B.C. Johnson - Deadgirl

I tried to hide my deep breath and turned to face him. I offered a pleasant smile.

“Hey, Will.”

“Hey, Luce,” Will said. He was a freshman to the bone. Nervous voice, rail-thin boyish body, the red skin tone of pre-acne. He sat at lunch with us, and Daphne had taken him in as some kind of apprentice/squire. Daphne used him as a valet, essentially.

I waited the appropriate five seconds before speaking again.

“What’s up?” I asked him.

He shook his head and laughed. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I just wanted to say hey.”

Sure. Liar.

“Hey,” I said, and turned back to my computer.

After I shifted the words around in Text Twist a few times and still wasn’t able to come up with anything coherent, I turned back to him. He hadn’t budged.

“Can I…I mean, you look really good,” he said. His face went bone-white.

My eyebrow arched, “Uh, thanks?”

“I just meant. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Well, he wasn’t wearing the pity mask, I’ll give him that. His eyes were eager, and he was smiling. He meant it—he wasn’t fishing for anything. I let out a long breath and nodded.

“Thanks, Will.”

“You’re uh, you’re welcome. Luce.”

“Well, I should…” I indicated my game.

“T-totally. You, uh, you Twist yourself silly. I’m gonna…I have that article.”

I nodded, my lips tight, trying to suppress genuine laughter. The poor guy looked like he might explode, or melt into the floor. He jumped out of his chair and bounced off back to his computer.

I dived into 2nd period World History with vigor. No one bothered me, no one stared at me, and the subject was pretty cool. After the lecture, I finished the worksheet Mr. Stater gave us, and thus my homework, and bounced out of the classroom with a good mood on the horizon.

Just like last week, Morgan and Wanda sideswiped me as soon as I hit the hallway. I smiled at Morgan and turned to Wanda. She looked like she had a big secret, had to go to the bathroom, or was about to sneeze. I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Hey, Wanda. Cold out today, huh?”

She nodded, trying to look casual. She even stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and nodded again.

I sighed.

“Get it out.”

“LUCY!”

She mauled me, not unlike the last few people to see me alive. Well. Alive. When she released me, I nodded, trying to act understanding. I’d be freaking out, too. It was impossible to ask everyone to ignore what happened.

She told me how glad she was to see me, how worried she was. I nodded and smiled and told the same story I’d told a hundred times. The back of my head ached halfway through—I touched the contusion again with a mixture of wonder and certainty. I shook my head. Of course it hurt—I’d been pistol-whipped in the back of the head.

Liar.

I nodded through the rest of Wanda’s sentiments on the way to English. I knew it was only going to get worse. I was headed into the meat grinder—all of the girls had English with me.

I didn’t take a step into Ms. Fleece’s class before Sara and Daphne both hit me with a group bear hug. I sighed at Morgan, who was now laughing both hysterically and silently. She shook with the force of it. Wanda just looked confused, and Sara and Daphne lifted me off my feet.

“She lives,” Daphne said, in her megaphone voice. “My girl lives!”

“Stupid chick,” Sara said. “I should knock your block off.”

I smiled sheepishly. The whole class was watching the show now.

“All right, all right,” I said, and together they let me back down. “I’m fine. And I’m not telling the story again.”

Daphne shrugged, “Morgan already told us all.”

Morgan’s silent laughter renewed itself. I flashed her a threatening glare, which only made her shake harder.

“Well, swell,” I said, and dumped my backpack next to my desk. “Let’s get a-learnin’.”

The girls slid into the chairs next to me. Ms. Fleece looked to be oblivious at the board again, scribbling out instructions, but that had fooled us once before. Daphne didn’t allow even a minute of silence before she leaned back and threw her arms up theatrically.

“So how did the date go?”

She and the other girls burst into screaming fits of laugher. I sighed, ducked my head, and inscribed death threats into the margins of my notes. Ms. Fleece eventually reined in control of the class and got us back to Lord of the Flies .

Sara was reading that day, the part just after the wild blood-orgy that culminated in little Simon’s death, when a student messenger walked into the class. Sara stopped reading, but Ms. Fleece gestured for her to continue as she intercepted the messenger. I watched Ms. Fleece read the note—I saw her face crumple in something like annoyance.

Sara kept reading, telling us about Simon's body floating away on tides of silver I drifted in and out as Ms. Fleece nodded and shooed the messenger away.

“One second, Ms. James,” Ms. Fleece said to Sara, and Sara stopped reading.

Ms. Fleece moved down the aisle and handed me the small pink slip of paper. It told me in scrawled blue ink to report to the principal’s office. I glanced up at her, the paper rustling in my shaking hand.

“Right now?”

She nodded. I gave my head a numb shake, scooped up my backpack, and headed for the door. Right as I crossed the threshold, I heard Daphne’s voice rise above the silence.

“Ooooo, you’re in trouble.”

I smiled, despite myself, as I left the class.

I crossed the gigantic quad and walked to the principal’s office. I’d never been sent to the principal’s office in my whole life. I’d received a few detentions in my time, but I’d never racked up the kind of points it takes to get a ticket to the Head Screw’s office. I wondered where I had acquired my prison lingo as I walked into the main office. I showed my slip to the plump secretary at the first desk—she waved me past her and pointed toward the right office. The door was open. Principal Ortiz sat in a typical educator’s brown suit behind his desk, and two people sat in the chairs opposite him. There wasn’t any room for me to sit.

Principal Ortiz gestured for me to enter—he looked as nervous as I felt. I folded my hands behind my back and glanced around nervously. Nowhere to sit. Awesome. I half-expected the people in the office to start making bids or something.

I recognized one of the people, I realized. Officer Sykes, his shades tucked into his shirt pocket, gave me the granite non-expression I’d come to know so well.

The other person I’d seen around campus. She was a round lady with a cute face and what looked to be an impeccable black suit with an A-line skirt. Her very curly brown hair was half-up and half-down, the top part held up by an intricate silver comb. When she turned to me, she offered me a huge smile and got out of her chair. She held out a hand, and I gave it an awkward shake. Her firm grip crushed mine, and when I leaned back against the wall, I massaged my fingers back to life.

“I’m Marian Crane,” she said, returning to her seat.

“Uh, hello.”

“You’re Lucy Day?” She said, and though her tone remained light, she looked me up and down like she'd expected me to be taller or something.

“That’s me.”

Principal Ortiz spoke up finally.

“Sorry to pull you out of your class, Lucy, but we heard about Friday night and we just have a couple of hoops to jump through.”

I smiled at that. He seemed to pick up on it, and he went on with a light tone.

“How are you feeling?”

I shrugged, “Fine. My head’s a little sore. But I’m okay, if that’s what you mean.”

He nodded and leaned back in his chair.