"So, you're a crybaby, too?" he snarled.
I noticed then, with no great shock, that Lainey and Madison were both standing by. Henry Rhodes was, too, looking out of place and yet just like the rest of them.
Seeing him there surprised me more than it should have. Part of me still held out that he was one of the good guys. My own naivety made me sick to my stomach.
"What is he going to do to him?" Theo whispered by my ear.
"Hurt him."
She was ducking behind me, but I didn't take offense to her using me as a human shield. I couldn't focus on Ambrose and his prey anymore. As I watched, Lainey leaned on Henry's shoulder. Her eyes were on Ambrose, but I had a feeling she knew I was there, witnessing her actions.
The very fact that she was touching Henry made the queasiness worse, and I squeezed my arms against my ribs. A smug smile spread over Lainey's face, contorting her beautiful features into an ugly caricature.
"You need to stay out of my way!" Ambrose yelled in the boy's face, his broad shoulders shaking. His voice made both Theo and I jump. His shuddering frame was most frightening because he was obviously holding back, and by the looks of things, not for long. The tension in the air festered into something more sinister.
Ambrose reared his tree trunk arm back to punch his prey. "I'll teach you," he growled. "A lesson you won't forget."
"Stop it!" I screamed. My hands flew up to my traitorous mouth, trying too late to catch the words.
"What are you doing, you lunatic?" Theo hissed from my shoulder.
Heat rushed into my cheeks as every hostile face in the crowd of jerks craned in my direction. Now instead of being unnoticed like I'd cherished the first week of school, everyone saw me.
Henry's lips lowered into a frown, a deep line forming between his eyebrows. His wide brown eyes met mine and he looked—what, guilty? Like a little boy caught pulling a cat's tail. Or at least standing by as his friend did it.
Ambrose smiled at me. It was the meanest smile I'd ever seen. More like a predator showing off the sharpness of his canines.
"Hi there, Ariel," he said in a mockingly civil tone. I hadn't realized he knew my name, despite the fact we'd gone to school together our whole lives. "Didn't see you standing there, little mermaid. 'Course, I don't pay much attention to losers."
Henry's eyes flickered from Ambrose to me and back again, lips pressed together in a grimace. I could see him mentally parsing out the words, and by his envious look, I thought maybe he was considering whether Ambrose was my ex-boyfriend. As if that love connection would ever happen.
"I'm sure you don't," I muttered.
"What was that?" Ambrose said, his voice escalating to a vicious yell. "Speak up! You obviously don't have a problem with shouting!"
I shrank back against Theo, stepping on her toes and making her squeak. This wasn't normal steal-your-lunch-money bullying. Pure rage poured out of Ambrose like flames, his eyes blazing. The others merely looked irritated that I'd interrupted their fun. But he was ready to pounce on me.
"Don't make me wait," Ambrose warned, his voice low and deadly. "Speak up."
Henry shrugged out from under Lainey's touch, but he didn't move any closer. His eyes were still ping-ponging back and forth, his stance that of someone ready to throw a pail of water on a fire if it spread.
"What did that boy even do to you?" I asked Ambrose, trying to inject some volume in my voice.
Ambrose's hideous crocodile smile returned, widening. He appeared to have more teeth than he should've. "He messed up my plans. Like someone else I know."
I gulped. My mouth wouldn't shut. "Does that mean you have to beat him up?"
"It's amazing what you can do when you're called to do it." Ambrose's blue gaze gripped me, putting me into a daze.
I frowned. What did he mean by—
Principal McPherson suddenly appeared beside me, his presence almost as intimidating as Ambrose's.
"Break it up, break it up," he said sternly, waving his hands. The leather elbow pads on his jacket sleeves swung wildly. "No fighting in the halls, kids. Zero tolerance means I can give out detention slips like raffle tickets."
"We weren't fighting. We were having a discussion," Ambrose said. He looked amused now, like someone had told a dirty joke. The rage had drained out of him, leaving his stance relaxed, his tanned face free of lines. He looked like he could have been in a beachy clothing commercial, carting around a surfboard and scoping for babes.
