Six

“So what’s with the anti-socialness? Are you always this stuck up or are you simply challenged in the life department?”

I look up from my book, not overly surprised to see Jesse standing at my table. Paige is behind him, leaning around his shoulder. It’s obvious she’s set him up to try to change my mind.

“Maybe I just don’t like you,” I say.

It was easier when they left me alone. I didn’t have to constantly be on my guard. I didn’t have to be mean.

This whole bitch process is wearing me down. No matter how much I try to convince myself I’d rather be alone, there’s a small voice in my brain that calls me a liar. Maybe it would be nice to hang out just once and try to be normal. But then the itchiness in my chest reminds me that I’m here on this earth for a short time. I have a purpose. Just one. And I will go to my grave once I fulfill it.

Having friends would just complicate things. It might end the loneliness but it would only prolong the sorrow. Which is worse?

“Yeah, I don’t believe that,” Jesse says, and he pulls out the chair across from me and sits down. Paige continues to stand but she smiles at me. There’s something odd in that grin. They’ve come here for a purpose other than friendship. But what?

I glance around the room but once again the teachers are all off in other directions. I can’t help wondering if I’ve been so good at following their rules that they no longer feel they have to watch me. Or maybe they never cared to watch me in the first place. Have I been paranoid all this time over nothing?

“Paige has been telling me a pretty incredible story,” Jesse says. He takes one of the fries off my plate and eats it. “She told me that you had a run-in with Trevor. Left him in nasty bloody shape too. I saw him at the club last night. He looked like he’d been run over by a truck.”

I shrug.

“So it is true?” Jesse looks impressed. “She said you were like some sort of ninja.”

“Hardly,” I say.

“How’d you learn to fight like that?”

“Just did.” I’m not about to out Gazer to the two of them. Even though Gazer hasn’t been a cop in more than a decade, it still might not look good for him if people knew he’d been training me. People tend to question it when a grown man teaches a girl how to throw a knife properly.

“You can do that all the time?” Jesse takes another chip and chews it thoughtfully.

“Yeah.”

“I may have a business proposition. Could be a nice little change for you.” Jesse doesn’t hide the fact that he’s checking me out. His eyes go up and down my body. I know what he’s looking for. We may have to wear uniforms at the school but it’s still obvious who is rich and who isn’t. Jesse sees that I don’t have any jewelry. I don’t have a pair of expensive shoes. There are no designer sunglasses on top of my head. My backpack is old and worn, most definitely secondhand.

He knows I’m broke. It’s not like I’ve ever tried to hide it.

“What kind of money are we talking about?” I ask.

“A lot.”

I wonder what Jesse would consider a lot. He’s one of the only students who drive a car and it’s impressive enough that even I’ve turned to watch him as he drives down the street.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t care about money. The old saying is “You can’t take it with you” and I’ve always thought about it that way. I’m not saving for retirement since I’m fairly certain I’m not going to live past twenty. So what’s the point of worrying about it? Gazer gets enough money off his disability pension to keep us afloat and that’s all that matters. So what if we live in a rundown church that doesn’t have hot water half the time. So what if I wake up in the mornings unable to feel my toes sometimes. I don’t need nice things. I’d probably just ruin them anyway.

But as I sit there, I realize that a bit of extra money could go a long way. I could leave it to Gazer, a thank-you for helping me all these years. I could even give it away; put it toward one of the rare privately funded Heam support centers. God knows they could use the help. I could even use it to buy myself something nice, a sort of farewell gift for me when I leave this world. I’ve always wanted to eat in an expensive restaurant. I’ve never had fancy food. Just like the prisoner gets his last meal, maybe I could do something similar?

I glance around again. I can see Mr. Erikson across the room watching me. Not out of concern though; he seems happy to see me socializing.

“I’m listening,” I say to Jesse.

Paige’s grin grows wide and she finally sits down next to us at the table. “It’s not a big thing,” she says. “We just need a little protection.”

Jesse waves his hand in her direction, obviously meant to shut her up. It works. She closes her mouth and waits.

“As my girlfriend blabbed,” Jesse says, “we do need a bit of help. We did something really stupid and now we’re afraid that certain people aren’t going to leave us alone.”

“You mean Trevor?”

He nods. “Yeah, stupid dealer just doesn’t get it. We’re not interested. See, that’s what happens when you’re too polite to the hired help.”

“Isn’t that what you want me to be?” I can’t help smirking. Hired help? Me? The thought is almost funny enough to make me laugh out loud. But I’m professional enough to keep a neutral face.

