Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(60)
I move closer to the posters. Surrounding her body are these weird identical blond dolls.
I scan the crowd for Chiamaka, swallowing the lump in my throat when I see her in the center of the hallway, frozen.
The quiet chaos is interrupted by pop music blaring from the school speakers as a figure dressed head to toe in black, with a black hood and a terrifying Guy Fawkes mask, carrying hundreds of posters, appears out of nowhere and rushes forward.
The hairs on the back of my neck are raised and a chill runs through me unexpectedly. My mind flashes back to the park, the figure with the camera.
In one swift movement, they toss the papers they’re holding into the air. The sheets fall from the ceiling like giant snowflakes and people reach up, jumping to catch the paper, like it’s some game. I block my face as the sheets rain down, but I glimpse the printed images. I reach down and pick one up.
It’s me and Chiamaka’s junior yearbook photos. Only our eyes have been scratched out. It’s like a punch to the gut.
Without thinking, I push through the crowd, walking toward the masked figure. They notice my sudden movement and look me dead in the eye before sprinting away, pushing through the crowd. They’re fast, black sneakers carrying them quickly.
I start running but I’m quickly blocked by bodies, shoving me back as they grab at the posters that litter the floor. I fight my way through, not wanting to lose the person, but by the time I break out from the crowd, the figure has disappeared once again.
Aces?
Taking a shaky breath, I turn. My face is hot, limbs quaking, as all eyes fix on me now. Some sneer, others stare blankly. I scan the hallway for Chiamaka, but she’s disappeared. Her picture comes into view again, lined up along each locker. I run at the first one, tearing it down, move to the next one, yanking it off, then the next, and the next, blood boiling. Whoever took this photo meant to do harm. She’s passed out, unaware of the picture being taken. It’s nasty; it’s a violation.
I spot Mr. Ward at the end of the hallway, holding one of the posters. Then I watch as he crumples it up and throws it in the trash, before walking away.
The second warning bell rings, and the students around me abruptly start walking away, moving toward their classes. I stand in the center of the hallway, the picture of Chiamaka clutched in my hand, the floor filled with copies of my defaced school photo.
* * *
Mr. Taylor looks down at the crumpled posters of Chiamaka and me. His brow is furrowed and mouth twisted as he scans the page.
“I’m sorry, Devon. These were just in the hallway? You didn’t see who put them up?” he asks.
I nod. “We didn’t see who put them up, but there was a person throwing some of the posters around. They were wearing a mask, so I didn’t see who they were either.”
Mr. Taylor sighs and looks up at me.
“I’m going to find out who did this, Devon, okay?”
I feel relieved. “Thank you.”
“Just go home, and try not to let this get you down.”
I do exactly that—I go home and I try not to think about it. But it’s impossible.
I’m at home, in my bedroom, knees bouncing like I’ve had too much coffee, seated on the edge of the bed trying to do homework, but I can’t shake the image of those posters on the hallway floor, of the figure in a mask. It’s like my mind can’t comprehend what is going on.
I feel guilty that Chiamaka is probably on her own somewhere, dealing with this all by herself. I’m barely holding it together here, and the attack on me today wasn’t half as personal. I couldn’t find her after class, in the labs; she’s not answering her phone, and I don’t know where she lives. The posters made me feel sick; they were a threat to me and Chiamaka. Letting us know that someone is out for us and won’t stop until they’ve destroyed us.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and I jump. My brother James is staring at me, a serious expression on his face as he holds up a drawing. My brothers have been watching cartoons all evening, like they usually do after they get back from school. Ma’s in the kitchen making dinner. I normally help, but I’ve been falling behind on everything lately, and I have to get my homework done.
I survey the picture, trying to look really impressed. Nine times out of ten, the picture is of an elephant—James’s favorite animal—but this picture is pink and brown and lopsided.
“So cool, J. That an elephant?” I ask, pulling him onto my lap.
He shakes his head. “No … it’s meant to be you,” he says, sounding disappointed at my wrong guess.
I look at the picture again. The creature’s face is big, the body small and crooked. James gave the creature two ears and two earrings, one that’s a Christian cross and the other a normal stud, just like mine. The creature has a frown on its face and a teardrop under one of its eyes.
“I see it now, it looks just like me,” I say, feeling a little offended, but it makes him smile. He crawls off my lap and joins Elijah again on the floor, by the small TV in the corner.
I watch the shapes move about on the screen for a moment, then I turn back to the shapes on my homework sheet. I feel my phone buzz next to me and I grab it quickly, hoping it’s Chiamaka telling me she’s okay, that the posters are fucked up, that everything is definitely directed at us and that we need to do something now, before Sunday.