Exhaling the last, bitter remnants of panic, I reach my locker in just in the nick of time. That is, just in time to stand mutely for forty seconds while my locker neighbor's buddy guffaws at some vaguely obscene joke. I could ask him to move, right? Very nicely?
I'm not timid. I choose my words carefully based on their actual usefulness. And in this case, it may just as well be a time for silence.
Exactly eight years later, Brandon's eyes miraculously slide over to the unfortunate person whose locker he's blocking. At first, he looks through me. Then, I can see as his gaze physically shifts into focus and very slowly, some monumental realization dawns on him. I grin inwardly. What could it be?
"Oh, hey, Dezena. Hey, this is your locker, huh? Sorry, broski, I'll move."
Brandon is a little slow, but I smile at him. I smile at his Brandon-ness, and I smile at being called 'broski'. I'm glad I waited for him, glad that he's laughing. I retrieve the long-awaited binder and hurry on my way, wincing as the tardy bell wins the race. Oh, well. As far as prices for joy go, it's not terribly expensive.
I blend into the happy, messy motion of people chattering and laughing as I--several minutes late--take a seat. Our biology teacher doesn't notice, not at all to my surprise. She seems to be refereeing some sort of debate between two of the highest achievers in our class. Jaron's sky-blue eyes are narrowed in concentration, and Kylie's angled, dark eyebrows are dipped. Their argument, apparently over the ethics of stem cell research, seems to be raging ferociously.
I laugh to myself. Everyone recognizes how perfect they are for each other, everyone except for them. One day Jaron will be explaining Schrödinger's theory or some equal nonsense to a completely understanding Kylie, and he'll realize how much he's loved her since fifth grade. Hopefully sooner rather than later; for two smart people, they're a little slow on the emotional uptake.
You see, people are interesting. People are fun. People have value and life.
And because the universe is ironic and lonely, it's as I think this that Alice Terrir struts into the room.
YOU ARE READING
The Intercessor
General FictionSaving lives comes at a price. For Dezena Martin--intelligent, quiet, mercilessly harassed--that price is high. But the steeper the cost, the greater the reward.
