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Chapter 2

TRIPWIRE

I was sitting in Mrs. Mason's fifth period English Literature class when it happened.

It was only the second week of the new school year, my senior year (finally!) at über-prestigious St. Nicetius Parochial High School- since it was the only Catholic school in town, it was less formally referred to as "St. Norman's"- and already I was counting down the days until graduation. Five down; one-hundred-and-seventy-five to go.

It's not that I didn't like school. It's just that the weather was still perfect in September and it was hard to get back into institution-mode with the sun shining so maliciously through the open windows of my butter-yellow concrete cell; the warmth of a sunbeam against my skin taunting me with an almost audible ticking as the end of summer counted down its final hours.

I was staring outside, catching the scent of warm, cut grass and thinking about taking a dip in the pool at the end of the day. The pool was my haven, my one place I could go whenever I wanted to block out the world. Living in New Jersey only allowed about a five month window to indulge in that activity, but my father would sometimes take mercy on me during the winter months and splurge on a day pass for the pool at the Jewish Y. Being that it was September, however, I knew I had at least a couple more weeks before it would become an issue. I'd managed the rare task of getting in a few laps before school that day, waking up before my alarm even went off, allowing a few extra minutes to grab a quick swim. I turned my face into my shoulder and breathed in, picking up a hint of chlorine through the shield of Aqua Net in my hair, offering a small promise of the lazy, floaty afternoon to come.

I'd had a bad run-in with the Sun-In a few weeks back which streaked my dark brown hair the nastiest shades of burnt orange. My best friend Lisa, after laughing hysterically at my predicament, came over and helped me dye it back to my natural color. I would have considered that very helpful if it weren't for the fact that Lisa was the one who insisted I be the guinea pig for that particular brand of hair lightener in the first place.

I'd been staring wistfully out the window at the sunshine, daydreaming about working on my tan, driving around in Lisa's beat-up old LeBaron with the top down or getting in a few more laps once I got home from school.

The second bell hadn't rung yet and already I was zoned out, slouched in my seat, waiting for Mrs. Mason to get on with Part Two of Romeo and Juliet. I had gotten through the entire book over the weekend, a fact I was forced to keep to myself considering Mason's explicit instructions that we not read ahead.

My ears perked up when I heard Mrs. Mason speaking over the din of a not-yet-settled classroom. "Thank you. You can take the desk over there behind Miss Warren, by the windows." Teachers always tried to convey some illusion of respect by calling us by our last names.

My parents had saddled me with the unfortunate first name of Layla. My father has always explained that my mother was in the middle of a pretty heady rock-and-roll phase in the years surrounding my birth, which explains, but doesn't excuse, the fact that my brother's name is Bruce Springsteen Warren. I shit you not.

In any case, I hadn't been paying much attention to Mrs. Mason until I heard her say my name. I looked up and saw some new kid hand her a slip of paper then turn toward the direction of her pointed finger. The sight that greeted me was enough to stop my heart.

If I were living in a movie, the opening strains of "Crazy Train" would have piped in, creating a background for this gorgeous boy who was walking slow-motion toward me. Our eyes met for a second before I realized I'd been staring and suddenly looked away.