Gravity, a young adult paranormal romance (8 page)

"All I'm saying is, since it's Hell,
we should be able to sin and get away with it," Henry joked around
with Lainey. His charming voice carried over to my seat, broken by
Lainey's high-pitched, fake giggle.

"You're really bad," she tittered.
"I'm surprised you've lasted this long without getting in
trouble."

She tossed her shiny blond hair. The
strands shimmered like a waterfall as they caught the light. For
the slightest moment, I wished I was her. The biggest thing that
scared her was that she hadn't put on enough eyeliner. Not that her
best friend was never coming back. Or that pretend boogeymen lurked
in her basement.    

I dutifully texted Hugh as I set out
on my journey back home. As I came around behind the house, I
noticed my neighbor sitting on the swingset next door. She
scribbled in the sketchbook on her lap, never taking her eyes from
the paper. She wore a poufy, tutu-like black skirt and black and
white striped leggings, and her glitter today was red, matching the
vivid, artificial red of her hair. Her glasses kept sliding down
her nose and each time she would push them up with two fingers. She
didn't look so intimidating now; in fact, considering how little
she was, she didn't look intimidating at all.

An impulse hit me. I was prone to
them, but up until then I very rarely acted on them. I peeked my
head inside my own house.

"I'm home," I said to Hugh, who sat at
the table. "But I'm going to hang out in the backyard for a few
minutes."

He saluted me and went back to his
laptop. Paint drops splattered the shoulder of his shirt. He chewed
the end of a pen to ruin, which meant he was concentrating deeply
on something. I tossed my backpack on the floor of the dining room
and slid the door shut. As I walked over to the fence, I
anticipated what to say, and whether it was a good idea to say
anything at all.  

"Hey!" I called to the girl. She
startled, and almost fell off the swing. The sketchbook went
sprawling on the grass.

"Sorry!" I said.

I hadn't expected that kind of
reaction. Most of the alt-kids in our school were tough and aloof,
and talking to them was risking getting your teeth realigned. I
noticed a bandage around her ankle, pushing up her left
legging.

"What do you want?" she asked, picking
up her book and sitting back down on the swing. The words didn't
come out rudely, merely curious. She capped the pen she had been
using to draw and looked up at me. I had never seen such vibrant
green eyes; they were the color of limes. I assumed
contacts.

"I just wanted to know if I've done
something to offend you," I said calmly. "As far as I know, I've
never talked to you before today, but it seems like I've done
something to you."

She looked caught for a second. "No,"
she said. "Your friends just don't like me."

"I don't really have any friends at
Hawthorne anymore," I said matter-of-factly. Saying it felt odd,
like I should feel worse about the fact. I knew that I was
discounting Becky, but to be honest with myself, I felt more like a
charity case to her than a friend anymore.

"I thought you and that Lainey girl
were friends," she said, leaning over to gather her sketchbook back
up. I laughed for about the first time in a month.
 

"What would give you that idea?" I
asked, leaning on the fence. "I am way too dorky for them, and
also" — I gestured to my house — "I don't live in a
mansion."

"Never mind, then," she
said.

She started to stand up, but I found I
had a sudden desperation to talk to someone who I wasn't related
to. Someone who didn't know me and hopefully wouldn't make
assumptions.

"Where did you move from?" I asked,
trying to keep the conversation going.  

"Chicago."

"Do you miss it?"  

"Every day." She looked up at the sky,
as if there were an invisible dome there. "I don't like this
town."

"Me neither. And I've lived here my
whole life." I brushed away a fly that landed on the
fence.

"That sucks," she said, her nose
twitching for a moment like a rabbit.

"What's your name? I'm
Ariel."

She paused for a second, tucking a
lock of ruby hair behind her ear. "Theo. Theo Weaver. Nice to meet
you." She came over and stuck out her hand above the fence posts
for me to shake, an oddly formal gesture I found
charming.

"Likewise," I said. "Theo, that's a
pretty unusual name for a girl."

"It's short for Theosophia. My mom has
strange taste."

As if on cue, Theo's mom appeared in
the doorway of their colonial-style house. To my astonishment, I
saw that it was Ms. Vore, our art teacher.  

"That's your mom?" I asked, even
though I could already tell the answer. Theo nodded sheepishly. I
could definitely see the resemblance, and it wasn't just the
glasses. It was the same serious, smart look on their faces, the
same small nose.

"I'll see you at school, okay?" Theo
said, and retreated swiftly back to her house. I stood wondering
what exactly had just happened, and if we were on good terms now or
not.  

In Gym the next day, I discovered I
wouldn't be able to go two days in a row without being the target
of mockery.

"Nice gym shorts. Did you snag them
from a clothing drop off box?" Madison asked me when I was
changing.

"No," I said. I looked down at the
mesh black shorts I wore. I hadn't realized they were that bad.
Sure, I had owned them for years, but so what? It was gym class,
not a fashion show. At least not to me.  

Madison herself was
prancing around in pink ones with
Juicy
printed on the butt. They were
so tight they could have been spray painted on. Logic told me that
clothing was not my most pressing issue. But the other half of my
brain wondered if I should beg Claire to take me to the mall for
sportswear. It would probably make her think I was moving on. She
would be pleased. The thought made me physically cringe.

I tried to ignore Madison and Lainey
like my authority figures preached in kindergarten. Ignore the
bullies, and they will eventually stop picking on you. The problem
with that little theory is that I had been trying to do that for
years, and it hadn't ever worked. If anything, they only found new,
innovative ways to torture me.

Inside the gym, the bleachers were
pulled out halfway in anticipation of some kind of social event
that weekend. Theo sat on the bottom row by herself. I noticed her
ankle bandage was gone. I immediately navigated to the empty spot
next to her. She felt safe. 