"Yeah, it wasn't a fight, it was an ambush," I said, foolishly brave now that an adult was around. Ambrose eyed me with deadly calm. "It was completely one-sided."
The bullied party was still shrinking against the wall, trying to slide through the cracks there. McPherson ignored me. He swooped his sleeves around in a circle, conducting the traffic away as the bell rang. "I see. Get to your classes. This is a place for learning, not floor entertainment."
The crowd, including Henry and Lainey, dispersed through the halls. McPherson patted Ambrose's shoulder, like an uncle to his wayward nephew.
"Let's not see anymore of this, okay? That's all now," McPherson said gently, smiling at Ambrose and revealing all of his coffee-stained teeth. "No need for such anger."
Ambrose smirked and started rolling his shirt sleeves back down. He brushed past me, glaring into my eyes again, and stuck his finger in his mouth. He slid it across the inside of his cheek, pulling it out with a pop. The urge to puke reasserted itself.
I looked back at the freshman boy, still cowering, not quite believing he'd been saved. His sleeve hung limply at the torn shoulder, his hair a messy mop. He looked so young, like he belonged in sixth grade instead of high school.
"Don't be a troublemaker," McPherson, hands on his boxy hips, scolded the boy. I expected him to start wagging his finger. "If I catch you involved in anything like this again, it'll mean suspension." He whirled and turned to me. "And you stay out of trouble too, Ms. Donovan."
My mouth dropped open in shock. The frightened freshman scuttled away, holding his shirt together and smearing his tears with the back of his free hand. McPherson strode past me, back to the cave he'd crawled out of.
"Please tell me that did not go down the way I think it did," Theo said as we jogged to art.
"I was just going to ask you the same thing," I admitted, dejected. The way things were skewed in the popular kids' favor was irritating, but I'd never seen such an obvious display.
Ms. Vore didn't seem to notice we were late; she merely smiled and greeted us as we came in. I guessed we were off the hook because Theo was her daughter. Vore shut the door behind us, trapping me in with my trouble.
I intentionally looked everywhere in class except for the desk Henry and Lainey occupied. A confusing mix of anger, hatred, and betrayal tainted my thoughts. Strange, considering I'd wanted Henry to leave me alone. He'd only given me what I'd wished for.
Which made it obvious that I had no idea what I wanted when it came to him.
Theo was upset, too. I could tell by the way her pencil tip kept snapping as she doodled. Her lips were set in a grim line, and she was currently drawing something involving knives.
"That was just unfair," Theo finally said. "Why do popular people always get a free pass?"
Ms. Vore was in the middle of describing different drawing techniques throughout the ages, and why they had come to be in vogue. I hadn't been paying the attention I usually did; there were too many quandaries bouncing around in my head.
"Because they’re popular. People like them, or at least, want to be liked by them," I reasoned. "I can't believe Henry was just standing there."
"What?" Theo asked, stopping her sketching hand.
"Henry Rhodes. He was just standing there."
"Oh. I didn't even notice him."
I felt embarrassed that I had, especially since I'd focused on him so intently. Theo and I had talked on prior occasions about him, with Theo agreeing that he was very cu
te but untouchable.
"Maybe he had an excuse," Theo offered, hiding a little behind her hair.
"Like what? He had a leg cramp and couldn't move?"
"Who knows? Sometimes it's better not to assume things, though, no matter how obvious they look." I wondered briefly what had brought her to that theory.
"That's very deep of you," I said.
"I try," she said, with a little grin. She pushed her bright hair back behind her ears.
Her pencil began moving in a flurry of short strokes. The knife was abandoned on a former page, and now she was drawing a girl falling out of a tall tree. On the ground beneath the girl were the remnants of broken wings.
Her art made me stunningly aware of my lack of artistic talent, but I didn't mind. I was just amazed that anyone could create that kind of beauty with the same instrument I used to doodle.
"He and Lainey seem to be best buddies, though," Theo said, peering over at the table that I'd been trying to avoid. "Maybe they bonded over their spectator status."
