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“Empty your pockets, please,” a burly security guard said after Michael had set off the metal detector.
If he’d thought of school as a prison his freshman year, his sophomore year was off to a more confining start. He pulled his Batman keychain with its lone key from his front pocket and placed it in a dish atop the conveyor belt. He glanced back at the line forming behind him, chuckled nervously, then started to walk back through the metal detector.
The heavyset guard held up his hand. “Any belt?”
Michael thought about it, then pulled up his shirt to check. No belt.
The guard waved him through, and the detector buzzed again. He heard the mousy girl who was next in line sigh melodramatically and turned in time to see her eyes roll behind tortoiseshell glasses. Shrugging, he lifted his palms.
“Step over there, please,” Metal Detector Man said as he pointed at a four-foot-nothing woman. She was chewing gum with her mouth open and holding one of those wand things TSA sometimes used at airports. She instructed him to spread his arms, then performed tai chi with the wand, waving it over every inch of his body. Whatever she thought he might be hiding behind his ears was a little disturbing. The buzzer went off at his groin.
“It’s... I...” He lifted his shirt again and gazed downward, unsure what to say. The wand hovered over his crotch, and for an awkward moment, he and the guard stared at each other in silence.
“Button,” the woman said with an air of such disinterest that Michael was almost offended. She handed him his keychain and threw a thumb over her shoulder at his backpack at the end of the rollers. “You’re all set.”
After grabbing his bag, he headed to his locker, hoping he remembered the combination. The halls had been painted during the summer, a blue so light it was almost gray and as drab as it had been before the paint job. The fresh coat failed to hide the divots and scuff marks, or the notch made by a bullet fired at Glenn Rodrigues—the one that had missed. Even the floor, newly stained and smelling like gasoline, held the markings of hundreds of dirty shoes. It clung to his sneakers with every step, his soles peeling off it with fart-like rips as he trudged through the start of his first day.
No one else seemed to notice the bleakness of their hallowed halls. The corridor was awash with bright clothes and brighter smiles, the teenagers happy to reconnect with friends and catch up on the latest gossip. Michael kept his head down as he walked, never raising his gaze to see who might be watching him and judging. He let out a breath as he reached the relative safety of his locker, then stared at his lock as if concentration could will it open. It only took him two tries to recall the numbers and a third go because he forgot to bypass the second number on the counterclockwise spin. Students were supposed to empty their lockers at the end of every school year, but he’d left the rock band poster up. It had been there when he inherited the locker, had been there for who knew how many previous owners, and was there awaiting him on his first day back. Seeing the poster made him smile. It was a token reminder of what was his—a narrow enclave all for himself in hostile wilderness.
A meaty hand clamped down on his shoulder. “What’s up, nerd?”
Michael tensed, then relaxed when the voice’s owner registered. He turned to face the over six feet and growing junior star center for the Carnegie High Hurricanes, Robert “Robbie” Wilkins. Robbie was one of three friends Michael had made at the school, and the other two wouldn’t be showing up any time soon. If ever. Yet Robbie was all he needed to keep the rest of the population—the ones who whispered freak every time he passed them or fairy at the sight of his long, effeminate gloves—in check. Michael couldn’t prove that was so, and Robbie never hinted as much, but since their friendship had become general knowledge, no bully gave Michael so much as a second glance.
But there were the others too—those who wanted to know all about his gift, wanted him to touch them and tell them their futures. Will Tyrese get into Harvard like his parents want? Will Becca get what she deserves for stealing Rhonda’s boyfriend? Will so-and-so make varsity, pass her driver’s license exam, get away with blowing up the toilet, or win a fight? The list was long enough even with Robbie’s hulking presence to dissuade them. Michael could only imagine how many soothsayer seekers he would have if he had to face them on his own.
They didn’t know what they were asking of him, what he would be forced to see and share with them. Best case, he would see nothing, and everyone would leave dissatisfied. Worst case, he’d have a seizure—something every one of the askers seemed A-okay with—and end up witnessing some horrific event that either the person requesting his help would commit or be a victim of. That was how it had all started with Tessa. When he touched her and had seen what she would eventually do to her murderous turd of a stepfather. Like he didn’t already have enough drama in his life with a detective for a foster mom.
“Relax, man.” Robbie flashed his big sloppy bulldog grin. Then he frowned and squinted, bending closer to Michael’s face. “Hey, are you okay, bud?”
Michael looked up and forced a smile. Robbie could be a bit of a goof, but he had a big heart. Seeing the concern in his friend’s face turned Michael’s smile genuine.
“You thinking about her?”
Michael’s eyebrows shot up before he could plaster on his poker face. Robbie was more perceptive than his grades or his speech let on. Sometimes, Michael thought he purposely dumbed down the way he talked to fit in more. Not that anyone at the school didn’t like their football phenom. Michael shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
“You see her lately?”
