Burn Before Reading(3)

"The school," I retaliated.

"And the school pays for it with donations," He led on. "Of which seventy-five percent is donated from Blackthorn Shipping Industries, LLC."

I swallowed so hard I swore he heard it.

"Your father has depression, and your mother works overtime at Southern General. Lakecrest is the only way someone like you can get into NYU for that high-end psychology degree you've always wanted, isn't it?"

The lump in my throat fell to my stomach. "How do you know that -"

"If I catch you interfering with my red-cards again, you're gone." He hissed. "No scholarship. No NYU. Nothing."

All my muscles locked up, like I'd been poisoned. My head was spinning so fast I didn't even notice Wolf and his brothers leave, until Eric patted me on the shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked. His voice and the ring of the tardy bell pulled me out of it.

"Y-Yeah. I'm fine. As fine as you can be when you've been threatened by Beelzebub himself."

Eric nodded, picking up the halves of the red-card I'd ripped.

"What was that all about? Why'd they give it to you in the first place?" I asked. Eric shrugged.

"Red cards. It’s a signal to rest of the school, basically. Whoever gets one gets shunned by the rest of Lakecrest.”

“What? That’s insane!”

He shrugged. “It’s how things are around here. Wolf gives it to people who're doing something he doesn’t like."

"Do you know what it was?"

He sighed. "I've got an idea. Hopefully it's the right one."

"You can't just -" I inhaled, feeling the blood rush back to my buzzing head. "You can't let those spoiled assholes push you around like that! So what if they don't like something you did? So what if they're rich? You don't answer to them!"

Eric laughed, the sound bitter. "It's Lakecrest, Bee. Everyone answers to them."

"Well I sure as hell don't."

He shook his head and started towards his class. "Then you won't last very long, here. You ever hear about Mark Gerund?"

"Who?"

"Freshman, about two years ago. He was a scholarship kid, too. But then he got in a fight with Wolf at school, like a hardcore fist-fight."

"Surely he wasn't murdered for a bit of punching," I laughed nervously.

Eric shrugged. "Whatever happened to him, we never saw him at school again. The teachers didn't mention him, either. It was like he...disappeared. Wolf seemed pretty happy about it afterward." The tardy bell rang, and Eric started. "Crap - gotta go. Thanks for your help."

I watched him leave, feeling numb and cold.





Chapter 2


I spent the rest of the day trying to get Eric's words out of my head, and Wolf's pressure off my skin. And by that, I mean I curled up in the library. My sanctuary. My safe-haven.

Lakecrest's library was a beautiful glass building, with pale wood tables and benches stacked with comfortable pillows. It overlooked the whole school, which back then I thought was incredible. It still is - the buildings are all old brick covered in ivy, with roman pillars and manicured lawns and walkways out of a storybook, with flower-covered trellises. Most of the flowers were wilting at that point, since October was setting in with chilly air. The library was the place I came to distance myself from everyone else, with their flashy cars and jewelry and non-stop chatter about new iPhones and who was having a party at whose house that weekend.

I harrumphed and turned a page in my book, digging my butt deeper into the cushiony chair. I knew this place was for rich people when I applied, but I didn't know it was this bad. I'd been blinded by the incredible credentials of the teachers and the acceptance rate the students had getting into great colleges. Unlike most of my peers, I knew exactly what I wanted from high school - a better college. I didn't want to join clubs or go to parties. I wanted good grades, and to get out as soon as humanly possible.

My phone rang in my pocket, and I pulled it out. It was a cheap Samsung, but it did the only thing I wanted from a phone - call people and maybe sometimes text them, if Mom could afford the bill that month.

"Hey Dad," I whispered. "I'm in the library."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought school was over." His voice sounded so thin, that day. "I'll call you back –”

"No, it's okay! It is over. I'm just picking up some books before I go home. I can talk now."

"I'm so proud of you, you know." I could hear the smile in his words. "I can't stop bragging about you to the neighbors. My daughter - going to Lakecrest of all places."

I laughed. "I know. How was your day?"

He cleared his throat. "Do you know when you're coming home?"

Subject change. My stomach churned. That was never a good sign. "Like, a half hour? How does that sound?”

"Great. I think we're having spaghetti tonight, so there's no rush."

"Spaghett about it!" I said in an Italian accent. Dad laughed a little at our old joke, but it was so faint I barely heard it at all.

"See you soon, Bee."

"See ya."

I had to get home, I knew that much. Dad didn't sound so great, and Mom wouldn't be home for another seventy-two hours, since her shift at the hospital this week was a double. He needed someone there with him, and I was the only one.