Chapter One
It is the slowest day in the history of mankind.
The clock above Yablonski’s head is stuck in a state of limbo. It’s probably enjoying the torment he’s putting us through with that irritating nasal voice of his. I bet I can count to a million before the hands on that sadistic piece of shit complete a minute.
Normally, I would be amused at Yablonski’s antics. I don’t know who he’s trying to fool by pretending to accidentally bump into the desk when anyone with half an eyeball can see that he’s scratching his ass against the edge. But today, all I feel is exasperation. I just want to walk up to him, smack him across that fascinating irregularly-shaped bald head of his and hand him a bathroom pass so he can go ease his discomfort in private.
It’s freaking the shit out of me that I want to be nice to my Physics teacher.
“Cal.”
Goddamnit. If only my sweatshirt was an Invisibility Cloak.
“Cal!”
Something hits the back of my chair. It’s followed by a muffled groan.
An education in Physics would benefit Shawna greatly if she thinks a kick from ninety pounds of skinny female is going to affect the position of the chair under a hundred and sixty pounds of muscle. Brody sure knows how to pick ‘em.
I knew Shawna was crazy the moment she sidled up to me at McLaren’s party in the beginning of the year. How could Brody have missed the psychotic look in her eye when she sprayed whipped cream on my cheek and licked it off within two minutes of us meeting? Sometimes, I swear he’s denser than a baseball bat.
From the corner of my eye, I see a foot shoot out. Before I can react, it rams against the side of my chair. As a result, my head slams into the window pane it was so peacefully resting against a few precious seconds ago.
“Gah!” I clutch the side of my head and scowl at the dumbass sitting on my right. “The hell is wrong with you?”
Brody cocks a wide grin. “Shawna’s been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes, bro.”
“Oh, yeah?” A pissed-off smirk makes its way onto my face. “Is her chipmunk-like voice starting to bug you too?”
Another brain-rattling kick. In the front, Yablonski almost drops the thick book cradled in his palms.
“Cut it out,” I say with a growl when the migraine sitting low on my forehead magnifies. It’s a pretty loud growl because Yablonski sends a quick glance my way through the thin-rimmed glasses sitting on his nose. He probably thinks I’m going to rip off my shirt and go all Wolverine on his ass. He’s not the only one who thinks so. A few students turn their heads. There’s so much concern and pity and bullshit in every single gaze that I want to let out another growl. Instead I focus the aggression into a glower that has everyone averting their eyes. Good. Let them think I’m scary as shit. Today is not a good day for people to fuck with me.
“Oh, my God, Brody. You’re so strong,” Shawna says behind me, trying to sound breathless and awe-struck. She ends up sounding like she’s having an asthma attack. I have half a mind to find an oxygen tank and force it onto her face. If she wasn’t hot and didn’t have the sexiest pair of legs I’ve ever seen, I’d have her committed to a psych ward. She tugs at the hood of my sweatshirt. “Are you going to listen to me now, Cal?”
When I lean into the pull, she moves in closer to my seat till her warm breath is fanning the back of my neck. Her fingers loosen their hold on the hood and make their way up the side of my throat. “You smell so good, Caleb.” Her voice is practically a purr: the soft, throaty kind that has me pulling away immediately because a noise like that implies only one thing.
I could write a book on the various techniques present in Shawna’s arsenal to get with me.
From the corner of my eye, I see Brody scribble something in his notebook and scrunch his eyebrows at Yablonski’s illegible scrawl across the blackboard. So, he didn’t notice his girlfriend’s pathetic attempt at flirting. Why am I not surprised? He’s like a horse with blinders whenever Shawna makes one of her inappropriate advances.
I turn in my seat to face her, my face drawn into a scowl. “Stop breathing down my neck. You’re giving me a mental hernia.”
She jerks back. It amazes me how my numerous rejections haven’t managed to stop startling her. You’d think she’d be used to it by now. Her eyes narrow in an imperceptible death-stare, the black outline of her make-up emphasizing the annoyance bubbling behind those hazel irises. “Oh, Cal.” A tight smile pulls at her plump lips. “You’re such a joker.”
