Under a Silent Moon

18

Chapter Eighteen: Dead Man Walking

ZACK

As I'm sitting in second period history class, I notice remnants of Lana's blood are still on my hands. I have to muster an incredible amount of discipline to restrain myself from licking my fingers clean like I've just eaten a dozen barbeque wings.

Furiously, I wipe my hands on my jeans, probably looking like a madman. It isn't until I catch a scent of familiar perfume that I look up and see her towering over me.

"Hey there, stranger," Lizzy says quietly. I glance around. Kids are still filtering into class, and a couple across the room is eyeing the pair of us up.

"Hi," is all I reply, trying to drag myself out of my own spiraling thoughts.

Lizzy and I spoke on the phone briefly after I got home, but this is the first time we've seen each other in person. The day after I returned to my dad's house, I offered to meet up with her, but she had some sort of excuse not to. So, we FaceTimed and talked on the phone for around two hours. The status of our relationship, though, is still convoluted. It may be clear to her, but it's still unknown to me.

This morning in the common area Grayson told me a rumor about how Lizzy's moved on to some college guy, and I have yet to decide how I feel about that. Or if I even believe it.

She shifts uncomfortably, her books resting on the edge of my desk. I stand to hug her, but it's tense. Holding Lizzy doesn't feel soft and easy like it used to. I can tell she notices as well by the way she doesn't meet my eyes when we pull away.

"It's nice to see you again," she tells me, but it sounds so formal and leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

"You too," I say, trying to smile. But there isn't much to smile about today.

She occupies the empty seat behind me, and I can feel her stare boring into the back of my head throughout class. As if I wasn't already unfocused. The stench of Lana's blood remains on me, and even if I clamp my nose shut and breathe through my mouth, I can still taste the coppery flavor on my tongue.

Luckily, Mr. Suprino, the history teacher, doesn't call on me to answer any questions today. All of my teachers have predominantly left me alone, only flashing me sympathetic smiles, pitiful glances, and inquisitive eyes. They act like they've never seen a dead man walking before.

Lizzy pushes silky brown hair behind her ears when the dismissal bell sounds and doesn't give me a straight answer when I ask her if we should talk. She uses words like "different" and "time to think." I've never been great at deciphering what she's thinking to begin with, so I leave our encounter even more confused than before.

I find Lana at her lunch table. It's full, but I squeeze in next to her and ask her if she's busy after school. She tells me she's got musical tryouts, and my eyes light up. I tell her it's great that she's getting back into music, but she only shrugs. I can feel the glare of her friends on me as we talk. They've been eyeing me with curiosity and suspicion all day. It's kind of hard to ignore.

Lana agrees that we'll text later, and I saunter away with feverish whispers at my back.

At our lunch table, we're one person short.

"Where's Lizzy?" I ask Jordan as I take a seat next to him, my tray clanking onto the table. It consists of one piece of pepperoni pizza, a green apple, and fat-free milk.

Jordan and our other buddy Mark exchange a strange glance but before I can analyze it, Jordan relays, "Lizzy hasn't sat with us in like, four months."

"Where does she sit?"

"Most lunch periods she's not even here. But when she is, she's with Crystal and Alaina."

My nose crinkles. "She can't stand those girls."

Jordan shrugs. "I guess now she can?"

I pick apart the pizza so as not to leave it entirely untouched. The greasy pepperoni slices make my stomach churn with nausea. Although I take a few bites of the apple, after a moment, I push it with my tongue into my cheek until my friends aren't looking. I spit the chewed remains into a napkin. Nobody seems to notice, but I wonder how many days I can get away with doing that without soliciting attention.

After school, I text Lana. I need to tell her that I'm not sure if I can do this. I don't think there's any longevity to my facade as a normal, high school, teenage boy. Today was strenuous, and nerve-wracking, and almost tragic. I don't believe that it's fair to not only myself, but to my unsuspecting classmates if I continue to mingle amongst the mortals.

All these thoughts are swirling around my head, leaving me dizzy and breathless. I stare at the screen, waiting for Lana's reply. Suddenly, I see a group of students with arms linked excitingly scurrying towards the auditorium and remember where Lana might be: musical tryouts.