Elite Fraud

Chapter 23: A Change is Gonna Come

At the tearing sound of stitches coming apart, I look down to realize that I've been twisting and pulling at my scarf too hard. His words leave me dumbfounded—I don't know why an apology is the last thing I expect from him. I'm not familiar with apologizing myself, my pride always getting in the way, but this is coming from Theo, the same guy that's never gotten truly angry until today.

At this, I think more about the second part of his speech. "I don't know what to think either, about myself." I laugh at the absurdity of my words, small at first, then louder, and then I'm quiet, my words hanging limply in the air. The guy that's never gotten truly angry until today, sitting next to me. "Why do you stay?"

This time when he leans closer, I glance up at him. He reaches out, brushes away a lock of dark hair that's fallen out of my bun, and tenderly hovers over my scar. His hands smell like leather from the steering wheel. The pad of his thumb remains there, a few centimeters above my skin. My body tenses, so I'm coiled as tight as a spring and I forget to breathe. Why do I feel so small around him? I'm not the same person I was an hour ago, or ten minutes ago running for my life . . . and it's not so bad.

His dark eyes lift to mine. "Let's say I like physics."

Then he leans back, and I'm able to breathe shakily. In this exact moment, as a yellow taxi whirs past us with a loud honk, a woman with a stroller passes in front of us under falling leaves from a linden tree, with the smell of cinnamon in the air and my heart beating in my ears, I realize something, and it feels like someone is dumping warm water pouring on me: He doesn't see me the way I do.

I clear my throat, and shift in my seat. "I, Uhm, left my bag with a Starbucks barista."

༺༻

That day, we casually go back to school so that I don't miss any more classes than necessary, and the day after that and the next, catching up on work and kissing teacher's asses for extra credit. At work, I serve David his coffee with no trouble, or suspicion on his side about my presence at the factory. It satisfies me to know I was well disguised.

I've just done some of that teacher-ass-kissing I spoke of, asking to extend the deadline for a history paper I've been slacking on, before stepping into the elevator with the remaining urge to gauge out the pretentious teacher's eyes out. This isn't something you can leave until the night before, my ass. If only they knew what I'm really here for, the things I sacrificed to stand here—it's definitely not to highlight the highs and lows of the French Revolution in a classroom full of flashy students.

A stony-gazed Atlas marches into the elevator right before the doors clamp shut, faintly adorning the small area with his expensive cologne. And something else—a musky odor unlike him. He jabs his thumb into a button, crosses his arms, and stares ahead. A slip of yellow paper is tightly clutched in his hand: a disciplinary warning. Waves of heat and anger radiate off of him like a creature ready to pounce.

I wonder what's gotten the most loved person—by both students and teachers—in this school so riled up in the morning with a disciplinary warning.

The elevator suddenly lurches to a stop, and the gravity halts beneath me. It's not the slowed stop indicating the arrival of a new floor, but an abrupt end that leaves the tiny space shaking. With a flicker of panic and dread, I realize that the elevator is stuck.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," mutters Atlas, pressing the red emergency button. It lets out a low beep, then an automated response: Please wait, support will arrive shortly.

The lights blink off and it goes eerily quiet, cutting off a whirring of electricity that I wasn't aware of a second ago. It's pitch black.

And then it's my turn to grunt out a "For fuck's sake". With a huff, I slide down to the cold floor, drop the book that was in my hand, and turn on the flashlight on my phone. Atlas slumps to the floor across me.

When the light blindingly illuminates Atlas's face, he recoils with a hiss, and raises his hand to protect his eyes. "Are you going to blind me too? Turn that shit away."

"It's not my fault this thing stopped," I snap at his tone, but make the light face the ceiling nevertheless. At a closer look, the whites of his eyes are slightly tinted red, scarlet around grey orbs, and the earthy, musky smell makes sense. "Are you high on school grounds?"

He grunts in response. "Mind your own business."

"I would if I could, asshole. We're in a cramped space and you reek of weed."

"I'm sorry I'm such an inconvenience for you. Get in line."

I can't help but smirk at his despair and the fact that some people don't find him so charming. The teasing comes out before I can stop it. "Life not so bright in the Upper East Side?"

The muscles in his jaw work. "You don't know what you're talking about." He leans an elbow on a bent knee and covers his face with a veiny hand. "Somehow you've managed to make the good stuff wear off."

I scoff. "You'd be surprised," I say, ignoring the second comment. I think of his issues with his father.

We lapse into an uncomfortable silence, awaiting whatever support coming our way, Atlas clutching his temples with closed eyes, me watching him wordlessly. According to the time on my phone, five minutes have passed.

"Keep staring, I may just do a trick," he mumbles.

"Do me a favor and skip the bunny in a hat. Just disappear, yeah?"

He snorts and moves his hands away from his face. He catches my eye before I can look away. "What happened?"

"What?"

He nods to my face. "That scar across your eye. Did you attempt to scratch it out after looking at yourself?"

"Are we pals now?" I ask, and shift against the hard, metal wall.

"I'm blazed. We're stuck here." He shrugs as if that's reason enough to shove away our differences.

I don't know why I explain anyway. He's not himself right now, and any other version of Atlas is easier to talk to than the usual. "It was an assault accident. Some asshole did it with a knife when I tried to get away."

"Damn, that's . . ." he trails off. What do you say when someone tells you that? Better yet, what would Atlas say to me after I told him that? "I guess it's only fair to answer your question: No, life isn't so bright in the Upper East Side."

"Seriously? I tell you my assault story and you tell me that? No shit, life isn't bright here; this whole city isn't bright." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to take it back. He doesn't owe me anything. And I forget who I'm talking to.

But he doesn't bite back and only stares at me. "You're right," he says, then drums his fingers on his arm. "It was just a fight with my dad. Once again, I'm to blame for all his trouble at work."

I'm taken aback by the words that leave his mouth. I can't believe he just told me that. This is something he would tell his friends or his girlfriend, but me? When his words marinate a bit in my mind, I'm hit with a weird sense of déjà vu and familiarity. For someone that I hate so much and have been watching for so long, I've just realized now the one common thing we share: a father to whom we carry all the problems and burden of his blame. My father was the darkest part of my life, the person that managed to rouse the ugliest side of me. I use it as an excuse for all the horrible things I do and say, and the anger that gets the best of me: Oh, it's because my father is an abusive prick that's neglected me all my life.

Does Atlas share the same feeling? My entrance into Atlas's life is because of David. Does he see his father's face every time we meet eyes in the hallway, every morning on our way to school?

The silence and my thoughts are interrupted by the start of a whirring noise, followed by the blinking of lights. I push myself off the ground along with Atlas and turn the flashlight off just as the elevator starts to move again.

Atlas clears his throat. "I think we should just forget about—"

"Yeah, this never happened."

The doors finally pull open to reveal a few concerned teachers. His face turns stony again as he steps out, and he mutters something along the lines of 'pay this much tuition' and 'school can't pull their shit together'. I roll my eyes and turn the other direction to my next class.