was damp. Eventually I'd have to deal with Georgia, and frankly, she could kiss my ass. Her betrayal stung as fresh today as it had when it happened.

  "Hey, Willy," came a noxious voice from behind me. I didn't turn around, didn't need to. Kara Lamont. "I hear somebody tried to take your freedom."

  Free Willy, as per the movie, was apparently the only whale Kara knew about. Original and well educated didn't describe the girl. I finished grabbing my English notebook, taking my time. A crowd had gathered, more than her usual posse. I could hear them all whispering and giggling, feet impatiently shifting, eager for action. There were always a few ready to see an uncool student get served her daily recommended dose of humiliation.

  But this level of curiosity went well beyond that. Awesome. The Drop Stop had made me famous, unfortunately.

  "Is your face really all fucked up?" she inquired, voice full of glee. "Poor you, Willy. Though I guess it's not like anyone wanted to look at you anyway."

  A wave of laughter swept through the crowd. People just loved a good spectacle. Kara sucked up the attention, standing taller, smiling wider. I knew her opinion shouldn't matter, and yet it always had. Despite my best efforts, the bitch featured heavily on the recording in my head of every rotten thing ever said to me. Every insult, every put-down--it had all been saved up there for posterity.

  But this time felt different, somehow. Kara's voice sounded far off, as if she were struggling just to be heard.

  "You must have made a great human shield," she continued. "You're as wide as the ass end on a truck and I bet with the amount of fat you're packing, you could probably even stop a bullet."

  More laughter and even a few gasps of outrage and surprise. Amazing really. Anyone who'd been in school for more than an hour should have realized Kara was nothing but a bully. Still, the whole robbery thing had given her some new material. After several years of hearing the same insults day in and day out, it was actually kind of refreshing. Sometimes I wondered if this was the pinnacle of her existence. If in twenty years she'd look back on these days and think they were the best of her life. When she'd been able to torment people without any real repercussions because we were just kids. No consequences, not really. Like what happened in these halls didn't matter at all.

  I wish I were a killer whale. I'd bite Kara's head off and use it for a beach ball. God knows, it was already full of air.

  Instead, I said nothing. It only excited her to see the little people fighting back against her reign of terror. Ignoring her and heading straight to class was what I needed to do. But when I turned around, there were more people watching than I'd imagined. Fifty, sixty maybe, jamming up the hallway. Hell, even Georgia was hiding back there, waiting to see what happened.

  Kara stood front and center, her smile huge, delighted by the attention. What the hell was her problem? She was rich, thin, and popular, everything I wasn't, and still she had to pull this shit.

  Normally in this situation, I would be able to feel my heart punching hard in my chest, hot embarrassment burning my cheeks. There was nothing. My heartbeat stayed firm, my breath slow. The titter of the assembled crowd felt as detached and irrelevant as crickets chirping on a summer night.

  Kara looked smaller than I remembered her. Lightweight. Chris would have found it easy to throw her around. To stick a gun between those sharp white pretty teeth.

  "Move your hair, Free Willy," she ordered, stepping toward me with her hand outstretched. "Let's see."

  Like hell she'd be touching me. I'd been touched against my will enough for one lifetime, and by someone a lot scarier than Kara. My thumb curled beneath my fingers and I swung hard and fast, lashing out. Bam, my fist smacked into Kara's face. The crack of the bone, the sound of her nose breaking, was amazing. Pain tore up my arm, my thumb throbbing in agony. Dammit, it hurt.

  Kara was crying and carrying on. Her screams filled the hallway, blood gushing down the front of her uniform. People were running everywhere, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and this mess. Even Kara's gal pals had deserted her, the cowards. I stood alone, leaning against the lockers, cradling my hand. Totally worth the possible broken bone.

  Not the return to school I'd imagined, however. Mom would not be impressed.

  "Holy shit," whispered Georgia, slowly stepping up beside me. "Edie, are you all right?"

  "I'm fine," I said tiredly.

  Her mouth opened, then closed. She looked so lost.

  I don't know. Maybe I should have forgiven her regarding the media blitz and shit talk about John. Neither of us were rolling in money and they'd probably offered her a sum for selling me out. Or at least, I sincerely hope they had. Georgia was here on a scholarship. She had big dreams. All of those interviews were just a step toward her making contacts in the entertainment industry--getting her one step closer to becoming an actress. Her texts had explained all of this and more. From a certain point of view, it was perfectly understandable. But that didn't mean I had to like or accept it. Life was too short for fair-weather friends, and she'd broken my heart.

  "You should go to class," I said. "You don't want to be late."

  She took a step back. "Okay. See you later."

  I nodded, letting her go for good.

  "Hey, kid."

  "Hey, Bill." I sat on a stretcher in emergency care, swinging my legs back and forth. Mostly trying not to fixate on the all-too-familiar sounds and smells. Hurling on the floor would be bad. "What are you doing here?"

