Beneath The Waterfall

colin

In my world, there's either right or wrong.

There's never an in between—never a maybe. I've never been lucky enough to get maybes. I lost my father in a car accident when I was twelve. The doctors were certain he was going to die. No maybes, they were right and I cried that whole night, curled up with my big brother Leon, while my mother dragged herself to work with tears in the corners of her eyes because we really needed the money.

At the age of sixteen, my eighteen year old brother was arrested. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time, dropping off some basketball shoes he'd borrowed from one of his teammates. He was a young biracial male wearing a black hoodie at night. Someone across the street was shot and when he heard the noise, he ran. Cops saw him, he matched the description, and they assumed he was the assailant when really, the culprit was out there and had probably gotten away with it.

Did he get a questionable maybe? Did he get lucky? No. The cops thought they were right, he was assigned a shitty attorney, lost the case, and was sentenced to prison for twenty-five years. I promised myself I would go to college and get a degree in law just to get him justice one day.

Don't worry about me, Knucklehead, he signed behind the scratchy, murky window, while tears welled in my eyes. I watched his hands carefully while Mama rubbed my shoulders. I'm okay, Sienna. You just worry about making it out, okay? Take your butt to college like you promised. That day, he had a black eye and a busted lip. His eyes were vacant and dark, like his humanity was slowly but surely slipping away. My poor brother. He didn't deserve this.

I will, I said.

Not even seven months later, my brother was found hanging in his cell. He didn't seem like the type to kill himself. In fact, he always scolded me whenever I talked about not wanting to be alive anymore... too bad he didn't take his own advice.

Now, at seventeen, while sitting in detention at Gray Creek High School on a Friday, I realize this is all wrong and that my life will forever be unfair. I didn't belong in this stuffy classroom. I was a straight-A student, on my way to Harvard or Princeton, I'd hoped. But because one dumb girl decided to look over my shoulder for answers during a test, I was the one who had cheated and had to retake the test that I had aced, while she got off scot-free.

I knew she only got off the hook because her father owned a business that was a big sponsor for my school's football team. Her name was Samantha Frasier, a preppy blonde who always wore short skirts and dresses, and hung out with the same girls, Nikki Ern and Ariel Wilkins. They literally wore Tiffany blue every Friday.

That was one thing I didn't like about Gray Creek. The cliques. The lies. Being ignored about a test I didn't cheat on, even when I was telling the truth.

I glanced to the left, where the legs of the clock sluggishly ticked by. I was in the classroom with Coach Z, who had his feet kicked up on the desk in front of him and a newspaper in his face. The door was wide open and I could have easily picked my things up to leave without him noticing, but I wasn't like that. I didn't need another bad case of Karma to hit me.

Also in detention was Paul Ketner, who sometimes grossed me out because he spat a lot when he talked, but he was always friendly to me so I kept that in mind.

And there was also Colin Maverick. The Colin Maverick. He sat in the very back of the room with a black hoodie on, the hood covering his head, and his hands tucked into the pocket of it. I glanced back and when his head turned, he glared at me, nostrils flaring, jaw flexing.

Goosebumps swept across my skin as I snatched my eyes away. He always stared at me like he wanted to kill me, but I guess I couldn't take it personally because he looked at everyone that way. For some reason, though, I always felt like he held more ferocity toward me. With others, it was just a light snuff and he'd look away. But with me? No. He would stare and stare until I was left with no choice but to look away and wonder what the hell was wrong with him. I was starting to think he hated me, honestly.

"Hey," Paul hissed at me, tapping my desk with his pencil. "What'd you do to get in here?"

"Cheated, according to Mrs. Retta," I muttered.

He seemed confused and surprised. "I've never known you to cheat. You're smart as hell."

"Quiet," Coach Z muttered behind his newspaper.

"Try telling that to my geometry teacher," I whispered after several seconds. I laced my fingers together on top of the desk. "Why are you here?"

"I couldn't stop laughing at some dumb joke Maurice was telling me. Mrs. Gomez got so pissed and thought I was laughing at her while she was teaching." Paul looked to his left, at Colin. "I bet he's here because he threatened his gang would kill someone." Paul scoffed. "Guy is a total freak."

I looked back again. I could see more of Colin's face now that he'd pushed his hood back. His eyes were bright blue, reminding me of the Bahama oceans, his skin so pale he could have passed as Snow White's brother. His jawline was cut and defined and his nose was narrow. Strands of dark hair stuck out around his ears and forehead. I always wondered why he didn't show his hair off more often.

Personally, I loved my curly hair. It touched my shoulder blades but could reach the middle of my back if it was wet or straightened. I hated straightening it, though. I did it once for an interview for a job at Cory's corner store. When I came in to work the first day, Cory almost didn't recognize me, but said he liked the curls on me a lot more.

"I always wonder why he doesn't talk," I murmured, putting my eyes back on Paul when Colin started to lower his gaze from the ceiling. "Maybe he's traumatized. Or maybe he was threatened by the Maverick gang."

"No one has heard him talk before, but teachers say he isn't mute. He just decides not to speak. Maybe they cut his tongue out."

I peered back once more, but this time my eyes were left with no choice but to lock on Colin's. The edges of his nostrils had reddened with the flare, the cobalt of his gaze penetrating my delicate soul.

I tried pulling away, but I couldn't. His eyes were so bright, but within them was so much turmoil and what appeared to be irreparable damage. My eyes dropped down to his mouth. His lips were full and pink, a faint dimple in his chin.

I pulled up to his eyes again and his gaze had narrowed with curiosity. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but then his mouth clamped shut, like he'd remembered he didn't talk, or wasn't supposed to.

It took the slam of Paul's book hitting the floor for me to snap out of my trance, and I jerked my gaze away, focusing on my homework instead.

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