“Why, thank you, Shawna. That’s so kind of my best friend’s girlfriend to say.”
Her smile grows tighter. “Anytime, darling. And speaking of best friends,” she does a weird flicking motion with her hair and tilts her head towards the girl sitting behind Brody, “what do you think of Brooke?”
The brunette looks up when she hears her name. Her cheeks flush as her eyes meet mine. The corner of my mouth tugs upward. She blushes harder and drops her gaze.
I shrug. “She’s cute, I guess. Why?”
“So you think she’s cute?” The smile pasted on Shawna’s face falters, but only for a second. “You should hang out with her more often then. She told me she has a crush on you.”
“Whatever, Shawna. Are you done bugging me?”
She ignores me. “You guys would make a super cute couple. In fact,” her smile vanishes, “why don’t you spend some time with her now?”
And then in a move that must have been practised a thousand times, she slides out of her seat, hauls Brooke out of hers and forces her down on the vacated spot behind me. All of this she manages without looking like a lunatic and in a split second before Yablonski turns from the blackboard.
Brooke shoots a nervous stare at Shawna who’s too busy stroking Brody’s back to notice and then looks at me. Her face is flaming up like a pomegranate.
Ah, hell.
I flick her a disinterested glance and then turn around to face the front of the classroom. This chick better not annoy me. From the few times Brody’s mentioned her, she seems like a nice person. But there’s only so much a guy can handle and I’d hate to have to be a jackass to her.
I realize she’s fidgeting when her desk knocks into the back of my chair. “Sorry,” she mumbles quickly. I pull my chair forward. She clears her throat.
“Uh...Caleb?”
I’m tempted to slam my head against the desk. Why the hell won’t people leave me alone?
“What?”
The expression on my face must be darker than a thundercloud because she looks scared. “I j-just wanted to know if you were doing anything fun this afternoon.”
Seriously? Seriously?
“Why the hell do you care?”
“I...um...I’m f-free if you need any company.”
“And you’re going to be the person I call for company?” I bend my head towards her till I’m close enough to feel the warmth emanating from her beet-red face. “Sorry, Brooke, but I don’t fraternize with stuttering virgins.”
“Mr. Ward.” There’s a squeak from the front of the class. “I’m trying to teach a class here.” The voice grows louder. “If you don’t learn to...to respect my authority, you are going to get a detention.”
With barely concealed irritation, I turn in my seat. My fingers dig into my palms. I know Yablonski is right. I know he’s not trying to be a pain in my ass. If it were any other day, I would scowl at him and shut up. But it’s today. And today is just not a good day. “Respect your authority?” My lips curl into a smirk, and from the way Yablonski’s eyes widen under his glasses, I can tell it’s an ugly one. “I’ll pass.”
Then I grab my backpack off the floor and storm out of the class.
The hallway is empty when I step out. Shadows loom over the lockers and the tiles, darkening their otherwise bright blue hue into shades of navy. The only spot of light is at the far end of the hallway where a window has been thrown open. I hoist my Manchester United bag over my shoulder and wrap the straps around my arm. Guilt claws at the back of my mind. Yablonski may sound like he has a cold every time he speaks, but he is the absolute man when it comes to teaching Physics. I didn’t have to be such a tool.
My Nikes squeak against the smooth floor as I begin my walk toward the library. Originally, there was an entire classroom reserved for Detention, but after someone used the room’s shaft to set off a kick-ass stink bomb in the school ventilation system, the authorities decided to move it to the P.E room. That was a fail too. Coach Deeds refused to have delinquents in the same breathing space as his athletes. Finally, the school decided on the library.
God, I hate the library.
The nerds that live there always look at me like I’m going to blow their heads off their scrawny little necks. As if I have nothing better to do.
The line of lockers to my right comes to an abrupt end. Five more steps and I’ll be at the turning to the staff room corridor. Ah, the delightful staff rooms with their giant glass windows, perfect observation posts for gossiping teachers as unaware kids make their way past the reflective surfaces. Won’t those busybodies be glad to see me. It’s the perfect day to collect fodder on the elusive Caleb Ward and everyone knows it.
