The next day at school, I wore the red American Eagle polo. It hugged my chest and hips, and when paired with skinny, low-rise jeans and red Converse, I looked a little bit more put together than I normally did. My outfit of choice usually consisted of ripped jeans and a graphic tee with a baggy cardigan pulling it all together.
Today, I wore red. Red like blood. Battle armor red.
"You look good," Matt Fraser said, jaw dropping as I fiddled with the lock on my locker.
I ducked my head, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "Thanks."
"What did you do different?" Having swapped his backpack for his books, he slammed his locker shut. Matt leaned against the metal separating my locker from his.
Woke up extra early to straighten my hair and exfoliate my face. Then plucking stray hairs around my eyebrows and squeezing myself into these pants I haven't worn since last year that are at least one size too small.
I smiled, revealing none of that. "Guess I just slept really well. A good night's rest can't be beat."
"I barely sleep through the night," he said.
I looked at him, really looked. Tired, red-rimmed eyes, sallow skin, and hunched shoulders, the kind that you only got from the unique combination of crippling academic pressure and too heavy a backpack.
"Sleep in homeroom," I suggested, finally pulling my locker open.
"Can't. I have to study for the AP physics exam."
For Matt, acing as many of his advanced placement exams as possible meant that he would be excused from enrolling in the equivalent college courses next year. His father had just lost his job and his mother only worked part-time, which meant they had to touch his college savings to get them by. They promised they would replace the money the minute his dad found a new job, but I think Matt saw that possibility grow dimmer and dimmer with each passing day.
I nodded. "Do you want my notes?" I asked after grabbing what I needed and slamming the metal door shut.
Matt looked at me gratefully. "Can I?"
"Sure." I pulled my physics notebook out, flipped to the right page, and handed it to him. "I need it back after homeroom, though."
The warning bell pealed overhead, signaling that we had one minute to get to class before we'd be counted tardy. The hallway, which had been jam-packed a moment before, suddenly emptied as students darted into classrooms and scurried around corners. We slipped into homeroom and had enough time to sit down and pull our books out before the louder bell rang through the loudspeaker, prompting all the teachers to pull their doors shut to indicate class had begun.
"All right, kids, you know the drill." Mr. Harris gave us a bleary smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't kill each other, try and be productive, and keep the volume low." With those parting remarks, he hid behind his computer screen and powered up the ancient Dell machine. It churned to life, hissing and spitting like a newly-awoken dragon.
I looked at Matt, who was sitting next to me. His head was bent over my notes, mouthing words under his breath.
I didn't look at Reed, although I felt his eyes on me.
Sometime during the night, after the tense washing-up of the dinner plates with my mother, it had occurred to me that his surprise visit to my house was some weird hazing ritual. Freak out the new girl to see if she's cool enough to sit with us. See if she buys it. See if she squeals.
It sounded like the exact kind of thing that Emily Vargas would do. I looked at her, at her bee-stung lips and loose, wavy brown hair. She was holding court in the middle of homeroom, flipping her hair over her shoulder in a way that made most of the boys sit up and take notice. She was wearing trendy patched jeans from Zara rolled up at the leg. Her necklace dipped into her cleavage and every so often, she would fish it out, dangle it between her fingers, and then let it drop again.
I glanced at the girl sitting behind her, Dominika Mikhailov. She spoke with the faint thickness that usually accompanied Slavic languages as she talked to Fenris North, the only boy in their group to show me any kindness that first day. His dark head and her light one bent together. He'd turned around in his seat and was ignoring the incomplete homework on his desk.
Lenox Hill had her phone out and was tapping the screen at a furious rate, which was kind of hilarious because she was the only person in our computer skills class who couldn't type at least fifty words per minute. Her pressed-on fingernails made rhythmic tap tap tapping sounds.
Baron Fernley, a peroxide-blond who always squished his gum under the desk, was also on his phone, the calculator app open. It always took him five minutes longer to solve simple problems because he would first stare at the problem, sigh about it, and then finally pick up his pencil and attempt to figure it out.
The other students chatted or worked quietly in the fringes of the class, but they were on the periphery of my interest. It was here, in the nucleus, that all the cool kids sat. I realized my mistake then. When I'd sat here on the first day, when there was no shortage of other seats in the room, they had thought I was cool. It had only taken them a couple of minutes to realize I was not.
I had Dom in my sights again. She was Russian. They were involved in the mafia, weren't they? I glanced around the room. I didn't think there were any Italians there. I'd looked up some of the foreign words Reed had used. Familje was Albanian for family. Not just any family, but the family. Mafia.
If his fear was warranted, wouldn't I be dead by now? Throat slit while I slept? Brakes cut? I nibbled my lower lip. When I'd walked him to the door after he'd thanked my mother for having him stay for dinner, he'd told me to delete my blog. I hadn't done it. Not when there could be a much juicier story to write about. Delusional hottie tries to pull a fast one on cop's daughter would be a perfect headline, I thought wryly.
"Hey." The blunt, rubber end of a pencil poked my arm.
I turned, frowning at Reed. "What?" I rubbed my arm even though it hadn't hurt.
"What are you thinking?"
My lips parted but no words came out.
"Can you hang out after school?"
Stupidly, I formed the words, "With you?"
While I'd been tossing and turning in bed last night, the thought had wiggled into my mind like a snake that maybe Reed was toying with me. Maybe he just wanted to see how far he could take things, how much of his bullshit I would be willing to believe. The shell he'd shown me could have been any old shell. There was nothing linking it to the same shot that had been fired at me, if indeed one had been shot at all.
Reed nodded. "Yeah."
"Um, I don't know..."
"There's a party at my house," he said. "You should come." He swallowed. "Please."
My shoulders tightened. It didn't sound like anyone was listening to us, but I wasn't willing to rule out the possibility of being the butt of the popular kids' joke.
"Is it your parents?" he whispered, leaning toward me.
It would be easy to blame it on them, I realized. Say my mom wasn't impressed with him last night and that my dad had forbidden me from getting involved with boys while I was still in high school. But other than her double-take at his introduction as my boyfriend, Mom had been pretty cool with Reed. She'd even said he was welcome any time. I winced, suppressing the memory.
I wondered if she'd said anything to Dad about Reed. He still hadn't come home by the time I went to bed.
"No. It's me. I don't feel like drinking and acting stupid at a party with people who don't like me."
Reed buried his hand in his hair, ruffling the center parting. "Who doesn't like you?" he countered. "Nobody here knows you. Come. Have a laugh, have a drink." He dropped his voice an octave. "And don't forget, we have to sell this."
By this he meant me and him being a couple.
"Won't Dom mind?" I asked.
"Dom?" His forehead furrowed. "Why should she?"
"Aren't you dating?"
"No." He stared at me, unblinking. "We're just friends."
I thought of the way she'd pushed her way past me, sent my books to the ground, and the callous way she hadn't even noticed. "Hmm."
"Hmm you'll come, or hmm you're still thinking about it?" he pressed.
"I'll come," I said, deciding spur of the moment. "But I want answers, first."
Reed finally blinked. "All right."
I gave him a terse smile. Game on.
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Would YOU go to Reed's party?