Payne & Joie

Chapter 4

One thing my Dad always told me was that I was special. My outfit? Special. My personality? Special. My eyes? Special. But there's one thing wrong with parents telling special kids that they're special: They're not special to anyone else. As I walk once again into the fluorescent lights and the sea of uniforms I am made painfully aware of that fact.

    Plaid skirt. Sharp blazer. Flat screen TV.

    Seven gossiping girls at the door. Three predatory glances. One, two, three, four metal detectors. Did I bring anything metal? I should check again. Someone probably brought something. Did I leave my gun at home? Did I lock my bike properly? I should go back and check. Two school resource officers. They're staring at me.

    I can't help but feel alone. I squeeze the straps on my backpack and try to disappear. If I could have a superpower it would be invisibility, that way I could walk the halls in peace. I busy myself with counting each tile on the floor on the way to homeroom.

    One, tw-.

    "Hey!"

    "Wha-"

Before I could even get a word out a thin arm finds its way over my neck. For a second I can't breathe. For four years I had blended into the brick wall of my high school, helped out by the firetruck red of the school uniform.

Don't touch me Don't touch touch Don't please please please

Then I see it. A ring of gold around their wrist, a PHS charm hanging there.

"M-Madeline?" I croak out, the closest to my mother I've ever sounded.

"Yep! Jesus you look spooked! Didn't mean to startle you," the blond girl says, her green eyes searching mine. "Is there anything I can get you? Some water perhaps?"

"I'm fine. Do you need something?" I say. It feels like ripping stitches out of my mouth. It feels weird talking to one of the seven girls at the front door, the type to spread rumors and roll the waistband of their skirts.

"I actually do!" She begins, sickeningly sweet. Her arm stays firmly over my shoulder."I was thinking we could talk about something you know about. Your fath-."

A ringing reverberates through the small hallway: The warning bell.

Madeline pouts like a child denied candy.

"Oh, that's too bad," she says, finally releasing me. "You have Klepacz for English first period right? We'll talk then." I follow her golden braid to class against my will.

Madeline Marquez; gymnastics superstar, popular, tall, and surface-nice. Exactly what my mother wished I could be. Madeleine is the type to rise to popularity by the rogue compliment or flirtatious glance. It makes me shudder.

No one is that nice...

The classroom I step into is warm. Too warm. The heat of two dozen bodies and the stench of the cross country's early practice. It almost makes me forget that these are the sons and daughters of the country's elite, or anyone who can afford the twenty-five thousand dollar tuition.

Fourteen steps forward, two steps left to the desk.

I sometimes feel like a snake, slithering around trying not to disturb each tiny pocket of people. Each is a friend group unfamiliar to me. I slide into the hard plastic chair, its exterior a welcome coolness to my skin. I try not to look up lest my thoughts start to go wild again.

It's a bitter irony... The girl who was made to be great avoided eye contact with anyone at school. Maybe if my mother knew about this she'd finally pull me from the school. Instead she holds onto the delusion that maybe the school will make me special if my father can't.

Having my eyes glued to the floor meant I didn't even notice the presence of the girl behind me until she began talking.

"Sooooo-," Madeline croons. "Jesus did I spook you again? I'm sorry! Love the backpack by the way."

I don't elaborate on the fact that the only reason I bring my backpack to class is because I don't want to use my locker. Just another lock to check... My eyes search the room. Madeline's bedazzled cronies have left. It's just me and her.

No one is that nice.

"...Thanks."

"You're welcome! Now first of all I need you to tell me what you were doing with Payne." she says, smiling as sweet as before as if she didn't realize the significance of what she said.

The room that was so warm is now icy cold.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know what I mean Joie. Look me in the eyes."

I do and her frozen stare keeps me there. Just like Payne's.

Her voice drops down low, not bothering with the plastic smile any longer. Her long fingernails click on the desk. "Your last name is Andrews right? Like David Andrews? I always knew he had a daughter and just didn't know who. I assume that you were talking about your father's work genetically altering people. Now tell me. What. Were. You. Doing?"

As she emphasizes each word, Payne's voice echoes in my mind.

"Then do it for me. For them. For her. Whatever it takes."

Madeline still stares at me, waiting for my answer. Is the money worth it for a girl like her?

"...We were discussing information we had. There may be a cure for the genetic alteration."

"And why should I believe you?" She sneers.
"I'm his daughter, remember? I know these things," I lie.

The lie slips out easily but leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Deja vu from when I first took the files from that forbidden drawer.

"And what makes you so special, anyways? I thought everyone who was genetically altered gets a talent? I know that I'm good at gymnastics, but what are you good at?" She says matter of factly.

Even though I knew the truth of her words it still stung when she said it. I almost don't say it, another lie almost departs from my lips. But the guilt is too much. Who am I to lie when I took that glimpse into some many lives? I hold her eyes.

"I have a photographic memory," I sigh out like a breath held too long. "I remember everything."