Just as the corridor enters my line of sight, so does the top of someone’s head. A body bumps into me. Books fall to the ground and there’s an ‘Oof’. A girl lands on her ass. Sheaves of paper come to rest in a scattered mess at my feet. I stare at her for a second before dropping to a crouch.
“You all right?”
She brushes strands of copper-coloured hair out of her eye and gives me a sheepish smile. The tip of her nose, I notice, is red. “I’m fine. Sorry for barrelling into you.”
“Didn’t feel a thing.”
“Oh, good.” She huffs a breath of relief. “Guess I don’t need to watch my weight after all.”
When she chuckles at her joke, she makes a funny sound. It’s somewhere between a hiccup and a full blown peal of laughter. It makes me want to chuckle with her. But I don’t. Instead I gather the sheets of paper into a bundle and shove them inside one of the books. She picks up the other two and I help her up. Her hand is cold in mine, and tiny. She’s tiny. Her head barely reaches my shoulders. I shove the book into her arms. I need to get out of here before I say something mean and make this hobbit-like creature cry.
I step around her and enter the staff room corridor. Dark glass flanks me on either side. “Bye,” I hear her say, but I keep walking. She’ll be ripped apart by the gossip mongers if I pay her any attention. Especially today.
The library is at the end of the corridor and when I barge in, the librarian doesn’t look up from the screen of her smart phone. I catch strains of familiar music. Angry Birds. From the delighted expression on her wrinkled face and the way her eyes are glued to the screen, I can tell she’s having a mean winning streak. I decide not to bother her.
My day isn’t so bad that I need to torment old people.
I walk to the back of the library to a section surrounded by looming bookcases. Every inch is covered with hard bound encyclopaedias and other research material. It’s quiet there and so far there have been no sightings of curious nerd people. I throw my bag on the table and settle into one of the chairs. The mahogany is cool against my face as I slump onto the smooth surface. Maybe I can catch up on some sleep....
When my eyes open, it’s to Brody ugly ass face. He’s prodding my hair. I sit up with a jerk. There’s a clattering. Pencils tumble from the top of my head onto the table.
“Aw, man! I just balanced thirty of those!”
Stifling a yawn, I throw a handful of pencils at Brody. “What do you want?”
“Practice is about to start.”
I pull back the sleeve of my sweatshirt and take a peek at my watch. Damn. Another hour to go. “Can’t make it.”
“Yeah, I know that.”
It’s starting to get warm so I pull my sweatshirt over my head. My skin feels cooler without the extra layer. “So what exactly is the point of this conversation?”
“Deeds has a message for you.”
It’s hard to miss the drop in Brody’s voice. He’s leaned in closer too. His eyes are all creepy and intense. I sigh. “Cut out the theatrics. I know it’s nothing serious.”
“Cal,” he whines and lunges for me across the chair between us. “Why you must spoil my fun like this?” He says it in a weird accent and I know he’s trying to sound Russian. But he ends up sounding Armenian. I’m tempted to smack him across his stupid blonde head. He always does lame, dramatic shit like this. When he’s in a mood, it’s hard to get anything out of him.
I tug my arm from of his grasp. “Spit it out, Brode.”
He sighs and straightens. There’s a crease between his eyebrows when he looks at me. “He said to tell you that he doesn’t need you on the team if you’re going to be like this.”
“Is that right?” Brody doesn’t respond to the arrogance lacing my voice. He just shrugs. “That’s bullshit. I’m a class striker. He needs me.”
“Yeah, well, when I told him that, he said what he needs is a team that can keep their aggression in their pants.”
“I can keep my aggression in my pants.”
“Can you? Because I have a Physics teacher that seems to think otherwise.”
He drums his fingers against the table. I pretend to ignore him. He drums harder. I keep my gaze averted. The clucking starts. Damn it. He knows I hate that sound. The drumming slows, then speeds up. So does the clucking. Now it has a rhythm. Drum, drum. Cluck, cluck. Drum, drum, drum. Cluck, cluck, cluck. Drumdrumdrumdrum– “All right, fine!” I throw my hands in the air. “I’ll apologize.”
Brody’s face breaks into a grin and his fingers still. “Atta boy! You’ll find him in the staff room.”
