Angel in Chains

Chapter 1 - Danai Chase

Okay, maybe her ID wasn't so far off.

"Yeah." Terry sighed. "Maddie got her hooks into him in Mr. Arnold's class." Her lips pursed for a split second, like she'd tasted something sour.

As they talked, Danai positioned herself between Haqiyah and the other girls. The press of students rushing to get lunch made Danai's stomach churn, but the cheerleaders and Haqiyah formed a break, forcing the others to fork around on either side.

"Is Saito-san in the cafeteria then?"

"Dunno. He and Maddie were getting close. Lucky bi—"

"Okay, thanks," Haqiyah cut her off. "Can you let us through now?"

"Sure, yeah. Hey Danai." Terry gave her a nod, and Danai smiled back politely.

When they reached the cafeteria, Danai's tight grip on her lunch bag had torn a hole in the brown paper. The clamor of hundreds of people talking, laughing and shouting back and forth to each other battered her like waves against a leaky ship. Maybe this flooding thing hadn't been such a good idea. Danai pushed her glasses up. Drops of sweat had gathered at the points where they touched the ridge of her nose. The lenses were fake, but it was enough of a barrier to fool her crazy brain so that she didn't see things too.

The cafeteria was a large room split into thirds. The middle third sat beneath a high arched ceiling. Five skylights punched through the apex at irregular intervals. Windows ran along three of the four walls. They'd been opened a third of the way, and someone had brought out the giant metal fans to combat the heat. They rattled and hummed as they turned slowly back and forth. Though the windows had screens, a smattering of flies had managed to squeeze through the tears in them and buzz around the tables.

"I had Jinesh get a spot next to the window," Haqiyah explained, pointing.

Others from the anime club sat at the long table that was thankfully less busy than where she and Haqiyah were. Most had lunch trays. The smell of french fries and pizza wafted through the room, mixed with a low grade sweaty stink.

Danai nodded. Her mouth was dry. If only she could get to the side of the room, away from the streams of students trying to get to the food line. Danai fixed her gaze on her friends. Jinesh, a chubby, Indian boy with spiky black hair, leaned over a sketchbook. He was by far the most artistic in their club. His left hand flitted over the page in meticulous movements. With his right, he swiped a french-fry into the puddle of ketchup on his plate.

"Let's go," Haqiyah said, taking her free hand.

Danai took a breath. All she had to do was get across this room.

I can do this.

If only she could stop shaking. Sweat stung her eyes.

"Move it!" a guy shouted behind her.

Haqiyah whirled around. "Shut up, jackhat!"

"Then get out of the middle of the floor. Jeez." He pushed past them, practically shoulder checking Danai as he moved.

Danai froze. She was cold all over. And shaking. It was just a stupid cafeteria. Why was she so lame? She wanted to cry, but no way she was going to let them see it.

Haqiyah put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay? Don't listen to that guy. He's a total jerk. He just thinks he's hot stuff because he made varsity, but everyone knows coach keeps him on the bench," she said the last part of the sentence loudly, and the guy, who Danai recognized as a senior, glared over at them.

Danai shook her head. Her stomach was churning. Not a little bit, but like an acid factory with a dissolving spatula spinning in the middle of one of those giant, steel drums. If she didn't get out of here, she was going to throw up.