Silver Stilettos

6 | armor and answers

The next day at school, I wore the red American Eagle polo. It hugged my chest and hips, and when paired with skinny, low-rise jeans and red Converse, I looked a little bit more put together than I normally did. My outfit of choice usually consisted of ripped jeans and a graphic tee with a baggy cardigan pulling it all together.

Today, I wore red. Red like blood. Battle armor red.

"You look good," Matt Fraser said, jaw dropping as I fiddled with the lock on my locker.

I ducked my head, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "Thanks."

"What did you do different?" Having swapped his backpack for his books, he slammed his locker shut. Matt leaned against the metal separating my locker from his.

Woke up extra early to straighten my hair and exfoliate my face. Then plucking stray hairs around my eyebrows and squeezing myself into these pants I haven't worn since last year that are at least one size too small.

I smiled, revealing none of that. "Guess I just slept really well. A good night's rest can't be beat."

"I barely sleep through the night," he said.

I looked at him, really looked. Tired, red-rimmed eyes, sallow skin, and hunched shoulders, the kind that you only got from the unique combination of crippling academic pressure and too heavy a backpack.

"Sleep in homeroom," I suggested, finally pulling my locker open.

"Can't. I have to study for the AP physics exam."

For Matt, acing as many of his advanced placement exams as possible meant that he would be excused from enrolling in the equivalent college courses next year. His father had just lost his job and his mother only worked part-time, which meant they had to touch his college savings to get them by. They promised they would replace the money the minute his dad found a new job, but I think Matt saw that possibility grow dimmer and dimmer with each passing day.

I nodded. "Do you want my notes?" I asked after grabbing what I needed and slamming the metal door shut.

Matt looked at me gratefully. "Can I?"

"Sure." I pulled my physics notebook out, flipped to the right page, and handed it to him. "I need it back after homeroom, though."

The warning bell pealed overhead, signaling that we had one minute to get to class before we'd be counted tardy. The hallway, which had been jam-packed a moment before, suddenly emptied as students darted into classrooms and scurried around corners. We slipped into homeroom and had enough time to sit down and pull our books out before the louder bell rang through the loudspeaker, prompting all the teachers to pull their doors shut to indicate class had begun.

"All right, kids, you know the drill." Mr. Harris gave us a bleary smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't kill each other, try and be productive, and keep the volume low." With those parting remarks, he hid behind his computer screen and powered up the ancient Dell machine. It churned to life, hissing and spitting like a newly-awoken dragon.

I looked at Matt, who was sitting next to me. His head was bent over my notes, mouthing words under his breath.

I didn't look at Reed, although I felt his eyes on me.

Sometime during the night, after the tense washing-up of the dinner plates with my mother, it had occurred to me that his surprise visit to my house was some weird hazing ritual. Freak out the new girl to see if she's cool enough to sit with us. See if she buys it. See if she squeals.

It sounded like the exact kind of thing that Emily Vargas would do. I looked at her, at her bee-stung lips and loose, wavy brown hair. She was holding court in the middle of homeroom, flipping her hair over her shoulder in a way that made most of the boys sit up and take notice. She was wearing trendy patched jeans from Zara rolled up at the leg. Her necklace dipped into her cleavage and every so often, she would fish it out, dangle it between her fingers, and then let it drop again.