“He’ll be gone by the time I’m out.”
“Nope. He said something about having papers to correct.”
I flick one of the pencils lying on the table. It flies off the edge. “Do I have to do it today?”
“Why prolong the douche-y feeling, Cal?”
“How do you know I’m not feeling like a total badass?”
“Because it’s today.”
My heart pounds in my chest. It sounds like a basketball’s gone wild. I can’t lift my gaze. The scratched edge of the wide table is the only thing I want to see. Nothing else – especially not Brody’s face – till the world stops tilting. Till time rewinds to a moment where everything was cool.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The whole day I’ve been using the excuse of today for acting like a tool. And now when someone else mentions it, I freeze?
Oh, whatever. Fuck this emotional crap.
“I’ll talk to Yablonski when I’m done with detention. Go back to practice.”
“Caleb....”
“Go, Brody. You know I’m good for it.”
“Yeah, I know.” The chair grates against the floor when he stands. “Later, man.” He holds up a fist. I bump it with mine.
“Later.”
When he leaves, it turns quiet again. Peaceful, and quite frankly, boring. Mom used to say that Brody was the Bach to my Debussy, the explosion to my chemical reaction, the wings to my roots, the red to my blue.... We got her to stop before she could make us out to be soul mates.
But that was then. Way before shit hit the fan. Nowadays it’s easier to understand the intricacies of String Theory than to have a normal conversation her.
She’s going to be a wreck today.
I rub my hands over my face to dispel the grogginess. Hopefully she’ll be in her room when I get home. Lesser the interaction between us, easier the ordeal will be.
That’s why I keep saying that the wrong brother died. Aiden would’ve been good at this. Dealing with mom, maintaining the cheerful facade at school, respecting authority. Heck, I bet he wouldn’t even have snapped at that annoying lunch lady. He would’ve been perfect. He was Aiden, after all, and if there’s one thing everyone knew, it’s that Aiden could brave anything.
Not like me, his chicken-shit brother who’s hiding out in the library of all places.
Damn it, Aiden.
“Mr. Ward?”
I blink at the head that emerges from behind a bookcase. It’s the librarian. What’s her name? Wait. How does she know mine? “Is there a problem?”
Her eyes flit from the pencils scattered on the table to my face. She shakes her head at me, the curly grey strands of her hair bobbing with the motion. “I have good news actually.” The wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and mouth deepen when she smiles. It looks like there are cracks spreading over her skin. “Detention is over for the day. I have to head over to my grandson’s christening and there’s no one else who can supervise here.”
“So you’re just going to let me go?”
She nods, still smiling, and tugs at the end of her pale cardigan. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?”
That’s all that I need to hear. Within seconds, my bag is over my shoulder, my sweatshirt in my hand and I’m walking past the old lady. “Have a great day,” I call out, and when I turn to offer her a smile, she seems a little surprised. I’m surprised too.
I think I’m PMSing or something. Guys can PMS too, right?
The corridor is deserted when I push past the library doors. Save for the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, nothing else shows even the remotest signs of life. It’s the perfect beginning for a zombie movie, which, for the record, would be mind blowing. Now all I need is an Uzi and then I’m set to take on the walking dead.
But first...
I stop outside a staff room door on my right. Uncompromising hardwood stares back at me. The corridor beckons me to dash across it till I don’t have dark glass surrounding me like a cage, and I almost take a step back. No one will know that I dropped an opportunity to apologize to Yablonski. I can always come back tomorrow.
But my body decides to stick it to the brain. I think it understands my dislike for the douche-y feeling better than the neurons in my grey matter. It’s not unusual. Sometimes I honestly believe that my body gets me better than my brain ever will, because my body doesn’t analyze. It just reacts, and most of the time, that’s what I need.
My knuckles rap against the door. They’re loud raps, not faint wimpy ones, so I know that if anyone’s inside, they can’t miss it. But no one answers. Three more raps later there’s still nothing. I can tell that the lights inside are on from the way the glass has almost turned translucent, so I’m sure that I’m not knocking outside an empty room. Is Yablonski ignoring me?