“God, Jesse.” Paige punches him on the arm. “What’s wrong with you? It’s this sort of crap that got you in trouble in the first place.” She gives him a shove and turns to me. “Don’t listen to him. He’s a jerk. Will you do it?”

“What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Show up at the party on Friday night. We’ll have a list of who gets to come in and who doesn’t. Trevor isn’t on the list. Neither are a few others. All you have to do is make sure they don’t come inside.”

I pick at the last remaining chips on my plate. Mostly for show. I was done eating five minutes ago. “Doesn’t sound that interesting.”

“It’s worth five hundred.”

I get up, collect my tray of cold food, and start to walk away. “Make it a thousand and I might consider it,” I say back over my shoulder.

Always leave them wanting more. That’s probably the only thing my father ever taught me before they hauled him away. I wonder if it worked for him. Will it work for me? Time will tell.

I have to admit I’m a little disappointed. Even though I had to reject Paige, it was nice thinking that someone wanted to befriend me. Christian was the last friend I had besides Gazer, and Gazer doesn’t count because he’s in his late thirties. It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have someone my own age around. I sometimes wonder if Christian and I would have remained friends if he’d lived. But I don’t think about it often. It hurts too much.

They haul my ass into the office right after lunch. The vice principal comes and gets me personally. She leads me straight to the principal’s office and shoves me through the door.

“I understand there was a bit of a disturbance this morning?” Mrs. Orman, the principal, asks me once we are locked away in her office.

“No, not really,” I say. I’m trying to remain calm but I’m worried. This is the first time in three years that they’ve had to come and talk with me. I’ve done so well. It would suck to get expelled now, especially when I’m so close to graduating. Only a few months to go. I quickly glance down at my outfit to make sure everything is in order. No buttons missing. My skirt is pressed and wrinkle-free. No scars poking through the cotton. I look like the prim and proper schoolgirl I’m supposed to be. If I smile sweetly, I might even look innocent enough to fool her.

She looks at the file on top of her desk. “Screaming? Disrupting the entire classroom? I’d hardly consider that a small thing.”

“I had a bad daydream,” I tell her. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“You’re not using again, I hope.”

I shake my head vehemently. “No, of course not.”

“Good, because I’d hate to have to remove you, considering you’ve done so well here. But you understand how important it is to keep a low profile.”

“I have been keeping a low profile.”

Mrs. Orman nods in agreement. “So far, yes. Let’s keep it that way, shall we? Consider this a warning. Make sure you get enough sleep from now on. We need you nice and rested, don’t you think?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She closes the folder and nods at me to leave.

My last class of the day is physics and I coast through it by sitting at the back of the class and pinching my leg every few minutes to keep myself awake. I don’t need a repeat of this morning. Most of the hype has died down but there are still a few students giving me unusual looks.

Paige is waiting for me at my locker. I knew she was going to be there. She’s alone. I guess they figured Jesse was getting on my nerves. I’ve got to learn to keep a better poker face.

“A thousand is acceptable,” she says. “Will you do it?”

“Okay,” I say. “But I’ve got some conditions.”

“Which are?”

She waits. I open my locker and shove my books in. I grab my jacket. “I’m not going to hurt anyone unless they try to hurt me first. So I won’t fight someone just because you tell me to. Consider me more of a peacekeeper.”

She agrees. She actually looks relieved. I have a feeling this wasn’t her idea. Hiring me. Hell, she probably didn’t even want the party.

“And I want to be paid up front. And I’m not staying the whole night. I think till two a.m. is acceptable.”

“Okay,” she says. “Tomorrow is Thursday. I’ll give it to you then.”

I grab my backpack. “Deal.”

“It’s funny,” Paige says as I get ready to walk away. “I thought the reason you don’t take gym is because you have asthma.”

“Yeah? So?”

“You sure didn’t seem winded when you beat up Trevor. In fact, you look to be in pretty darn good shape for someone who can’t breathe.”

“What can I say?” I slam my locker. “I hate competitive sports.”

Gazer isn’t around when I get home. So I start on my homework and then head down to the basement to do a little training before grabbing something to eat. First I empty the water buckets from where the rain has leaked through the cracks in the walls. We have more leaks than buckets to collect them. There is a drain in the middle of the basement where most of the water ends up. The floor is constantly wet and slippery, which is good. It mimics the real world and gives me an advantage. I’ll never have to worry about slipping on wet cement and giving my enemies an advantage.

