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ROLAND ROUNDED THE CORNER and crashed into a girl, books falling to his feet, red hair sailing to his face, and a squeal sounding in his ear. The girl stumbled back and lifted her eyes to him, gorgeous green eyes that made Roland’s heart flip-flop in his chest. Caitlyn Summer. If he had to bump into anyone . . .
“This is like the fifth boy you’ve crashed into this week,” Phoebe said.
“Oh. Hi, Roland. Sorry I . . .” Caitlyn exchanged looks with her friends Kiara and Phoebe then the three of them giggled. “Stinks down there.” She pointed over her shoulder. Kiara whispered something to Phoebe and giggled again.
“Oh.” Roland’s mind drew a blank. Unable to process what she’d said, he felt lucky to have gotten the word “Oh” out. He stooped for her books, dropping down without thinking. Pain shot through his knee. His backpack, which he’d been carrying over one shoulder, slid to floor.
Giggling, she dropped to one knee with him and half-knelt in her long skirt. “I think someone’s been pranked.” She grabbed his backpack and handed it to him.
He tried exchanging her books for the backpack, but she didn’t have a free hand. “Pranked?” His brain kicked back into gear and he blinked, thinking over what she’d said. “You mean, like a prank on an outcast?” He glanced over her shoulder at the hallway and inhaled a deep breath to see what she meant by “stinks down there.” The odor of dead fish slapped the back of his throat, and he gagged.
“Did you see the posters yesterday?” she said.
Roland coughed, pushing down the urge to retch, then he breathed out of his mouth. “Keefe told me what they said.” Wait! His attention snapped back to his locker, which wasn’t that far away. His heart thudded hard against his ribs. Was he the target today? Him again?
“Yeah, someone’s mean, huh?”
“Yeah.” He managed to return his gaze to hers, and they stood up together.
“Come on, Caitlyn. I can’t breathe.” Eyes rolling back and mouth hanging open, Phoebe waved a hand in front of her nose, making her ten million bracelets jangle. “And we have to get to Geometry.”
Caitlyn walked backwards, nearing her friends. “See ya tonight, right?”
“Huh?” His brain froze again. Words from his conversation with his twin brothers last night flashed in his mind, and he pictured them double dating with Jarret and— No, that would never happen.
Still inching back, she hugged her books. “With the Fire Starters? To help clean up?”
“Oh, right. Yeah.”
She smiled and skipped off with her friends, her wild curls swinging across her back.
Once she disappeared from view, Roland turned and exhaled. Then he took an unguarded breath, gagging this time. What caused the smell? Dead fish or something worse?
Three kids stood at their lockers. No, make that two. The third kid slammed his locker and took off. The few remaining kids in the hallway breathed through their mouths and jog-walked, their faces scrunched.
Mustering an ounce of determination, Roland sucked in a breath and held it as he strode to his locker. He needed his books, so he might as well get it over with. If someone had targeted him, he’d just have to clean out his locker and show up late for his next class.
A bit hesitant, he lowered his backpack to the floor and reached for the combination lock.
A locker slammed nearby.
He jerked his hand back from the lock and glanced to the side.
Five lockers down stood a girl in black pants, a long purple sweater, and a thin cream-colored scarf that covered every trace of her hair. Her palm rested chest-high on her closed locker door. She grunted and slammed her hand to the locker again. Her gaze flickered to Roland and back to her lock. She spun her lock one way and another.
Minding his own business, Roland braced himself, ready for whatever he’d find, and then he spun his lock and eased open the door.
The overhead light removed all shadows, revealing . . . a tidy stack of books and folders on the metal shelf, a black jacket hanging from a hook, and his silver insulated water bottle in a bottom corner. Everything just as he’d left it.
The tension drained from his body. The smell didn’t come from his locker.
After he traded books, he slung his backpack over a shoulder, slammed his locker, and turned, ready to bolt to fresher air. Glimpsing the girl five lockers down, he stopped.