I dismiss the thought. The guy doesn’t have a vengeful bone in his body. I mean, would someone who cried over the discovery of the Higgs-Boson particle pretend to ignore a student? Especially if he knows why said student was acting like a tool?
No.
Maybe he’s taking a piss? Whatever. I’m not waiting outside. I twist the knob of the door, glad to find it unlocked, and barge into the room. What I see has me leaping back in alarm.
Yablonski’s on the floor, resting with his back to the brown couch pushed against the wall. His tie is askew and his white shirt is more crumpled than I’ve ever seen it. Crouched over his still frame is a girl. A girl with copper-coloured hair. From the side of her face, I notice that her eyes are closed. Her nose appears to be redder than before and her cheeks are streaked with tear tracks that glisten under the harsh light. My eyes narrow at the sight of her hand pressed over his chest.
Did Yablonski fall asleep and roll off the couch? Is he unconscious? And the chick? She’s trying to wake him up, right?
Yeah, that’s probably it. Just a concerned student who looks like she’s perpetually in tears trying to rouse an old Physics teacher. Nothing weird. Nothing weird at all.
Then the murmuring starts.
“Transcend into eternal sleep, transcend into oblivion anew. Transcend as your soul I reap, and peace I bequeath unto you.”
Goosebumps erupt on my arms. There’s a faint draft floating around the room; I can feel it whispering along my skin. The fabric of my sweatshirt is surprisingly warm against my palm, as if there’s been a sudden drop in my body temperature.
Fresh tears roll down the girl’s cheeks and she drags her hand away from Yablonski. Her eyes open.
“What was that?”
Her head whips in my direction. Puffy eyes meet mine. A startled gasp resounds against the walls.
The chill in the room dissipates as if she’s flicked a switch controlling the heat. Warmth flows through my blood, comforting my tense muscles. But my gaze stays locked with hers. Wide eyes watch me, even as tears escape from their corners. Her bottom lip quivers but she purses her mouth to stop it. Her face is ashen.
The clear panic evident in her frozen frame makes me feel braver. She’s more freaked out of me than I am of her.
“What were you saying?” I take a step forward, my shoulders pushed back. “What did you do to him?”
A strand of hair comes loose from her ponytail and curls along the side of her face. She breaks free of my gaze and tucks it behind her ear. “Nothing.” Her voice is small, delicate like her, but firm. “He had a stroke.”
“What?” The bag slips from my grasp and drops to the floor. There’s silence for a second. “Then why are you just sitting here? We need to call for help.”
She doesn’t respond. It’s as if she’s forgotten I’m standing there.
Before I know it I’m flinging my sweatshirt aside and dashing out of the room, back up the corridor towards the library. I throw the doors open and it misses the librarian’s face by an inch.
“You need to come with me!” She jerks when my fingers clasp around the delicate bones of her shoulder. The urgency in voice seems to frighten her. Clenching my jaw, I lower my head till we’re face to face. “Do you know Mr. Yablonski, my Physics teacher?” There’s an imperceptible nod. “Yeah? Well I think he’s had a stroke and he’s passed out in the staff room. I don’t the first thing about heart attacks. Could you please come help me out?”
She blinks at me. Once. Twice. Then as if someone’s jolted her with an electric shock, she comes to life. Her hand squeezes one of mine in the universal sign for reassurance and both of us rush out of the library. I reach the staff room way before she does. “I’m back,” I announce. “I brought–”
But the girl’s not there. Only the motionless body of Yablonski lays sprawled in the state I left him in. What the hell? I want to ram by fist into the wall. First sign of trouble and she bails. Selfish bitch.
From behind me the librarian strides into the room and hurries toward the limp body. Her hair looks white under the fluorescent light. She crouches beside Yablonski and places thin, wrinkled fingers against his neck.
My head pounds with an invisible bass.
Her hand drops to his shoulder and she turns to me. The lines on her face are more pronounced. My vision is filled with sagging skin and kind eyes. She shakes her head. It’s a gradual shake. Deliberately unhurried. I’ve seen a shake like that before. It came from a tall doctor in a painfully blinding white coat exactly one year ago. And it proclaims only one thing.
Death.