The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(78)

I’m distracted by the reference to his secrets. While I’m considering what they could be, he opens the front door and we step inside. It’s like yesterday, only worse, because it feels like everyone is staring. I put on a smile, but it must not look normal because people quickly look away. They’re giving Shane and me a wide berth in the halls. He goes with me to our locker; Lila’s waiting nearby.

“You look better,” she says, linking arms with me.

I appreciate it so much that I feel like hugging her, so I do. She looks a little surprised, but she doesn’t pull away. She falls in on my left, Shane on my right, and the two of them escort me to my first class, and though I always thought of him as gentle, he’s got a hard edge today, a set to his jaw that dares anyone to say a word. They drop me off and run to make their classes before the last bell.

Nobody talks to me, but I can deal with isolation. I pay attention to my teachers, though I’m not delighted when Mr. Mackiewicz asks me to stay after. I don’t need this today. I’m doing better. But I present myself before his desk as the other students file out. Shane glances at me, but I wave him on.

“Miss Czinski, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve registered your extra effort this semester. Did you find a tutor?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s certainly reflected in your work. You’ve shown the most improvement of anyone in class, and I wanted to say good job.”

Wow, really?

“Thanks,” I manage to say, surprised.

“That’s all. Enjoy your lunch.”

That’s the least painful conversation I’ve ever had with Mackiewicz. I’m actually feeling … not horrible when I step out into the hall. Most people have already headed to the cafeteria—or wherever they eat—so it’s just Shane waiting for me. He raises a brow in question.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah, he just wanted to praise me, if you can believe it. Thanks to you, I’m most improved in geometry.”

“Secret one: I’ve taken geometry before. I should be a senior this year.” He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I missed more school than I should, taking care of my mom.”

“So you’re seventeen?”

“Eighteen in July.”

Whoa, so he’ll be within a few months of nineteen by the time he finishes school. I’m impressed that he hasn’t just said screw it and gotten his GED. He’s had more reason than most to quit. I take heart in his determination. If he didn’t give up, I won’t either.

But just as I think that, I glance down the hall because there’s a bunch of people milling around my locker. They give way as I approach, and what I see freezes my heart in my chest. So that’s how he knew. My case files were confidential, so he went looking through old newspapers. And sure enough, he struck gold. For a few seconds I can’t get my breath. There’s a pink Post-it note, just like the ones I use, and the two words are written in purple glitter pen, just like mine. But I’d never write PSYCHO KILLER and stick it on someone’s locker. Taped beneath, there’s a copy of the news article, covering the fire. The headline reads, CHILD STARTS HOUSE FIRE, 1 FATALITY.

I feel sick again.

Shane grabs the papers, tears them down, and crumples them in his fist. “Who posted this?”

Silence.

So he grabs the nearest guy by the shirt, shakes him hard, then slams him against the locker. “Tell me, or I assume you did it and beat the shit out of you.”

“It-it was Dylan and his crew,” the freshman gasps.

Someone else says, “Yeah, they just ran by, laughing their asses off.”


Shane lets go of the kid and takes off running. During lunch, Dylan and his cronies can usually be found in the gym, shooting hoops. Alarmed, I race after him. For me, yesterday was the worst; now I’m braced and I can take whatever they throw at me.

I call, “Shane, wait! It’s okay. I don’t care.”

But he’s beyond earshot or just not listening. He bangs through the double doors, so hard that one of them hits the wall. Dylan’s on the other side of the court, going up for a layup. Shane charges at him. No conversation, no accusations. And he takes him down in one hit. For a few seconds, I’m frozen. Rage fuels his strikes, and he slams him once, twice, three times in the face. I’m positive Dylan’s never been in a fight like this. He covers his face with his hands and rolls to his side, but Shane doesn’t let up.

“Think you can do whatever you want, you little bitch?” Another blow. “Fight me, *. Show your friends how tough you are.” Shane pummels him again. “No? You sure?”

It takes four of Dylan’s buddies to drag him off, and Shane punches two of them before the PE teacher intervenes. He drags Shane out of range and somebody runs for the nurse, because Dylan looks seriously messed up.

He spits a mouthful of blood and says, “Somebody call the cops. I’m pressing charges.”

His friend gets out his phone and dials before the teachers can decide how to handle things. Oh my God, no. I forgot. I forgot what he told me about needing to lay low—that if he gets in trouble again, he’s going to juvie until he’s eighteen.

A huge crowd gathers while the teachers confer. They try to shoo us away, but nobody’s budging. Dylan’s mom comes from the office and puts an arm around him; she glares at Shane, who’s still being restrained by the gym teacher. Eventually the cops show up and they talk quietly with the principal. I wrap my arms around myself because I can’t stop shaking.