Z STOPPED PACING and walked back to the window to look down at the ground three stories below.
Watching.
Waiting.
He’d come in through the field-house entrance. No teachers were around. He’d passed only a couple of freshman football players who acted like they were too cool to notice him stroll by.
God, he hated this building. He hated the way it smelled of fresh paint and Lysol. Like it was new.
Only nothing about this place was new. They could paint and clean all they wanted, but as long as it was standing, the same old crap would be underneath it all.
Maybe he was playing with fire, being here now—watching the kids who walked through the front door thinking that everything would be okay if they just tried their hardest. He shouldn’t blame them for buying the idea that everyone would get a fair shake. But all they had to do was look around and they’d see what was really what. They’d get that there were no fair shakes. No second chances. You were judged as having potential or being worthless before you ever came through the front doors.
Blond Homecoming Queen who had come up the steps earlier with her pink shirt and her perfectly brushed hair didn’t want to think about that. Because life was working just fine for her.
Z spotted Mr. Casey walking from the faculty parking lot toward the school, and he gripped the edge of the window frame. How many times had he replayed Mr. Casey’s words in his head? Hundreds.
Lazy.
Disrespectful.
Worthless punk.
Had he cut classes?
Yes.
Had he blown off homework?
Who gave a damn about anything some guy wrote two hundred years ago? Why the hell did that matter?
Mr. Casey knew he didn’t give a crap. But he called on him for every single question. What character did what? What place did they go to for something? What did some colored light symbolize?
Finally, “Think you’re too good to do the assigned reading, Mr. Vega? Did you have something better to do?”
“Yeah,” Z had said, clenching his fists under his desk as everyone in the room had looked at their hands or out the window—anywhere but at him. He’d looked right at Mr. Casey. He wasn’t going to let Mr. Casey get to him. “Something like that.”
“Well, you can stay after the bell so you can explain why you’re above doing the work that everyone else seems to find the time to do.”
He hated everyone for jumping up and clearing out as fast as they could the minute the bell rang, and he hated Mr. Casey more for the way he’d looked at him—as if he was worthless—and for what he’d said and for the fact that he could say it and think he would never have to pay a price.
“I told you not to do this.”
Z spun toward the door. Kaitlin stood in the entryway. Her straight brown hair framed the frown on her face. “What are you doing here?” he said.
She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped into the room. “I’m trying to keep you from doing anything stupid.”
“You have to go home.” He hurried across the room toward her. “Get out of here, Kaitlin.”
“Not until you tell me what you’re doing in Mr. Casey’s room.” She lifted her chin. The look she gave him was a lot like one that his mother used to give. “You didn’t return my messages.”
“Maybe because I wasn’t interested in talking to you.”
Hurt swam in Kaitlin’s blue eyes. He hated it, but he wasn’t going to back down. He couldn’t.
Kaitlin bit her lip and straightened her shoulders. “Look. I know how hurt you are and how angry you felt when you got that letter—”
“Stop!” he yelled. “I just want you to stop. I didn’t answer your message because I didn’t want you telling me what to do and what not to do like I’m some kind of charity case not able to take care of my own life.”
Her eyes swam with tears. “That’s not what I was doing.”
No. It wasn’t. But that wasn’t the point. “Then prove it.” He reached out and dug his fingers into her arm, and he saw her fear. He hated it. He hated himself. But he had no choice if he wanted to keep Kaitlin clear of what was about to happen. “Get out of here, Kaitlin. Now.”
He pulled her toward the door, but Kaitlin yanked her arm away and stumbled back.
“Are you deaf?” he yelled. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She rubbed at her arm and lifted her chin to look him dead in the eyes with the stubbornness that she’d shown that first day he’d driven her home. “I’m not going anywhere.”