Trust(11)

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.