Burn Before Reading(2)

Fitz had wavy hair like golden lace, neatly slicked-back, and the same green eyes as Burn, but with a friendlier edge to them. He was the only one with freckles on his nose, and he wore his uniform like it was a casual toga - his tie-half loose and his jacket slung over his shoulders. He was the baby of the three, and it showed in the way he never took anything seriously. I had three classes with him, since he was a sophomore, too, and not once did I see him pick up his pencil or try to read the textbook. And strangely enough, the teachers never harped on him to do it, either. I chalked it up to the general unfairness of wealth until I saw his test results; nothing lower than 98% on every single test. And here I was, busting my ass from the time I got home from school till midnight just to make an 80% in one of the most strict, college-oriented curriculums in the country. Needless to say, I hated him. Still do, actually, but back then I hated him without knowing him.

And finally, we came to the grand emperor of all evil - Wolfgang himself. He didn't always walk in-between the other two, but he seemed to like to, as if they were his personal gargoyles instead of his brothers. Taller than Fitz, but a hair's shorter than Burn, Wolfgang - or Wolf for short, because of course there's always a 'for short' with them - walked like a sidewinder moves in sand; utter silence and perfect poise. I think that's what intimidated most people - that he looked like he could never be ruffled, or upset, or tilted off-balance, not even by a passing tornado. There was something unshakeable about the way he held his head, his broad shoulders. It scared people. Well, maybe it was also the fact it looked like he hated everything. Where his brothers' eyes were green, Wolf's were brown-green, hazel if you really wanna get all gushy and poetic with something like Satan's eye color. Regardless, Wolf's eyes burned. They burned with a deep poison I can only describe as utter contempt. His gaze was always sharp, and started to hurt a bit if you maintained eye contact with him for too long. It was a small mercy his hair was as dark a black and shaggy as it was - it got in his eyes a lot, and put a buffer between the world and his acid-fire. Unlike Fitz, he wore his uniform perfectly pressed, though he always kept several silver rings on different fingers, and it was no secret he played with them, turning them around his skin in idle moments, or even when he walked. The middle brother, Wolf was a junior, and the rumors were already swirling he was poised to go to an Ivy League. He was on the Varsity swimming team, and nothing else.

Burn was the quiet one, Fitz was the flirty one, and Wolf was the nasty one. Everyone knew that.

And as they approached Eric and I, I realized from Eric's stare and the way he started trembling harder that they were the ones who sent him the post-it. I grabbed it from his fingers and waved it as the Blackthorn brothers came close.

"So you're the ones who gave Eric this weird, ineffective paper stop-sign, huh?" I asked. Wolf spun a ring on his finger and pointed his volcanic glare at me.

"This doesn't involve you, scholarshipper. I suggest you keep your nose out of this." He snarled.

Burn, obviously used to Wolf's usual venom, closed his eyes and leaned on the lockers like he was taking a casual nap. Fitz turned to the hallway railing and watched the clouds go by, as if he was bored by it all. Scholarshipper. Of course he'd use the fact I'm the only one on scholarship to this school against me. Everyone else had mommies and daddies who could pay for such a prestigious place. I took a deep breath.

"And I suggest you go back to Hot Topic and give them their entire juvenile angst section you've clearly gobbled up and repurposed as a personality."

Burn cracked an eye open. Fitz turned his head over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. Wolf narrowed his long-lashed eyes to slits. Eric probably peed himself.

"Who do you think you are?" Wolf asked. The way he said it, dark and low and serrated like a knife, made me realize for a split-second why Eric might've pissed his pants. Beneath all that rich-boy angst, Wolf had an anger in him, a genuine, awful fire. Burn might've been the brawn behind the Blackthorns, and Fitz the affability, but Wolf was the fear.

"I'm just a scholarshipper," I said brightly to counter his darkness. "Minding her own business."

"You clearly aren't," Fitz chimed in with sweet smile, voice like cool honey compared to Wolf's ragged one. "This is none of your business."

"You're right. One sec." I held up the post-it and ripped it in half, letting the paper flutter to the floor. I've always been one for dramatics. And for a fair fight. Eric versus all three of the Blackthorns wasn't fair by any definition in the solar system. I smiled at Fitz. "Now it's my business."

Eric let out a sound like a squeezed piglet behind me. A murmur ran through the interested crowd watching us. Burn stood up straight all of a sudden, brow furrowed. Wolf had less neutral feelings about it. He leaned in so fast I barely had time to breathe, his height towering over me. I came up to his shoulders, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of looking up at him, so I fixated my gaze on his throat. He hovered, just in front of me, no part of us touching, and yet I felt him like a thousand pounds of coals on my skin.

"The McCaroll scholarship is the one you're hanging onto by a thread, right?" He murmured, and though his words were quieter they somehow burned even hotter.

I didn't grace him with a response. He chuckled, the sound completely humorless.

"Who do you think pays for that scholarship?"