She made a fist and looked ready to pound her locker again. She still hadn’t gotten it open.
“Can I help?” Adjusting his backpack on his back and breathing through his mouth, he stepped toward her.
With her dark brown eyes narrowed, she gave him the once-over, maybe deciding if she could trust him. “I can’t get the lock.” She stepped back and handed him a folded piece of paper.
He glanced at her combination, swirly numbers written in pink marker, and grabbed the lock.
“Someone put glue in my last lock.” She watched him work. “The janitor had to cut it off.”
Roland spun the dial one way and the other then he stepped back so she could open it. His foot brushed a paper on the floor. The words “out of order” had been written in black marker on a piece of paper ripped from a spiral notebook. It reminded him of the warning posters someone had posted all over school. The blood drained from Roland’s face.
“Wait!” he blurted, swinging a hand out to stop her.
He was too slow.
She flung the door open, creating a burst of putrid fishy odor, and stood gaping at something in the bottom of her locker. Face contorted with a look of disgust, she staggered back and turned away.
A gazillion tiny fish—maybe sardines—lay scattered on the bottom of the locker. Particles of fish clung to the inside of the door, and one little fish hung on the sleeve of a dark blue jacket. Kids must’ve pushed them in through the vent slots.
A wave of empathy washing over him and a hint of anger, Roland flicked the fish from the jacket sleeve. “Let’s go report this.”
She turned enough to glance at him and nodded, her eyes glittering with tears but her jaw set with a show of strength.
They walked side by side into fresher air and clusters of students loitering outside classrooms. When he’d been pranked by C.W., Trent, and Konner on the first day of school, he hadn’t wanted to report it. He’d abandoned his books and hobbled straight to the bathroom to wash his face, hoping the smallest number of people had seen him and wishing he could go home. He’d considered skipping the last class of the day, but when the principal had found him, he’d been given a pass anyway.
Why were kids so cruel? What did they gain from making someone else miserable?
Could C.W., Trent, and Konner be responsible for all the pranks? Who could have such a vendetta against outcasts? Did anyone really think they were better than anyone else because of skin color, religion, popularity, or anything else?
The girl stopped a few feet from the office doorway, her eyes now dry and resolve coloring her expression. “Thank you for your help. I’ve got this.”
“Yeah, okay. Want me to wait?”
She shook her head then she turned to the office, lifted her chin, and strode through the open doorway.
Not wanting to pass through the fish odor again, Roland limped down an empty hall, taking the long way to his next class. He stopped at a water fountain to rinse the bad taste from his mouth.
Tension-filled voices came from around the nearest corner, two girls at odds.
“I know you, Brice. How many years?”
“Doesn’t matter. You only think you know me.” She paused. “How did you end up down here, anyway? Following me? Why?”
“Listen, you think I don’t know you but I do. And I see you trying to hide who you are.”
The other girl—Brice from his speech class?—called the first girl a bad name.
“Instead of going it alone, you should join us. We’re there for each other, and you need someone on your side.”
“Oh, I do?” Brice sounded sarcastic and closed to the other’s suggestion.
“We all do. That’s why Empowerment exists. It’s not just to help change the attitudes of others. We’re here for support.”
“Sorry, Tessia. I’m not interested.”
A locker slammed as Roland straightened up from the fountain. He took one step.
Brice rushed from around the corner and came within inches of smacking into Roland, reminding Roland of the first time he crashed into her.
Jaw clenched and eyes dark, she glared as she swerved around him. “You again. Watch where you’re going.”
Acting as if he’d heard nothing and not looking at her twice, Roland strode on his way. He’d recognized the look in her eyes. It spoke of anger and an intense desire for privacy, things he could relate to.
A list began forming in Roland’s mind: names of people he would have to spy on, character traits of victims of the “hate crimes” and pranks, and patterns he would have to note, tactics he could use to uncover the perpetrators. Who would be next on the outcast list? Maybe Roland West, loner.
Unless he uncovered them first.
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