"Hi," she said with some surprise,
raising her eyebrows over flashing emerald glitter. It looked pale
compared to the unusual bright green of her irises. "Didn't expect
you to talk to me in school."

"Why is that?" I asked. "You're the
only person with a functioning brain around here."

She smiled and looked out over the
masses. She didn't seem so twitchy now that she was away from her
house and her mom.  

"I didn't know you had gym this hour,"
I said. I didn't remember seeing her yesterday or the day
before.

"Well, I got to miss the first few
days because of my ankle," she said, pulling her leg up and
gesturing. "I could have sat out today in study hall, too, but I
figured I had milked it enough." She leaned in and admitted, "My
ankle's been fine for a week."

I was curious as to how she had gotten
hurt in the first place, but I didn't want to pry.

"Plus, I had to avoid that fitness
test," she continued. "Fitness is the one test I know I would fail.
I run at top speeds of two seconds an hour."

"You can't be that bad," I
protested.

"Oh, I can," she said chuckling. "And
the less that they know about my lack of athletic skill here at
cheerleader camp, the better."

"Good idea," I agreed.

It was comforting talking
to someone I actually
could
talk to. I no longer felt like a target, dodging
around and waiting to get hit. Gym class became no more pleasant,
but at least it wasn't dreadful anymore.   

At lunch, I sat with my old
acquaintances again. I even interjected into the conversation a bit
at first, discussing some news I had caught on TV that morning.
Being around Theo had bolstered my confidence a little. But the
girls were all making plans to go on shopping in Ann Arbor that
weekend, and they didn't invite me. Just when I finally started to
find normal. I withdrew behind my backpack again. It was quickly
evolving into a protective shield. 

After English class, I went to my
locker to drop off my books and take the ones I needed for
homework. As I was headed to art, a crowd of people blocked the
hallway in front of me, preventing me from going past. I peered
around to see what the fuss was about.

Ambrose Slaughter had pinned another
boy up against the wall by his shirt collar. I groaned. I knew he
had been keeping too low of a profile. Last year, Ambrose bloodied
more than one kid's nose in the first month, and he never seemed to
get in trouble. Mostly due to the fact that his father owned all
three of the car dealerships in town.

A junior, Ambrose was tall even for
seventeen. Leather tanned, with gelled golden hair and blue eyes,
he looked like a demented cherub. He slammed the other boy up
against the wall again. I could practically hear his teeth rattle
from where I stood. The boy was puny, and looked like a
freshman.

"Are you deaf? Do you have a listening
problem?" Ambrose barked.

He wrenched the other boy's shirt, and
the sleeve tore with a loud rip. Fat tears rolling down his
reddened face. His crying elicited cruel laughter from the crowd
around them.

I noticed then that Lainey and Madison
were both standing by.

Henry was, too.

It surprised me more than it should
have. Part of me still held out that he was one of the good guys.
 

As I watched, Lainey leaned on Henry's
shoulder. The very fact that she was touching him made me queasy. A
smug smile spread over her face, contorting her beautiful features
into an ugly caricature.

"You need to stay out of my way!"
Ambrose yelled in the other boy's face. He reared his thick arm
back to punch. "I'll teach you, and you won't forget."

"Stop it!" I yelled. The second after
the words were out I realized I had actually spoken aloud, not just
in my head. My fingers flew up to my lips, trying too late to catch
the words.

Color rushed into my cheeks. What had
I done? Every face in the crowd of jerks turned towards me. Henry's
lips lowered into a frown, a line forming between his eyebrows. His
wide brown eyes met mine and he looked — what, guilty? Like a
little boy caught pulling a cat's tail. Or at least being complicit
in the event.

Ambrose smiled at me. It was the
meanest smile I had ever seen. Everyone else looked merely
irritated that I had interrupted their fun, but still ready to
pounce. I took a step backward on instinct. I'd never been beaten
up, but I had the feeling today was my day.  

Principal McPherson appeared suddenly
out of nowhere beside me.

"Break it up, break it up," he said
sternly, waving his hands. "No fighting in the halls."

As if he could call it a fight, the
implication being that it had been two-sided. He swooped his
sleeves around in a circle, conducting the traffic away. The crowd,
including Henry and Lainey, dispersed as the bell rang. McPherson
patted Ambrose's shoulder and sent him off.

"That's all now," he said, smiling and
revealing all of his yellowed teeth.

He turned to the other boy, who still
cowered against the wall, not quite understand he'd been saved for
the moment. His shirt hung limply at the torn shoulder, his hair a
messy mop. 

"Don't be a troublemaker," McPherson
told him. "If I catch you involved in anything like this again,
I'll suspend you."

The frightened boy scuttled away,
holding his shirt together. McPherson ignored me completely,
striding back to whatever cave he crawled out of.
  

I headed quickly to class, worried
because I knew I was late. But Ms. Vore didn't seem to notice; in
fact, she smiled and greeted me as I came in and she shut the door
behind me. Shutting me in with my troubles.

Theo patted the seat next to her, an
inviting smile on her face. It was a stark contrast from the other
day. I sat hastily beside her, happy to not be near Lainey or
Henry. I realized I liked being around her not only because she was
interesting, but because I didn't have to pretend to be happy, to
fake a smile to put her at ease like I did so often with everyone
else.

Theo and I both pulled out our
sketchbooks. We had to turn them in at the end of every week, which
meant today. All of my drawings looked lopsided, suffering from
near holes in the pages from erasing and redrawing so often.
Because of Hugh's hopes in me I had become neurotic. I figured as
long as I tried, it would be impossible to fail Art, but I could be
the exception.