by Sara Wolf
Burn ignores me, kneeling beside the bed and dabbing my knuckles with something wet. It stings, and I hiss.
“Would you stop trying to play the concerned older brother part? You outgrew it a long time ago.”
“Be as angry as you want,” He says softly. “But I’m not leaving until everything bloody is taken care of.”
I entertain the thought of getting up and forcing him out, but then I remember just how tall and built like a brick wall he is. I glare at the ceiling as he wraps my knuckles in gauze.
“Who punched you?” Burn asks.
“No one.” I grunt.
“Why did they punch you?” He asks again, patiently. So patiently it pisses me off.
“It’s done, okay? It doesn’t matter who or why or what did it. Drop it.”
We’re quiet. We both know he’ll just hear about it tomorrow. I exhale, quick and hard.
“I punched some senior. Harris. He was making stupid comments about a girl.”
“What kind of comments?”
“Like, ‘hurr hurr I’d fuck her’. Stupid shit.”
“Who was the girl?”
I gnaw the inside of my lip. “The scholarshipper.”
Burn’s expression doesn’t so much as twitch. But I’ve been his brother long enough to know he’s surprised.
“You…defended her?” He asks. I fling my gauzed arm over my eyes so I don’t have to face him.
“No. It wasn’t like that. He was just pissing me off.”
“You punched him.” Burn asserts.
“I know.”
“You hate touching people.”
“I know.”
Burn falls silent. To my utter relief he finishes gauzing my other hand and gets up.
“Rinse your lip out with saltwater before bed.”
“Yes, Mom,” I grumble.
“I’m serious, Wolf. If it gets infected we’ll have to tell Dad you got in a fight.”
“Fine. Okay. You’re right. Now just leave me alone.” It feels harsh and I feel like a dick, considering he bandaged me up. He moves to the door, and I call out.
“Thanks.”
Burn pauses, nodding over his shoulder, before he closes the door behind him.
I let my whole body relax, finally. Finally alone. The twisted energy in me is gone – depleted – leaving behind an empty husk. An empty husk who can’t do much more than lie on his bed and wince at the thought of school tomorrow.
At the thought of facing Beatrix Cruz.
It’s easier to read her writing. I take out the essay from my bedside table and read.
My dad isn’t in the best condition. He’s sick with depression. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from researching, it’s that it isn’t his fault. That’s just how things are, in his brain. No matter what, he’s still my dad. No matter what, I’m his daughter and I have to do everything I can to help him get better. That’s what being family means. That’s what love means; it means helping. It means supporting someone, defending someone, giving them your best effort. Flowery poetry and candied cherries one day a year isn’t love.
Love is sacrifice. And I intend to sacrifice a lot.
Us teenagers want a lot. We want a social life, we want friends. We want a boyfriend or girlfriend. But we can’t have it all. I mean, some of us have it all, but those are the lucky ones. The rest of us just make do, fumbling around in the dark for something, anything to keep us going. But in reality, all those things are temporary. Being a teenager is just a blip on the radar of the rest of my life. It’s a few years. A few years I’m more than willing to sacrifice.
I have all I need to keep me going, right here, in my family.
For the hundredth time I’ve reached this point in the essay, I think about what a moron she is. Her intentions are so pure and blazing they practically radiate off the page. Yeah, so she wants to help her Dad – but what about her? Everything she’s saying is a mirror image of my thoughts two years ago, when I was trying to help Mark. It practically stings to read them here, again. Another lamb to the slaughter. Another lamb willing to sacrifice themselves with no intention of getting anything in return.
It took me two years to figure out I was worth more than nothing. And yet here she is, convinced her time and energy are better used for her Dad, not her. It burns me up inside.
This isn’t how things are supposed to be, I want to say to her. It’s alright to be a kid, for fuck’s sake. Think about yourself for once, before you think about other people. It’s okay to have your own dreams, and go for them.
