The Dark Divine(19)

“Daniel is quite proficient,” I said.

Barlow stroked his mustache, and I knew he was about to deliver the catch. “Your portfolio will consist only of work done in this class. I will monitor each of your assignments at the beginning, middle, and end of their progression. You will not turn in anything you have done previous to now.”

“That’s impossible,” I said. “It’s almost December and I’m not even a third of the way through my portfolio.”

“That is why Mr. Kalbi will be joining us every lunch period and will report directly to my classroom for one hour after school, each and every day.”

Daniel almost lost the staring contest but regained his composure. “Nice try, but I have a job in the city after school.”

“I’ve been informed that the school has given you a stipend for your living expenses. You are obviously in one board member’s good graces, but don’t expect any special treatment from me. You will be in this class every day after school, or you will not be here at all.”

Daniel grabbed the edge of the desk and leaned forward. “You can’t do this. I need the money.” He finally looked away. “I have other obligations.”

I sensed a twinge of desperation in his voice. The word obligations made my mouth go dry.

“Those are my stipulations,” Barlow said. “It is your choice.” He gathered up some papers and went into his office.

Daniel threw his chair aside and tore out of the room with the fury of a threatened bear. I followed him into the hall.

Daniel swore and smashed his fist into a locker door. The metal crunched behind his knuckles. “He can’t do this.” He punched the locker again and didn’t even flinch with pain. “I have obligations.”

There was that word again. I couldn’t help wondering what it meant.

“He wants me to be his trained little circus pup. I even wore this stupid shirt.” Daniel clawed at the buttons and tore it off, uncovering his whitish tee and long sinewy muscles in his arms that I hadn’t noticed before. He slammed his dress shirt against the locker. “This is total bullsh—”

“Hey!” I grabbed his hand as he pulled it back for another swing. “Yeah, those lockers really tick me off, too, sometimes,” I said, and stared down a couple of gawking freshmen until they hurried along. “Damn it, Daniel!” I reeled on him. “Don’t swear at school. You’ll get kicked out.”

Daniel licked his lips and almost smiled. He unclenched the fist I still held, dropping his blue shirt. I tried to inspect his hand, expecting his knuckles to be purple, considering the deep dent in the locker door. He pulled out of my grasp and shoved his hand in his pocket.

“This completely sucks,” Daniel said, and leaned against the abused locker. “That Barlow guy doesn’t get it.”


“Well, maybe you can reason with him. Or maybe if you tell me about your obligations, I can explain it to him for you….”

Yeah, could I be any more obvious?

Daniel looked at me for a long moment. His eyes seemed to reflect the fluorescent lights in the dimly lit hall. “You want to get out of here?” he finally asked. “You and me.” He held out his uninjured hand. “Let’s blow these jerks off and do something fun.”

I was an honors student, daughter of a pastor, citizen-of-the-month winner, and a member of the One for Jesus Club, but for the briefest nanosecond I forgot all of those things. I ached to take his hand. But that aching scared me—made me hate him.

“No,” I said before I could change my mind. “I can’t miss class, and neither can you. You skip one more day, and you’ll lose your scholarship. You still want to get into Trenton, don’t you?”

Daniel balled his hand into a fist. He took a deep breath, and his face shifted into a cool, unruffled fa?ade. He pulled a crumpled slip of paper from his pocket. “So, precious, how do I get to geometry?”

I studied the list, relieved that AP art was the only class we would have together. “Room 103 is down the hall and to the left. Past the cafeteria. You can’t miss it. And don’t be late. Mrs. Croswell loves to give detention.”

“Welcome back,” Daniel mumbled. “I forgot how much I hate this sh—crap.” He smirked at me and laughed to himself.

“Yeah, welcome home,” I said. And this time I was the one who walked away.





LATER




I didn’t know how many people would remember Daniel Kalbi. He’d had only a handful of friends growing up, and he’d moved away from Holy Trinity before his sophomore year. Regardless, I expected the appearance of someone like Daniel to at least spark some controversy and gossip. However, there was another scandal sweeping through the halls of school that upstaged Daniel’s return tenfold: the sudden death and mutilation of Maryanne Duke, devoted Sunday-school teacher, childhood babysitter of many, and—despite her old age and meager means—volunteer at almost every school activity.

I was the recipient of many sidelong glances and backhanded whispers as I made my way from class to class. I was used to people talking about me. Watching me. It was just part of being a Divine. Mom always said I had to be careful about the clothes I wore, how late I stayed out, or what movies I was seen going into, because people would set their own behavior by what the pastor’s kids were allowed to do—like I was some kind of walking morality barometer. Really, I think she was more concerned about people having a reason to talk bad about the pastor’s daughter.