  "Just getting a cut checked out, home-renovating accident." The EMT from the night at the Drop Stop smiled. "The kitchen sink attacked me."

  "And I thought your job was dangerous."

  He just smiled some more. "How you doing?"

  "Fine."

  "Why are you here?" he asked, leaning against the opposite wall. He looked to be about forty, fit, with a shaved head. Hot if you were into middle-aged people. Bet my mom would like him.

  "Dislocated my thumb." I
showed him my bandaged hand.

  "How the hell did you do that?" he asked, crossing his arms, getting comfortable.

  "I punched a girl at school."

  A frown darkened his face. "Did she deserve it?"

  "Oh, yeah. Big time. She'd been bullying me for years."

  He shook his head. "Picking on other people, putting them down to make yourself feel big, is bullshit behavior at any age, frankly."

  "I couldn't agree more."

  "Give me your left," he said, holding out his hand.

  He held up his palm like a stop sign. "Let's see that punch. Hit me."

  I punched hard into his hand with my left. There was a loud slapping sound.

  "Okay, there's the problem," he said. "Good news is that you're rotating the fist and punching through the target. You're a natural. Bad news is that thumb."

  Gently, he rolled my fingers over, then stretched my good thumb out along the bottom against my palm.

  "Like that," he said. "Thumb on the outside backing up your fingers, okay?"

  "Okay."

  "You want to hit with those two bad boys right there," he said, tapping my front two knuckles. "Anything else will just get you back here again with a dislocation or fracture. Got it?"

  "Got it. Thanks."

  "I didn't show you that."

  "Of course not." I smiled. "Say, you single? Like girls?"

  "I'm a little old for you."

  "I was thinking more of my mom."

  "Ha." He laughed. "I'm seeing someone. Sorry, kid."

  Couldn't blame me for trying. "Good to see you again, Bill."

  With a shake of his head, he took off. There was a job I couldn't do, being an EMT. Imagine picking people up, trying to put them back together long enough to get them to a doctor. The things he must have seen. Why, even that night, at the Drop Stop . . . and there was a thought leading nowhere good. My stomach tumbled queasily in agreement.

  I needed out of this place. The sights and smells, they were all too reminiscent of that night. Thankfully, Mom had finished talking to the doctor and was heading my way.

  "Come on," she said, marching straight past me toward the doors. She was not wearing her happy face. Guess she'd heard back from the school about the disciplinary action.

  Principal Lee had lectured both me and Kara while we waited for our parents. Fortunately, Kara the douche had chosen to attack me within view of a security camera. Had to love an idiot for making things easy. The fact that she'd obviously started the spectacle and reached for me first had been a big help, bless her. Due to the whole punching thing, no one was labeling me a victim, but still.

  Outside, the summer sun was shining bright, the birds were singing. Despite my mom's downer of a mood, I was feeling fine. The doctor had given me painkillers.

  Mom still wasn't smiling. "I just got off the phone with your principal. You're suspended for a week. Given recent traumatic events, she decided to let you off easy."

  "I'm not going back there."

  "What?" Mom halted, glaring at me across the roof of her sedan.

  "I never fit in and I never will," I said, meeting her eyes. "Especially after this. That place is survival of the richest--you have no idea what they're like. Kara will be out to make my life a misery and I'm not up for it."

  "Honey--"

  "I'm not going back," I said, voice clear. No doubt, no hesitation. My boundaries were all too clear to me these days. "I'll go to the local high school instead."

  Mom frowned. "No. You won't."

  I felt like shit fighting with her. Usually, we made big decisions together. Being a single parent, having to drop out of college to have me, Mom hadn't had it easy. She'd sacrificed. Grandma eventually came around and helped out, but it took time. Time during which Mom was utterly and completely alone. I didn't like to make things difficult for her. This time, however, I couldn't compromise. I couldn't back down. More than enough monsters were already in my head, feasting on my sanity, feeding my insecurities. Kara and co were officially too much.

  "Edie, this is your education we're talking about," she said imploringly. "Your future."

  "I know. And I can learn as well at the local school as I can at that place." I leaned against the car, resting my hands on top. "Better probably. Grandma will get over it."

  "I'll talk to the principal about keeping this girl away from you. I'll make sure from now on you're protected."

  "That's a nice idea, but it's not going to work, Mom."

  "I'll damn well make it work."

  I gave her a most dubious look.

  "Honey, she will not bother you again. I promise. But also, think about it this way. There's going to be people you don't get along with wherever you go. It's an unfortunate part of life, having to share the planet with a billion or so others," she said. "People just can be jerks. I know you've been through a lot, more than I can possibly understand. But running away every time there's conflict isn't the answer. It sets a very concerning precedent for you."

  "I get what you're saying," I said. "I do. But there are limits, Mom, and daily persecution kind of goes beyond mine."

