Letha slammed her way through the front doors of the school, stamping into the deserted playground. All the students had hurried away to homeroom, leaving the wind to toss a plastic bag across her path like in an old western movie. Digging her nails into her palms, Letha pinned it beneath her foot. The air puffed out with a hiss, letting the bag deflate, and the air in Letha’s lungs followed suit. How easy it was to get the wind knocked out of you.
Footsteps thundered down the hallway behind her, and Letha dragged air back into her lungs, stepping to the side. Mickey broke out of the hallway, glancing around, and tripped as he saw her. He foot was caught in the plastic bag, and he struggled to free it as he spoke.
“Your dad,” he puffed, “is really a piece of work.”
He stopped shuffling about, lifting a leg to tear the rubbish away.
Letha sneered at him. “You think?”
As if she hadn’t spoken, Mickey continued, making his way to the bin. “I understand why you are the way you are, what you’ve had to deal with. It explains a lot.”
The plastic bag disappeared form Letha’s sight and she ground her teeth: everything was so easily discarded. Mickey followed her gaze, raising a brow.
“Was that yours?” he asked softly, cocking his head to one side. “It was just on the ground, so I thought…”
She interrupted with a snort. “So you just thought you’d send it to landfill where it will get caught by another wind and kill a turtle or something?”
“No,” Mickey snapped indignantly, “I thought I’d recycle it so it could be used as a pencil for a guy who saves a turtle or something.”
Letha snorted, biting her lip to keep from screaming at him. She fisted her hands on her hips, glaring fiercely, and slowly said, “Wouldn’t it be more effective to put it in the recycling bin then?”
Mickey went pink. “Oops.”
“I know it’s hard sometimes though,” she continued, striding to the bins. Holding oen hand above each, she gestured as she spoke. “This green lid, well, sometimes even I mistake it for yellow. A difficult task, but good news; prep kids are now able to accomplish this. If only we had learnt at their age.”
Licking his lips, Mickey smirked at her. “I’m colour blind.”
She squinted. “Seriously?”
“Yep.”
With a shrug, Letha chuckled quietly, jamming her hands in her pockets. “As if you needed another way to be weird.”
He pursed his lips. “Wow Letha, cut back on the pity. You’re really embarrassing both of us.”
Casting him a disparaging look, she turned away. Striding across the courtyard, Letha paused by the gate, wrapping a hand around the metal. Her palms were beginning to ache and as the wind clutched at her clothes she raised her hands to face her. The skin was red and taut, peeling where her fingers joined, and as Mickey stepped up beside her, she sighed.
Slowly, Mickey reached across to her hand, taking it gently in his own. Frowning at the blisters, he gently ran his thumb across her palm. Letha shivered again, reefing her hands away to rub her arms.
“Who would you be,” he asked slowly, letting his hands fall by his sides, “if not for your father?”
“What?” Letha snapped.
“Your father, your life…” Mickey shrugged, “If not for them, who would you have become?”
Her head jerked to the right, and she scowled, crossing her arms. “We’ll never know.”
They stood like that for another moment, but as Letha began to walk off, a hand wrapped around her elbow. As she was pulled back, her left hand came around on reflex, but Mickey caught it easily.
“Every time, really?”
“Every time,” she sneered, ripping her hand free, “really.”
“Let’s see,” Mickey suggested, leaning in eagerly, “Let’s see what you’re like away from all this.”
Letha’s expression fell from her face, leaving shock behind. “What?”
“Come on,” he urged, hooking an arm behind her to coax her forward. She glared at the hand and he raised it in surrender. “I’m not touching.”
Herding her towards the parking lot, Mickey continued. “We’re going to go for a drive, and when we get somewhere, you will act however you would act if it weren’t for your father.”
“What makes you think that will be any different to how I am now?” Letha asked, raising a brow. Mickey had guided her to an old white car, before digging some keys out of his pocket. “And is this your piece-of-crap-car?”
“Be nice!” he scolded finally finding his keys. They jingled merrily as he jammed them in the lock. “And I know you’ll be different. I’ve seen you talk to your brother, you can be a nice person.”
Letha snorted. “The brother I yelled at this morning?”
“That’d be the one.”
Mickey flung the passenger door wide, gesturing her inside, but the girl shook her head.
“There is no way in hell that I’m getting in that ‘car’,” Letha chuckled mirthlessly, glaring at him.
Grinning, he propped himself against the door, knitting his fingers together. “It’s a good thing this isn’t hell then, isn’t it?”
“Could have fooled me.”
“What is it?” Mickey chuckled, tilting his head, “Are you…scared?”
Letha paled, drawing herself up to her full height. “Never.”
“Then get in the car and prove it.”
He stepped aside as Letha barged forward, but with one foot in the car she paused. “Hadrian…”
Mickey had rounded the vehicle, but paused to lean on the bonnet. “What about him?”
“I won’t let him face Wrath by himself,” Letha said, withdrawing her leg.
He stopped her with a wave. “Foot back in the car, Letha. We’ll be back in plenty of time to pick him up. You can come back to my place and we’ll figure this all out.”
“Great!” Letha whined, twirling a lock of her hair, “that would be so, like, cool.” Mickey saw her expression and winced as he clambered into the vehicle. Letha swung herself into the seat, slamming the door. She grabbed the seat belt and buckled it, raising a brow as Mickey put the key in the ignition.
“Seat belt?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
Very slowly, Mickey’s head swung to face her, and he chuckled. “You want me to put my seat belt on?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to put my seat belt on?” he asked again, rubbing the back of his neck. His blue curl fell in his face and he shook it aside.
Letha’s lip drew into a snarl. “Put your damn belt on, Sherlock.”
Mickey obliged quickly, hiding a smile. Shifting the car into reverse, Mickey threw his arm behind Letha’s seat, and checked for cars. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Letha’s smirk appear.
“where are your P plates?” she asked.
“I don’t have them.”
“Hell, you’re not an L-plater, are you?”
“Nope,” Mickey muttered, turning back to the front.
Letha frowned, kicking her feet up onto the dashboard. “You do have a licence, don’t you?”
He laughed, glancing at her briefly. “Of course I do. I have my full license.”
“Full?” Letha raised a brow. “We’re in grade 11; how the hell do you have your full license?”
As Mickey turned a corner, the beeping of the indicator filled the silence. Straightening the car, he replied, “You know what I said about my past? About the car and the school bathrooms?”
“Yeah.” Letha drummed her fingers on her knee, staring past his face to watch the cars pass them by.
He nodded. “Getting expelled didn’t leave a lot of time for acing my classes.” He shrugged, “or for, you know, passing them.”
Eyes flicking to his face, Letha’s brow furrowed. “So you got kept back?”
“Yep.”
“So how old are you?” she asked slowly, lowering her feet back to the floor of the car.
“Well, I’m 18.”
Mickey’s eyes flicked to her face, watching her process that. She was still frowning, but something close to amusement flashed through her eyes. Noticing him watching, Letha’s eyes hardened again.
“You can be tried as an adult,” was her only comment.
She swung her head back to the road, ignoring him. Mickey’s eyes stayed on her, and he watched a curl fall in her face. He reached out a hand, ready to brush it behind her ear, but Letha’s hand met his in mid-air. Their fingers intertwined, and for a heartbeat, both looked at their fingers, light and dark, dark and light.
Then Letha’s hand jerked away, as if she’d been shocked.
“Eyes on the road, Sherlock,” she muttered, “eyes on the road.”