I don’t know what the basement was originally used for. Maybe to keep records. Maybe a place where the nuns used to sleep. It’s hard to tell. Now it’s just a large room filled with all sorts of exercise equipment that Gazer has managed to salvage and fix over the years. A treadmill is in the corner but it doesn’t work anymore. No amount of tinkering can save it now. Gazer keeps saying he’s going to throw it out but he doesn’t get around to it.

There are mismatched weight sets. A stationary bicycle that’s slightly lopsided. In one corner is a small room where we keep the weapons. No guns. Neither Gazer nor I believe in them. Guns are too loud. They bring too much attention.

But we do have the knives. Those are the weapons I work with every day. My goal is to master them. And I’m already very good. Even Gazer admits I’m better than him.

To be a fighter, I need the ability to clear my mind of all thoughts and burdens. Gazer makes me do yoga and meditation. Personally, I hate yoga but I do it because I need to be the very best. But today I’m not able to achieve a clear head, no matter how long I try to maintain downward-facing dog. I can’t stop thinking about everything; too many thoughts do circles inside my brain. So after half an hour or so, I grab my towel and head upstairs.

Defeated by my brain.

I decide to start dinner but the stove isn’t working. A new leak has sprung above the stove and the water has soaked all the burners and the flames have gone out. I get a new bucket from under the sink and place it on the back burner to try to catch the dripping. Water begins to collect in the bottom, making a hollow thudding noise that sounds like a heart beating. It takes me a while to find matches but that turns out to be a useless chore because I can’t relight the burners to save my life.

I kick the stove in frustration, leaving a nice dent and a black scuff mark the size of my foot.

“What did the stove ever do to you?”

I spin around and Gazer is standing in the door.

“Burner light is out,” I say. “Everything’s soaking wet. You’ll have to patch the leak or I’m not going to be cooking for a long time.”

“Sandwiches it is.”

The fridge is rattling but at least it’s still working. I pull out some meat and cheese and Gazer and I get to work with dinner. It’s not the first time we’ve had to fix sandwiches for dinner.

“How was your day?” Gazer finds the chopping board in the sink and rinses it off.

“Fine,” I say. I’m not about to tell him about the deal I’ve made with Paige and Jesse. I don’t think he’d be very happy to hear about it. Although I’m not one for keeping secrets from Gazer, this is something he’s better off not knowing about for now. When I slip out the door tomorrow night, I’ll let him think I’m just making my usual rounds.

“Did you practice?”

“A bit.”

“Good.”

This small talk might sound mundane, but to me it states that Gazer is no longer angry with me. My little outburst from earlier has been forgotten for now. He doesn’t hold grudges and neither do I, aside from grudges toward a few certain men who deserve it. This is why we get along so well.

Gazer used to have a good life. He had a wife and a daughter. He had a job that he loved. He was a cop and from what I’ve heard, he was excellent. In his room, in the bottom drawer of his desk, he’s got pictures from his former life. Hidden away, there are snapshots of him wearing the uniform, smiling at the camera, his arms around his family. He was young, only in his midtwenties, but he had his entire life planned out. He’d married his high school sweetheart and they’d had a beautiful daughter together. They were the perfect couple.

There is one picture I like in particular. A black-and-white photo. Gazer has his arms around his wife, and he’s looking down at her in admiration. She’s smiling with her eyes half-closed and you can tell there aren’t two people in the world who enjoy each other’s company as much as these two.

He was in love.

And then he angered the wrong people and she was gone. They came in the night when he was at work and killed her. They killed his daughter too.

Although Gazer knew who murdered them, there wasn’t enough proof to prosecute. The killers walked. Gazer lasted with the force for about six more months before finally quitting. The job was no longer inside of him. The will to right evil was gone. He hasn’t held a job since. He lives off a small pension and that’s why we live here. We can’t afford anything else.

This is why I find it frustrating when Gazer tells me I shouldn’t spend my life focused on revenge. If anyone should know exactly how I feel, it should be him. I wonder if he lies awake at night, picturing the faces of the people who did this to him. Doesn’t he dream of seeing their bodies lying at his feet the way I do?

Gazer doesn’t want me to know he still goes into his drawer and looks at his pictures. But the walls between our bedrooms are thin and I can hear the squeak of the wood at least once a week when he thinks I’m sleeping. He will spend an hour or two on the floor, looking at the ghosts of his past, reliving the pain that will never leave him.

Does it make him stronger? I don’t know. I don’t have any pictures of Christian or my parents to look at. Even if I did, I’d probably burn them. The thought of having to look at those smiling faces places a hollow space in my stomach that expands and can never be filled.