Except I’ll never be able to say that to her. Not now. Not after the way she touched me, the way I reacted.
So I settle for her words. Her words don’t scowl at me. Her words don’t make me feel ashamed, or confused.
Her words don’t touch my cheek.
Chapter 8
BEATRIX
Dying from embarrassment isn't something I usually do, pen-and-paper.
Generally speaking, I prefer the whole not-dying thing to the dying thing. I've got a lot to do with my life - become a famous psychologist, a good one with a very good degree, research how to cure depression, or at least how to treat it better, and help a lot of people all around the world. Including Dad. Especially Dad.
So dying really isn't high on my list of priorities, to say the least. Studying is. Getting good grades definitely is. I remember once, when I died from embarrassment; my middle-school friends and I went to a boyband concert and lost our minds, throwing our bras on-stage, and then the boy band member I was obsessed with looked my way, looked at the bra on his feet, and wrinkled his nose with disgust. I died then. I'm pretty much a ghost. A very smart, food-loving ghost. I cringe thinking about how stupid I was back then, but the feeling is definitely the same. Except minus the fact Wolf isn't a boyband member and I'm definitely NOT his fan and also it's just so dang hard to act normal when your brain refuses to stop playing the same moment over and over and over -
"Bee?" Dad asked over his morning breakfast of orange juice. "Are you okay? You haven't touched your cereal."
Count on Dad to be aware of how I feel when I need him to be the least. "N-No, I'm fine." I take a massive bite of cheerios. "See? Shoveling food into my mouth like always. Haha."
Dad sighs. "Alright. If you say so. You can always talk to me, you know."
My heart sunk a little. It's a lie, and we both know it, but he says it anyway so he feels like a Dad.
To say I dreaded stepping foot on school grounds that day was like saying a snowman dreads a bonfire. I was terrified. Something had happened at the pool yesterday, something between just Wolf and I, and I didn't know how to handle it. It was just a tiny touch, a voice in the back of my mind says. What was the big deal? I didn't know. I mean, I know now what it was, but back then, I had no clue. It had felt...amazing. That strange shiver that ran down my spine, the way my blood felt like it started to simmer - it happened all at once because of a single fingertip to skin.
I was horrified. At myself, at what I'd done, and at how I reacted. I thought I didn't give a shit about what Wolf thought about me, but turns out I did. Especially if he went and told the whole school about it. I imagined the rumors as I drove that morning - 'The scholarship girl likes him'. I could handle the rumors about me being weird, me being poor, me being unfashionable. But liking someone? I didn't have time for that. I wasn't here - at this stupid school - for that. And liking Wolf of all people? After I very publicly declared my hate for him and his whole family? It would look like I'd fallen under his spell like everyone else in a matter of days. Like I'd succumbed. Like I was just like everyone else. I couldn't handle that. I didn't want to be like everyone else, obsessed with their looks and haute couture and their reliance on their parents' money to get them by in life.
I got out of my car, and the moment I did I could feel people staring. They know. Of course they know. My skin prickled, my face got hot. I wanted to yell a
t them, at someone. 'I don't like him!' I'd say. 'To me he's about as hot as the extra-grody gum on the bottom of my shoe!'
The only reason I didn't say any of that was because Kristin Degal walked up to me.
To describe Kristin is a bit like trying to describe the sun when you don't have a badass telescope - you know it's bright and hot and provides life, but you don't see the details, like the fact it's made out of plasma, and has beautiful arcing solar flares on the surface, and will summarily implode after a million trillion years. You don't know any of that. You just know it's beautiful and warm. Kristin was beautiful and warm, with soft dirty-blonde hair and a physique like an Amazonian goddess. Someone like that has to have some flaws, you protest. Of course she did. She ate with her mouth open and had the loudest, screechiest laugh I've ever heard. But she had a 4.2 GPA and a near-perfect SAT score that got her on the news. She was nice to pretty much everyone, and only person she wasn't nice to was that one guy who tried to grab her ass in the hall one time. She flipped him over her shoulder. That was the day we all learned she was also a black-belt in Judo.