  Her shoulders slumped. "Don't you think this is just going to add to how unsettled everything has been for you lately?"

  "No."

  Silence.

  "Look, just . . . let's talk to the principal first. See if something can't be done." Mom's brows almost met in the middle. "You're in your senior year, Edie. Changing schools now would be a huge disruption."

  "No, Mom," I said, tone sharper than I'd intended. "Nearly getting killed was a huge disruption. Changing schools would be a relief."

  For a long moment, she just looked at me. Then she slipped on her sunglasses, hiding all of the frustration and worry in her eyes. "Let's talk about it at home."

  I shrugged, feeling bad that I would have to overrule her. As weird as it sounds, part of me was glad I felt bad about it.

  To my ears, Georgia, Kara, and the principal sounded like they lived in an echo chamber. They could talk, but none of it really mattered. I knew what mattered now. What was life and death. Everything else was just bullshit everyday details.

  But my mom still mattered. I clung to that.

  The local public high school had a lot more students than my former private one. Hopefully this would give me more opportunities to blend in and hide. Plus, three weeks had gone by since the Drop Stop, so it was old news. People had to have moved on by now. At least, no one seemed to be paying me any attention as I wandered down a hallway, map, class schedule, and other assorted paperwork in hand.

  "Edie!" a voice yelled. "Edie?"

  Great. I turned to find a girl running after me like her ass was on fire.

  "You were supposed to wait at the office for me," she said, stopping to catch her breath. She was about my age, Asian, pretty. "We've got first class together. I'll show you where to find it. After that, you're on your own."

  "Right." I just looked at her.

  "Oh. Sorry. I'm Hang." She waved her hand in my face, giving me a smile. "Let's go."

  I willed my feet to keep going when we passed a memorial to Isaac, the kid who'd died. So he'd gone to school here. Guess it made sense, if I'd stopped to think about it for a moment. There were plenty of pictures, poems, three-week-old wilting flowers, and a football jersey. It all told a story of tears and pain. Isaac had been missed and that was something. Wonder what my old school would have done if I'd died. I highly doubt the bulk of the student body would have cared. It's a strange thing, though, coming face to face with your own mortality.

  If someone your own age could die, then what's saving you?

  My school probably would have set up something tastefully fake. This didn't look fake. It reeked of loss and pain.

  That fucking meth-head. Hate for him ate me alive. Isaac didn't deserve to die. They'd been crazy brave trying to save me, him and John.

  Shit. Isaac would have had a funeral. The kid died helping to save my life and I didn't even go
to his funeral. I'd been too wrapped up in my own self, trying not to think about the Drop Stop and what had happened. The kid behind the counter, too. He'd be buried or cremated by now. Meanwhile, I was alive and doing what? I'd gotten off easy. Just some scars and nightmares, both of which would fade.

  "You okay?" asked Hang, snapping me out of it.

  "Hmm?"

  She looked from me to the memorial and back again. "He died at that robbery at the convenience store a while back. It was real sad."

  "Yeah."

  "I didn't know him personally, but he had a lot of friends around here."

  I just nodded and kept walking.

  "Honestly? They mentioned at the office that you were involved, but don't worry," she said, giving me a kind smile. "I won't say anything to anyone."

  "Thanks."

  Maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to integrate without too much hassle. I just wanted peace and quiet. A girl could dream.

  All the way to English, Hang kept up a flow of light conversation. The kind of things they'd been working on in class, how many students were at the school, when the football and basketball seasons would be starting. At Green, sports hadn't been much of a big deal.

  It was kind of nice to have someone at my side. Or at least, I felt less conspicuous. I tried to push off the guilt about Isaac. Like Mom would have let me out of the house to attend a funeral anyway. Going to the bathroom too often had sent her into apoplexy and yet another lecture about the need to rest. It didn't feel like enough of an excuse, however. Nowhere near big enough.

  "Where were you before?" Hang smiled. She had a nice smile.

  "Ah, Green."

  "God, you must be glad to get out of those uniforms."

  "Yes."

  "Also." She presented the place to me like a game-show hostess. "We have a variety of genders here for your viewing pleasure."

  "Green was definitely lacking in males," I agreed.

  All of the usual labels were represented in my new school: cheerleaders, jocks, nerds, geeks, stoners, goths, emos, and all the rest.

  Hang was wearing a cool vintage-looking floral dress, but I'd gone for dark colors. Less ninja, more panda with my sun-starved skin and tummy rolls. Still, I was comfortable and kind of confident that I looked good. Blue jeans with a rip in one knee, black T-shirt, black Doc Marten Mary Janes. Black was such a nothing of a color. A total absence of light. Maybe if I wore enough of it I'd be invisible to public attention completely and live my life in peace. Though I drew the line at dyeing my blond hair dark; instead I'd put it in braids. Made up my face with winged eyeliner and a subdued pale pink lipstick to distract from the scar.