Gazer is stronger than me. But he’s stupid too. Those men still walk the streets. When I am done, my tormenters will be in their graves, unable to ever hurt anyone again.

After dinner, I wash the leftover dishes in the sink with cold water while Gazer retreats to his living-room corner to read his books. We deal with our pain in separate ways. He immerses himself in the written word and I wander the streets. At least he gets to stay dry.

I grab my jacket and head downstairs.

“Don’t be out late,” Gazer says without looking up from his book. It’s The Iliad tonight, a favorite of his. The pages are worn and the cover is dog-eared from years of touching. He’s pretty much got the entire story memorized by now, not an easy feat.

“I won’t.”

“And get up an extra hour early tomorrow,” he says, and I can see the hint of a smile forming at his lips. “We have to make up for all that lost time this morning.”

I will not groan. I will not give him the satisfaction. “Sounds brilliant,” I say through clenched teeth.

I may be forgiven but he still wins. Tomorrow he’s going to make sure my body aches. Revenge, Gazer-style.

When I step outside, I notice that the rain has finally stopped. It’s still cloudy and cold and the air has a fine mist about it that could be mistaken for rain, but it’s not. I smile. Such a nice change. I wonder how long it will last.

So there’s a spring to my step as I walk down the street. It feels good to not have my hair plastered against my cheeks. I even undo my jacket a bit and let the cool air press against my turtleneck shirt.

I tell myself I’m not heading anywhere in particular but I find myself pointed toward the bar. But I’m not going for Rufus; he’s not there. I know this because I overheard him a few nights ago on his phone. There’s a shipment of illegal immigrants on their way in tonight he’s got to deal with. I will go down to the docks and check it out later before I head home.

There’s no real need for me to be there but I still find myself stopping at my usual spot underneath the streetlight. I wait.

But Chael doesn’t show.

This is stupid. I’m not waiting for him. I don’t even want to see him. He’s weird. He never gives me a straight answer and he threatened me the other night. So why is it when I try to think about him, all I can do is picture the way his hair is the perfect length or that his green eyes are always looking at me so intently.

No, stop it. He’s trouble.

I don’t need trouble.

And I’m not going to let him take my revenge.

Rufus and the others are mine.

“Excuse me?”

It’s the little girl with the missing posters in her arm. She doesn’t have her red umbrella tonight and she almost looks naked without it. I smile down at her but she’s not smiling back. Instead, she’s biting her lower lip and clutching her flyers so tightly the paper is wrinkling in her grasp.

“What’s up?” I ask her.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks. “You took a poster. You said you’d tell me if you saw him.” She waves the flyers at me; the boy with the glasses stares up at me from xeroxed paper.

Her sudden anger at me is surprising; I’m at a loss for words. “I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do!” She grabs a flyer and shoves it in my face. The boy’s forlorn expression stares right into my eyes. “You were with him last night. I saw you!”

I reach out and grab the paper, yanking it from her fingers. I look around wildly but her mother is nowhere in sight. “Okay, you need to calm down and tell me what you thought you saw. I guarantee you I wasn’t with your brother. I hold the flyer up and read beyond the missing part. Arnold Bozek. Eighteen years old. Been missing for a week. There’s a phone number to contact. I look at the boy with the short blond hair and glasses. No, there’s no mistake on my part. I’ve never seen this boy before in my life.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I haven’t seen him.”

“But you talked to him last night,” she says. I can tell by the look on her face she believes what she’s saying. “You talked to him right here. Under this lamp. I saw you two together. I called out but you turned and ran. Why? Why are you keeping him from us?”

She’s talking about Chael but how she could mistake him for Arnold is beyond me. Chael’s hair is almost black. He doesn’t wear glasses. Only a blind person would be unable to tell them apart.

But it was dark outside and he did have his jacket hood up if I recall. It is possible that this girl might have thought it was him. She’s been spending so much time looking; maybe what she saw was a type of mirage. She wants to see Arnold so badly that other people begin to look like him.

“You’ve made a mistake.”

“No, I haven’t,” she says, and throws the flyers on the ground. “Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not lying and I haven’t seen your stupid brother,” I snap back. I’ve lost patience with her. I’ve tried being nice and that’s getting me nowhere. Time to bring out the bitch. “And stop following me or I’ll have a talk with your mother.”

I turn and stomp off into the night. I half expect the girl to follow me but she doesn’t. When I reach the end of the block, I turn and look. She’s still by the streetlight, on her knees, picking the flyers up off the street. They’ll be wet by now. Useless. Frowning, I head off toward anywhere but here. It’s not my fault.