I chanced a peek at the back of Henry's head. He ran his hand through his carefully tousled hair, and I wondered for an impractical second if he could feel me watching him. A flush crept up my chest and over my cheeks.
"And also—" I began.
"Ms. Donovan, repeat back to me what I just said."
Ms. Vore was standing in front of our table, her arms crossed against her argyle sweater. I slowly lifted my eyes to her face, feeling utterly powerless. Nothing could save me now.
"Um, techniques. Throughout...the times...of art. Art techniques. Monet was in there, somewhere." I was fully aware of how lame I sounded. The blush on my cheeks burned deeper. I was horrible at coming up with answers on the spot.
"What artist was I just discussing? Give me his name." Her uncharacteristically monotonous voice went with her 'I am not amused' face. She peered over the top of her glasses at me.
I wracked my brain desperately for an answer, but came up dry. The only thought that popped into my head was a random jingle from a drycleaning commercial. The only artists whose names I could remember were Hugh and Theo.
Vore pushed her glasses up, a gesture that was pure Theo. She looked down her nose at me, squinting harshly.
"In the future, I suggest you pay more attention to your education, instead of staring at Mr. Rhodes. You can do that on your own time, like the other girls. Instead, focus on your artwork."
She was smiling now, the corners of her lips turned up. Everyone else in class broke into actual laughter. A phantom of my embarrassment rushed into my chest, but I knew there was no threat of tears.
Henry turned around in his seat, a look of confusion on his face. For a brief moment, our eyes met, and my stomach swan dove. Slowly, his full lips curved into an alluring smile.
Heading back up to her desk, Vore said, "And the answer was Cezanne." She clucked her tongue.
"I wasn't...staring..." I sputtered, but she had already moved on, continuing with her instruction at the chalkboard. Theo patted my back sympathetically.
I hadn't been staring, not really. There was a distinct difference between looking and staring and the difference was obvious, right? I had no idea how I'd sit through class with people pointing at me and making jokes behind their hands. Maybe I'd pass out right there and Vore could ship me off to the nurse's station.
Staring down at my wasted sketchbook, I wished I could dive into the empty pages, as if I never existed at all.
CHAPTER 7
THEO STUCK AROUND after class, as the rest of the student body fled the school. "That's why I almost skipped art," she told me bluntly. "My mom is nice most of the time, but she also thinks her life is a movie, and the rest of us are just extras."
"Oh."
"But I couldn't skip it," Theo continued, running a finger over old paint splatters on her side of the table. "Art is the closest thing I have to faith."
"It's all right," I assured her. "I can't do anything about it now. I should have been paying attention."
I gathered my supplies as slowly as possible, so I could avoid anyone remaining out in the halls. Gossip spread like fire through dry brush at Hawthorne, and between this and my face-off with Ambrose, I'd be a prime target.
"I'm kind of impressed you didn't cry," Theo said, studying my face like a photograph. "If it were me, I totally would have squirted Niagara Falls."
I neglected to inform her that crying wasn't an option for me anymore. She said goodbye and glared at her mom on the way out as they left together. I was the last one to leave the room.
But I was in for a shock as I walked into the hall. Henry stood casually across the way, in the darkened woodshop doorway. Wood chips and plexiglass fragments littered the space beneath his red sneakers.
He was engrossed in his phone, texting with his thumbs. The smell of his cologne was faint but extremely pleasant. I almost wanted to stand there and stare at him, but then I mentally slapped myself.
Was he waiting for me? I hoped not. I hoped so. I needed to get out of there.
I hurried out past him, trying to avoid catching his attention. But in an instant, he was strolling next to me, shutting the phone and sliding it in the front pocket of his dark-washed jeans.
"In a hurry?" he asked pleasantly.
"Yes." To get away from you, I thought but didn't say.
"Art class was interesting today," he hinted, still with the same infuriatingly cheerful tone of voice. His gigantic smile was back, framed by pillowy lips. "Really fascinating notes."
"Okay, now you are irritating me," I said, scowling. This only made him laugh loudly, the sound bouncing off the lockers. I spun around to face him, aware that we were the only two people left in this part of Hawthorne. My heart fluttered, but not in an enjoyable way.
