Dark Torment

Chapter 7

Last night Shayn had made me feel guilty for having a family that sat around the dinner table and discussed our lives. But now I realized that we never actually talked about anything that was a problem in our home.

 It's why the rest of my family never mentioned Shayn's name or discussed what happened the night he disappeared—no matter how many times I'd asked.

Talking would be admitting that there was something wrong.

I thought about all this as I watched Mom flip her special apple-and-cinnamon pancakes on the stove. Jesse ate hungrily beside me, ignoring my silent demeanor.

 After picking idly at my food, I decided to head to school early. I couldn’t bear this—bear this uncertainty and this turmoil that arose around my family. I was pretty sure I had never seen my parents or my brother in such a way—and I didn’t really know how to fix it all.

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The clock in the art room ticked its way to 7:25 a.m. and I cursed myself for giving Shayn only a five-minute window for lateness. I closed my eyes and prayed silently that Shayn would come, just so I could prove Linroe wrong about him. But with every tick of the clock I started to think I was the one who was going to be disappointed.

"Worried I wasn't going to show?" Shayn flopped into the chair next to mine just in time. He wore the blue shirt and dark jeans I'd left for him, but his clothes were crumpled like he'd had them wadded up somewhere until only a few minutes before.

"I don't really care what you do." I felt tiny pricks of red-heat forming on my neck. "It's your future, not mine."

Shayn snorted.

Mr. Linroe came out of his office and sat at his desk. "I see Mr. Skeller decided to join us after all."

"It's just Shayn. No Skeller." Shayn pronounced his last name like a cuss word.

Linroe raised an eyebrow. "Well, Mr. Skeller, when you become a famous musician or the Pope you can drop your last name. But in my class you will go by the name your parents gave you."

Linroe looked Shayn over like a critic appraising a new book.

Shayn leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

Mr. Linroe clasped his fingers together on top of his desk. "You are well aware that your scholarship depends on your behavior. You will act and dress appropriately for a school. Today was a nice try, but you might want to invest in an iron. And I highly doubt that is your natural hair color. I will give you until Monday to do something about it.

"As for my class," Linroe went on, "you will be here every day, on time, and in your seat when the bell rings. Every AP student is required to compile a notebook with a number of their works to show their skill. You are coming into this class late, but I expect you to do the same." Mr. Linroe leaned forward and stared into Shayn's eyes like he was challenging him to a game of chicken—daring him to glance away first.

Shayn didn't blink. "No problem."

"Shayn is quite talented," I said.

Linroe stroked his chin, and I knew he was about to deliver the catch. "Your notebook will consist only of work done in this class. I will monitor each of your assignments at the beginning, middle, and end of their progression. You will not turn in anything you have done previous to now."

"That's impossible," I said. "It's almost December and I'm not even a third of the way through my works."

"That is why Mr. Skeller will be joining us every lunch period and will report directly to my classroom for one hour after school, each and every day."