Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(13)

Coco doesn’t look up from her desk as I lower into a desk near her. She carves intently, her expression focused. A quick peek at her work reveals an elaborate geometric design.

No one gives my presence much reaction. Several minutes pass and I begin to think this won’t be so bad. Boring, yeah. But not bad. Certainly not dangerous. And then I hear a chair scrape the linoleum floor. My skin tightens, the back of my neck prickling, but I don’t turn to look. I stare straight ahead, pretending I don’t sense someone approaching. As though pretending he doesn’t exist and is coming my way will make him not real.

Coco moves from geometric angles to swirls now. Her pen works faster on her desk, whirring on the air, the pitch reminding me of an aria I sang last year at the bank’s Christmas party.

“Hey.” The word hits the back of my neck in a hot gust of breath.

I jump a little. Masking my fear, I look over my shoulder. It’s only one boy. He occupies the seat behind me, his body dwarfing the desk. He’s wearing a vintage-looking gray shirt with green sleeves that fits him tightly. He smiles. It’s totally insincere though.

His companion watches with interest from his desk. Suddenly, I feel like a lot weighs on this moment, on how I react. I wipe sweaty palms on my jeans. Like a new inmate arrived in prison, I’m being evaluated on all sides.

“Hey,” I return.

“Where you from?”

“Does it matter?” For some reason I hesitate to tell him where I live. I don’t want to come across as the spoiled little rich girl that’s fallen low. Even if I am.

“I suppose not.” He smiles widely. “Nothing matters anymore. Our life is this Cage.”

“Maybe yours,” I return.

His smile vanishes. “Oh. You think so? You think you’re special?”

“This is only temporary. Few more weeks and I’ll graduate—

He laughs and I stop talking. “Stupid bitch. You think I just mean this room? We’ll be in a cage for the rest of our lives. Whether it’s this one or another one. Graduation?” He shakes his head. “You think that’s going to save you? You think you’re going to get a great job or something? Go to college? Right now, the only thing that’s going to help you is how many friends you can make in here.” He looks me over, his cold eyes assessing. “You any good at making friends?”

Friends? As in becoming his friend? Something twists sickly inside me. I don’t answer, but he keeps talking anyway.

“You’re dead to your old friends. You’re swimming in a different pond now. You’ll need new friends. Carriers. Like you.” He leans back in the seat and crosses his thick arms over his chest. He doesn’t say it out loud, but his words hang there. Like me.

I open my mouth, but can’t think of a proper response, too disgusted with the idea that I am somehow the same as him. That carriers everywhere are all the same. Even if that’s how we’re treated. Even if that’s how everyone views us. I’m different. The exception. It’s arrogant thinking, but all I can cling to.

He smiles, clearly satisfied that he’s put me at a loss for words. Leaning forward, he runs his hand along my arm, his fingers soft as moths’ wings. I slap it away. A mistake. His smile fades and he grabs my offending hand, giving my fingers a hard, cruel squeeze. My heart gallops in my chest, stunned that he’s even touching me like this . . . hurting me.

I glance quickly at Brockman. He’s reading his magazine. I try to wiggle my fingers free, but he holds tightly, twisting my fingers until they’re bloodless. Until I have to clench my teeth from crying out. I debate calling for help, but he clicks his tongue at me, drawing my attention. “Hey, don’t look at him. I’m talking to you. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. There are a lot of things that can happen to you. When Brockman leaves to use the bathroom. When he falls asleep at his desk. Hell, even right now. So let’s get off on the right foot.”

I swallow back my whimper and hold his gaze, searching for some scrap of emotion in eyes as glassy and dead as a mannequin’s.

“Leave her alone, Nathan,” the little guy interjects. “She doesn’t need any tips from you.”

I’d forgotten about him.

“Shut up, Gil,” Nathan snarls at him, his face instantly contorting into something mean and ugly. “Keep your nose in your book and I might forget you exist for the rest of the day.”

Gil doesn’t look away. He glares at the bigger boy. “You mean until he gets here.”

Nathan releases me and lurches from the desk. In two strides, he’s at Gil, pulling him up by his collar. He backhands him once, the sound a startling crack on the air.

I jerk in my seat at the blatant violence. Brockman lifts his head up from his magazine, looking into the Cage, his expression mildly concerned but mostly just annoyed. At Everton, teachers intervene at the slightest whiff of a fight. With a pronounced sniff and swipe at his nose, he goes back to his magazine. I gawk. He’s not going to do anything.

“He’s not here now, wimp.” Nathan gives him a shake. “Or every morning, for that matter. If I were you, I’d watch your mouth. Plenty of chances for you to get a pounding. He can’t protect you every minute of every day.”

That said, Nathan flings Gil back into his desk. The boy’s hip crashes into the top of the desk. He winces as he falls awkwardly into his seat. He folds into himself, pulling his thin frame close.