"I wasn't staring at you. I was talking to my friend about how you just stood by while that kid got the crap kicked out of him. And I happened to be looking in your direction while doing so."
His handsome face fell, lower lip jutting out almost in a pout. "What was I supposed to do?" he asked softly.
"I don't know, stop him?" I couldn't believe the anger that came from nowhere. All the time brimming below the surface of my calm thoughts.
"I don't want to step on anybody's toes," he explained. "There's this whole power structure in place here. It's very cult-like, if you haven't noticed."
"Of course I've noticed." I tried to put some distance between our walking bodies, but he kept up with me, matching my stride. We were about the same height, with him maybe an inch taller than I. His build was slender, with long arms and legs, almost awkward but somehow fitting him perfectly.
"But if Ambrose had gone any further..." He didn't finish the sentence.
"He has a temper like his father's," I said. I remembered the notorious public fits Ambrose's father had thrown at his car dealerships when he felt like someone was trying to cheat him. The stories had been splashed across the gossip page, and then disappeared abruptly, presumably due to a wad of cash being shoved in the reporters' pockets. "I don't understand how you can be friends with those people."
"I'm friends with lots of different people. You and I, for example, I would consider friends."
"You haven't even talked to me since day one, and now we're friends?" I asked skeptically.
"I was giving you your space," he said defensively. "Don't girls like that? It just seemed like I was coming on too strong, and I didn't want to freak you out and make you run away."
I halted my steps, not believing what I was hearing. My skin flushed warm again, and I wanted to duck my head so he didn't see. "You know that power structure you mentioned? It means we shouldn't even be talking, unless you want to harass me for my lack of style."
"Yeah, what's up with those pants, anyway?" he asked teasingly, capturing my gaze so I couldn't look away.
It was hard to glare at someone so cheerful and attractive. I managed it, though. It didn't
seem to faze him; he knew he had some kind of hold on me, even if I didn't understand it myself.
"How did your talk in the office go that day?" I asked softly, leaning closer to him.
"The cute animal part was a good suggestion." His mouth was meant for smiling. "They let me off."
His phone rang, and he yanked it out of his pocket, sighing in exasperation. He looked at the screen and rolled his eyes.
"I have to take this," he said. "But I want to keep talking later, okay?"
He pressed the phone to his ear and headed swiftly for the exit. Halfway there, he spun around and locked my gaze again.
"Especially now that I know you don't need space, you just want me closer." He bit his bottom lip and grinned. "Promise me."
I couldn't tell if he was teasing or being serious. My entire body was trembling excitedly, and I bobbed my head. "Okay, I promise."
Almost immediately I felt guilt assault me again. Standing still in the hallway, the afternoon light filtering from the classrooms, I watched his retreating figure. I was staring down a long tunnel with only one way to go, my destination unknown. All I could do was keep moving forward and wait to discover where the path led.
I realized my backpack felt much too light, and I still needed to get my homework and books. Backtracking through the deserted halls, I made it to my locker.
The combination lock was often fussy, but today it opened right up. I'd nearly forgotten about the locker incident the first day. Now it seemed like a silly thought, something that I only imagined remembering.
After I'd jammed my backpack full, I slammed the locker and headed out. I passed a set of doors marked Basement Access. A sturdy, steel chain was snaked between the handles, a heavy padlock keeping it in place. A notorious hideaway where kids would go down to make out or smoke, I wasn't surprised it had been closed off.
Then the voices started. Not too loud—whispers, really—but there were definitely people speaking. I stopped moving and listened hard.
I could almost make out words, but I couldn't tell if the speakers were male or female, or how many there were. For all I knew, it could have been very smart mice. The whispers seemed to be coming from behind the door and yet, through a trick of acoustics, from beside me.
Pressing my ear flat against one of the basement doors, I listened. The voices stopped instantly, startling me into yanking back. My breath hitched in my chest, picking up speed. I smashed my ear against the door again, harder. Listening for anything at all, a pin drop.