Whenever the casualties of war flood through the hallways of Ravenwood High, I metaphorically smear mud on my face to blend in with the scenery. But Thursday marks the first day I've been able to navigate this twisted paradise in peace. I even managed to dodge the occasional paper girls that stomp their heels in large packs, ready to pounce with their halfwit questions and invasive selfies.
None of the girl gangs, musty jockstraps, or my top-bottom feeders have killed my vibe all morning. Somehow, I think Alexis is responsible for the latter; not many teenage girls have the power to disengage a missile with five nuclear warheads. And to think grown-ups tell us it's never too late to focus on our dreams.
Tell that to the kid with a knack for staying ahead of the game with serious bipolar tendencies. According to The Ravenwood, people don't know whether to despise me as of last night's fiasco. Or adore me for literally doing nothing but coming to school dressed like a Pretty Little Liar.
"All you have to do is show a little leg, and everything bad about you magically disappears." I shut my locker.
"Well, it also helps to have a psychopath on your side," Luke says, leaning against the locker beside mine.
Suddenly, last night weighs heavily against my chest, and it's almost hard to breathe. The resident golden boy shredded a few brushstrokes from his perfect persona, and honestly, I'll never view him the same way. Even if I could, I wouldn't because when I close my eyes, I'm a step closer to unmasking the boy of my dreams. Still, why would his best friends attack him for hanging around me? Are they really that cruel?
I turn around, quickening my pace. "That's gotta be a new record."
Luke stifles a laugh, continuing his train of thought. "Aren't you curious why no one has the balls to even look your direction anymore?"
"It's like whenever I'm on the cusp of having a decent day, the fiends of darkness come and suck the happiness right out of the atmosphere." I bite my lip, rushing past several packs of students.
"Hey," Luke grabs my arm, revealing a purple bruise on his neck. "you deserve to know about last night."
"Shouldn't you be turning into a pile of ash?" I retort, snatching away from his stone grip.
For the twelfth time this week, another cute, deranged boy ignores every social clue I could possibly display except screaming bloody murder. Then Luke whisks us away into the darkest room he can find. If I were quicker, I would have done more than bucking my dark brown eyes at a packed hall full of unfazed students scurrying off to their favorite class.
They'll be oblivious until their phones ring with the latest article about one jock and one loser trapped inside the school's closest. I can practically read the exposé now. Of course, it'll feature another shot at my intelligence while managing to call me a dirty whore in the same breath. If I were that screwed up in the head, I'd title it, A Retard's Closet Confession. Then, my subheading would feature a bit of risqué mystery.
Will it be a love story, or will he just
bury his bone in her backyard?
"Luke, whatever it is, I don't care and don't want to know. Keep your dirty secrets and your bone to yourself." I snap, pushing him away.
"You can't trust him." A streak of light gleams from the closed door, twinkling in Luke's sea-green eyes. "He's not the person you think, he's dangerous."
"Hot and dangerous," My tone drips in sarcasm, "what's not to like?"
"Then ask him about King Street." Luke takes a step closer, his hand brushing the side of my face.
Without blinking, I take a quick step back. "I don't know what you've heard, but Brandon doesn't owe me anything. His secrets are his to keep."
"You sure about that? It involves people like you, but if you don't care, maybe Alexis will."
Luke pulls the latest iPhone out of the front pocket of his black sweatpants. His thumb swipes across the screen before he reveals a reel posted on Alexis' Instagram account three hours ago. Brandon leans over the glass railing of the mall, glancing at someone below them.
He waves his right hand at Alexis, and without missing a beat, she hands him a small, white paper bag filled with bite-sized churros from a restaurant called Tony's Kitchen. I can tell it's her because the pink stiletto nails are so long they're slapping the camera. Alexis zooms in to an oversized male cop wearing a white button-up shirt, black pants, and a name tag.
Brandon stretches his arm over the glass, squinting his left eye, aiming at the perfect target. The churro falls out of his hand and descends several floors before it plops on the man's short, wavy hair. By Arnold's constant jumping and silent screams, I can tell he's wondering what the bird crap just fell on his head.
Meanwhile, Brandon and Alexis are dying laughing until they peek over the edge, and Arnold has seen through all their childish antics. The mall cop tilts his head towards the pair, yelling incoherent phrases that are likely curses. Brandon dumps the rest of the churros over the edge, starting an avalanche of sweet cinnamon goodness around Arnold.
He gapes his mouth open and tries to catch each one inside his mouth before he jogs after his culprits. These two are so insane their running down an escalator going up. He won't catch them; there's no need for an action movie exit. But there isn't a need for a lot of things like the look in Brandon's eyes when they finally reach the parking lot.
A bright smile is still evident on Alexis' flawless complexion, then their euphoria disappears with each second they grow closer. The reel cuts out, and Luke's phone blacks out, then returns to his screensaver. He boldly stands in algebra despite the rule about not using cell phones during class.
Of course, he's wearing his red and white letterman jacket with a look that says I'm too cool to follow the rules. If I ignore the random toothpick sticking out the side of his mouth, then it's a cute picture. Luke also has a sizable fan base of girls who want to ride his freckles, but I don't think I'm a member. Not that I want to hop on his bones. I barely know the guy.
Let's chill for a moment here, brain.
"Saved by the Lock Screen," I mutter.
His usual playful smile vanishes into something more frightening. "You still think he's innocent."