“Not since before I left for my cruise.” Michael ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “And that time, she was... confused. She kept talking about weird things happening at that hospital. I don’t know if she was drugged or whatever they’re doing to treat her in there. Physically, she looked okay.”
“Yeah, I bet you noticed that.” Robbie punched his arm and laughed. “She is cute, though. Red hair—”
“It’s strawberry blonde.”
“Whatever. That color ain’t really my thing.” He guffawed. “You know what they say about red hair. A little bit of crazy goes a long way.” When he noticed that Michael wasn’t laughing, Robbie shoved his hands into his pockets and blew out air. “But you got enough of that in your life already, Superdude. Things like she’s been through—abuse like that, then what she did to her own father—”
“Stepfather.”
“You know what I’m saying.” Robbie clicked his teeth. “People don’t just bounce back from that.”
Michael crossed his arms. “I don’t know. People can surprise you. I bounced back all right from what you and Glenn did to me.”
Robbie looked away. Michael could tell the barb had stung him.
“Sorry. I’m just a little on edge, I guess. First day back and all.” He scrubbed the memory of Robbie dunking him in a toilet last year from his thoughts with a cleansing breath. “Look, I’m just saying she’s gone through a lot but has been making progress. The time before last when I saw her, I thought for sure she’d be out soon, but—”
“But now you’re not so sure if she’s taken a turn for the worse?”
Michael sighed and his hands fell to his legs. “I really hope not.”
“You truly care about her, don’t you?” Before Michael could decide how to answer, Robbie added, “What kind of weird things did she say was going on?”
“She wasn’t really all that specific. We didn’t get a lot of time together, and-and... I didn’t want her to be down, you know? To focus on the bad. The time before, she looked...” Michael bit into his lip as his eyes blurred. “She looked almost happy.”
Robbie opened his mouth to speak, and Michael expected some quip poking fun at his feelings for Tessa. But Robbie clamped it shut with surprising tact. He tapped his chin, his gaze venturing toward the drop ceiling tiles. “Jimmy’s in there, too, right? Why not just ask him if he thinks anything weird is going on?”
“That’s... that’s actually pretty smart.” Michael nodded. “Thanks, Robbie.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” The big guy stuck his hands back into his pockets and shuffled his feet. “And, when you go see him, can I go too? I’d like to, you know, apologize.”
Michael inhaled through his teeth. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Everything he’s been through has really toughened him up. Glenn was only the first bully he took down. I’m not sure he’s ready to just forgive and forget. I know it’s been almost a year—and I don’t say this to sound harsh, but—look where you’re standing and where he’s at.”
Robbie’s cheeks reddened. He stared down at his feet.
Michael sighed. “Look, let me talk to him first, okay? The gesture would mean more coming from you, but—”
Robbie threw up his hands. “Too soon. I get it.” He shook his head. “Well, I know he’s the reason for the new metal detectors, but those cops outside, they’re here for you, I bet.”
Again, Michael was surprised at Robbie’s perceptiveness. “It’s just a precaution.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen the psychos you and that detective mom of yours cross paths with, and I ain’t too proud to admit I hope to never see them again.”
“Masterson’s dead, Robbie. No one’s going to see him again.”
“Except in our nightmares. The dude’s like Freddy Krueger. I can’t imagine how it must be for Tessa.” Robbie pursed his lips then glanced at his watch.
“Bell gonna ring?” Michael asked.
“We still got a couple of minutes. Anyway, who’s got Detective Reilly spooked? She’s mean as a—”
Michael shot him a warning look.
Robbie gave another sloppy smile. “—really mean person.”
Michael crossed his arms. “Don’t know.” He stood up a little straighter as a cute girl fiddled with her combination two lockers down from his. She caught him staring, smiled and nodded hello, then looked away shyly. He blushed as he faced Robbie and his knowing grin.
“Anyway,” he said before Robbie could comment. “We were attacked by someone with a stun gun the last time I went to see Tessa. He wore some cheap plastic Indian mask and was after Sam, I think.” He shuddered, remembering the attack with vivid detail. “I think Sam knows more than she’s letting on. The cops should be protecting her, not me.”
“She’ll have plenty of cops with her every day, I’m sure.”
Michael ran his fingers through his hair. “I hope so.”
The bell for first period rang. Robbie cursed then shrugged. “And so it begins. Well, I guess I’ll see you later, Superdude. Come find me at lunch.” He entered the stream of zombies shuffling through the corridor on waves of white-noise chatter.
A few feet away, he called back, “And don’t forget you promised to help me with math this year!”
But Michael barely heard him, stuck in thoughts of Sam back on the job, wondering what she might be hiding from him. Wondering if she was safe.
I hope so.