Ann Aguirre - Mortal Danger

At last, I looked like one of the beautiful people, somebody you’d see cruising the halls with the Teflon crew. I had fruit and yogurt for breakfast, brushed my teeth, and waved at my parents, who were barely stirring. They were both kind of night owls, not in the party sense but that they’d stay up late watching documentaries or reading articles in scientific journals while sipping endless cups of hot tea.

“You want oatmeal?” Mom asked.

“No, I’m fine. I ate already. Bye!”

It was time to shift from planning and preparation to payback and penance. By the time I was done at Blackbriar, there would be blood in the water.

When I entered DeWitt Hall, where all language arts and literature classes were held, people stared as I walked by. In the old days, that would’ve meant the Teflon crew had stuck something on my back or circulated a new rumor. This time it signified a different kind of attention, but it was no easier to bear—for different reasons. Kian probably knew how this felt, and maybe he’d wanted to caution me about this.

One guy whispered, “Who is that?”

“The new and improved Edie Kramer.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know, right? How do you go from barks like a dog to that in a summer?”

A girl whose name I didn’t know pushed into the conversation with a scornful “I heard she had plastic surgery. Lipo, nose job, nips, tucks, lifts, and—”

“You have no idea how much I don’t care,” the guy said. “Like you were born with that nose, Tara.”

I felt his eyes on me as I turned the corner and stepped into my first class. My knees felt shaky, but soon the talk would die down. Then I could make inroads toward my goal. Jennifer Bishop might offer an opening since she’d professed what seemed like genuine regret over what the Teflon crew did to me.

I chose a seat in the middle of the room. The front marked you as a dork and the back said you planned to sleep or text. Since I was trying to reinvent myself, I avoided both classifications. These people know nothing about you. You’re a mystery. At least, I was hoping there would be a certain mystique surrounding me, and I didn’t intend to give anything away. The class filled up and the instructor came in just before the bell. I didn’t recognize him, so that meant he was new. I wondered who had retired or taken another job, freeing up this slot.

The girls were suddenly very attentive because this teacher couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and he was hot in a professorial sort of way. By which I meant, he had on a corduroy blazer with suede patches on the sleeves, and he was pulling it off, mostly because he’d paired it with boots, faded jeans, and a striped dress shirt. He had a chiseled jaw, great cheekbones, and black hair that looked like he’d rumpled it in a fit of literary inspiration. I privately suspected it had taken substantial time, plus expensive hair product for him to achieve that level of “I don’t care about my hair.” All around me, girls gave a soft, collective sigh, and his hazel eyes crinkled in amusement.

He wrote on the chalkboard, “Mr. Love.”

And a guy said, “Seriously? That’s your actual name.”

“The irony doesn’t escape me, and the moniker’s offered its share of challenges over the years.”

English accent. The female population at Blackbriar had no hope of escaping a giant crush this semester. Coupled with his looks and his slightly bashful air, he was girl Kryptonite. While I registered his definite appeal, he wasn’t turning me dreamy-eyed alongside everyone else. That probably meant I was broken.

He drew a line through the name on the board and added, “You can call me Colin. As you might’ve surmised, I’m from London, and I’m looking forward to sharing my fondness for great literature with you. Now I’d like you to go around the room and state your name, plus one interesting fact about you. We’ll start on the right.”

I tuned out the introductions, though I did roll my eyes when one girl said her name was Nicole and that she could tie a cherry stem in a knot with her tongue. The guy next to her said, “Call me,” but Mr. Love moved the conversation along.

Pretty soon it was my turn. “My name is Edie Kramer, and…” I’m afraid I made a deal with the devil . “I can recite pi to a hundred places.”

“Impressive. And what about you, sir?” I appreciated that he shifted focus to the boy in front of me. Though I would have to get used to it if I truly meant to infiltrate the Teflon crew, I hated being watched.

Eventually I knew all kinds of trivia about the rest of my class and then Colin started the lesson in earnest. He was a good teacher, explaining his expectations up front, how he would evaluate our performance, how much reading and writing we’d be doing, and then his test policies. By far it wasn’t the worst first session I’d had.

The rest, until lunch, were a mixed bag. I had a few of the same teachers from last year, but they were all polite enough to pretend I hadn’t changed into a new person. By the time break rolled around, my shoulders hurt from the tension. It took all my courage to go into the cafeteria instead of hiding in the bathroom. The place smelled delicious, mostly because we had chefs instead of lunch ladies. There was a wide variety of choices, too, but my stomach roiled too much for me to grab anything but salad and yogurt. If I kept up this I’m-freaking-out diet, I’d end up even skinnier, not one of my goals.

When I stepped out of the line, I almost bumped into Jennifer. Today, she wore her hair long and straight, glowing with a blue-black sheen. Between that and her flawless skin, she was much prettier than either Brittany or Allison. If popularity was driven by looks alone, Jennifer would rule the school. Since she seemed to have a heart, that would be a good thing.

“I just want to say that I appreciate your apology … and I accept. So thanks.”

As I moved to step past her, she said, “I don’t know if I could be that forgiving.”

I’m not. It’s a long con.

But I couldn’t seem to write off what happened too fast. “Yeah, well. You weren’t the one who made all the plans. I mean, you could’ve stopped it, but I guess … it’s hard to speak up when all of your friends are involved.” That sounded like the right balance of repressed anger and blame.

She nodded. “That doesn’t make it okay. I should’ve gone to the headmaster or a teacher or something. I wish I had.”

Me too.

“Well, I’m gonna go. See you.”

The words seemed to slip out of her. “If you want, we could eat together.”

“Me, with your crowd? I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Plus, I wasn’t sure I could swallow a single bite at the same table with Cameron Dean. I needed time to get used to the new dynamic and to bolster my resolve.

“It doesn’t have to be with them. There are plenty of tables.”

“Are you sure they won’t see you as selling out to the enemy?” I asked.

She shrugged. “It’s the least I can do to make this up to you. They can get by without me. I just … I don’t want you to eat alone.”

I was sure I could join any table at this point and not be run off with torches and pitchforks, but Jennifer seemed to have some guilt to work out. Never let it be said that I refused to let a girl cleanse her conscience. If it made her feel better to see me as a pity project, I could work with that.

“Okay, let’s sit by the window.” Where everyone could see that Jennifer had taken my side over the Teflon crew.

This should be interesting.

I had only eaten a few bites when a shadow fell across our table. An upward glance identified Allison Vega: brown hair, streaked with copper; bronze skin; green eyes; curvy. Word was, her family had ties to the cartel. That was probably just WASP gossip, though. Rich white people tended to think that there was only one way a Colombian family could make money.