"I trust him more than you."
I fell for Brandon way before he strolled into my life, threatening a crowd of teenagers just to protect a stranger. Over the years, I watched him like a silent fan, even cheered him on from the bleachers when he scored the winning touchdown. When he had a home game, I could step outside my bubble, even if I had to do it alone. After my mother's death, I distanced myself from the world, but Brandon gave me a reason to come back.
Then he stopped showing up for his football games, and I quit reality altogether. Why can't I speak to him if he matters enough to silence the dazzling stars in the universe? Why can't I tell him I saw the person he was becoming years before he walked into my life?
"If he's so innocent, then why was Brandon the only senior to volunteer to spend his free period babysitting a class of retards." Luke stares into my eyes, but he looks through me instead of seeing a person.
"Lukie, next time, let's use our big boy words instead of resorting to the chatter of common miscreants. We wouldn't want to call your sister such a hideous word." A soft voice speaks from the darkness with a hint of annoyance masked by the authority in her tone.
"How did you get in here, Chloe?"
My head swivels 360 degrees around the room, trying to make out any aspect of her usual appearance. I can't see Chloe's short blonde pixie cut or a beautiful girl wearing heels that adds three inches to her height of six feet. The room may be pitch black, but Chloe Carter is one of those girls that's hard to overlook.
"You still aren't proficient in grammar," Chloe uses her right foot to kick Luke out. "the question isn't how, it's when, and the answer is simple: before you."
Despite being my nemesis, Chloe and I have this unspoken bond over my brass statements and her over-the-top, brazen attitude. I clown the Atomic Five a lot, but unlike the others, Chloe lives for the wild scenes hidden between pages of bland filler. She reads the last chapter of every book before she starts from the beginning. So either she's insane or a backwards genius, I'll let my conscience do the math.
"You know I'm right!" Luke yells at her.
"Bye now," Chloe slams the door.
The closet stays quiet before I blurt out a douchey one-word reply. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Chloe folds her arms, "now c'mon your next."
My mouth gapes open in shock. Chloe knows I have lunch this period; she can't just send me outside to deal with Jekyll before Hyde shows his pretty face. I always believed terrible things happen to unfortunate saps in threes. So, by my calculations, that's the same way of saying Luke, Cameron, and the devil himself, Donovan.
"You're kicking me out of the janitor's closet."
"I liberated you from the next serial killer. I've done you a year's worth of solids, which is probably the next time we'll have a conversation. I've done all I can." Chloe points to the door like the star of an infomercial advertising some phony new product.
I take a small step forward." Fine."
"Good riddance." Chloe chirps.
"First, you kiss a boy then he turns from a handsome prince into an ugly frog. Kiss him and get a million warts, yet somehow he's still hotter than me." I mumble, preparing myself to leave as I open the door.
Chloe swats my hand away with a stunned look. "Oh my god, you kissed Brandon Lockwood!"
"No, I said a FROG. As in no tail, protruding eyes, and exceptionally strong webbed feet. FROG. F-R-O-G!" My mouth widens in horror, and my heart flutters as Chloe deduces everything I tried to keep hidden.
"Wait, the last virgin in California kissed one of the hottest guys in school," Chloe bangs her head on the door, letting out a series of curses.
"Yeah, I need you to say frog, so we can avoid any misunderstandings in the future."
"Can you please leave?"
Chloe cups her hands over her mouth, announcing to a seemingly empty janitor's closet. I deeply exhale, about to step outside the room before my jaw unhinges at the next person to step out of the shadows. Cameron walks up to Chloe and kisses her on the lips.
Cameron glares in my direction. "Keep your mouth shut and your secrets safe with me."
Before I can think of a coherent response, Cameron limps into the empty hallway as if nothing happened. Unless I'm being deceived, I believe that was my second bad sighting, and I know I'm overdue for one last oh shit moment. Please, don't let it be Donovan next.
"I didn't throw away my closet floozy for you to turn into a mime. Now spill your guts, or I will." Chloe flicks the light switch, sitting on a metal folding chair.
The bookshelves aren't filled with the usual office supplies. I see a few rows of cleaning supplies; besides that, it's a room piled with stacks of books collecting dust on rows of shelves. There are also a few boxes of junk from the lost and found sitting in the corner. I sit down on two boxes adjacent to Chloe's death glare.
"Comfortable?" She challenges, raising an eyebrow.
"Is everything I say strictly confidential?" I question.
"I'm sorry; do you see a framed psychology degree on the wall hanging over my grey sofa?" Chloe criticizes, scoping the wall for her fake credentials.
I give her a blank stare. "I just had a breakthrough. You and Cameron have inspired me to come out of the closet and tell the world how I feel. After I tell them, you and Cameron's ship name is Cheron."
Chloe offers a phony smile, taking a clipboard from the bookshelf behind her. "Yes, misses Lockwood, everything you say is strictly confidential until the moment you cross, Cheron."
"That's fair," I nod in agreement, "where do I start?"
"Your childhood," Chloe deadpans, "where do you think you should start?!"
When I tried to kiss Brandon, I had our entire future mapped out in five seconds flat. Sure, it was a new record for my imagination, but after years of stolen fantasies, I had one real moment. All it took was our lips locking for the puzzle to finally be completed. So, courtesy of Chloe, I know exactly where to start.
"I kissed a boy, and he didn't like it," I confess the words out loud, fully ready to process them.