Kristin smiled at me. "Hey, Bee. I'm Kristin."
"I-I know." I managed. "I've seen you...walking around."
"Walking? Some people say I strut." She mused. "Would you say I strut?"
"Uh, sort of?"
She thinks on this, then shakes her head and claps her hands. "I'm asking you weird things way too early into our friendship, aren't I? Mr. B told me you were pretty smart, so you definitely know what I'm here for."
"To tell me about a 'rocking party', I assume."
"You got it! It's at nine, at Riley's house. I'll come pick you up at, what, nine thirty?"
"But...it's at nine. What about eight thirty?"
"Early? Aw, you're so cute. No no no, you always have to be late to a party."
"Uh, why?"
"So you can make an entrance!" She winked. "Here, give me your phone number. You can text me your address later."
As we exchanged numbers, I glanced up at her. "Is there like, a dress code?"
"Oh, the usual."
"By the 'usual' you mean Prada."
This got a laugh out of her, that screechy, yet somehow infectious, laugh.
"If you don't have anything to wear, I can bring some of my clothes over -"
"No, it's okay," I protested. "I happen to enjoy wearing regular jeans. Also I'm pretty sure Prada doesn't make jeans that aren't a size 2."
She laughed again. "For sure. Okay, you have my number, I have yours. Text me later - I've got to get to AP Chem early!”
In a whirl of vanilla perfume, Kristin hugged me and then dashed off, waving at other friends she saw around campus as she went. It was weird - the moment she hugged me, the people at the edges of the parking lot staring at me just...stopped. I knew Kristin was popular, but seeing her power in action was sort of terrifying. With a single hug, she got them off my back. Just like, with a single red-card, Wolf got people to do what he wanted. The two of them were in a totally different category than me, a category full to the brim with charisma.
I stepped into Auto Class nervous as hell. My eyes scanned the room, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Wolf wasn't here yet. Secretly I hoped he wouldn't show up at all - that'd save me and him a lot of awkwardness. Who am I kidding - Wolf Blackthorn? Awkward? Not in a million years. He'd walk in that door, glare at me, and never stop. I'd have two holes burnt in the back of my head permanently. And it would only be the back of my head, because I was never ever going to look Wolf in the face ever again, that much was for sure.
Mr. Francis took attendance, and introduced me as the newest addition to his class. Auto Shop was mostly filled with guys, but two or three girls sat at the back table. I sought shelter with them. One of them rolled her eyes at me, the other smiled faintly, but never spoke to me, not even when Mr. Francis grouped our tables together to work on labelling a diagram of a V-8 engine. They just passed the paper to me when it was my turn to fill in a blank, and went back to talking to each other about which convertible they were going to ask their parents for when they got their license.
"I don't want a BMW," the frowny girl sighed. "My brother already has one and I don't want to look like I'm copying him."
"You could always get a Saab," Smiley-girl said. "They're really well made."
"Oh, there's Wolf!" Frowny girl pointed to the door. My stomach dropped, and I bent my head over my paper, trying to disappear into the ink. The girls must've not heard about what I'd done at the pool, because they didn't look at me at all. Or maybe they just really liked Wolf. I'd guess the latter, since they couldn't stop whispering.
"He looks really good today."
"It's the uniform, you know? It just suits him."
"Get it, suits?"
"Oh shut up, you're so punny."
"You're right. It's his hair, I'm pretty sure."
"You like guys with messy hair, though. You're biased."
"Seriously, Amanda? I know you like Fitz more, and I admit he's cute, but Wolf's, like, on another plane of existence. There's cute, and then there's stupid-hot. Wolf's stupid-hot."
"You know, Lily told me the other day he looks like he belongs in a castle in France or something and that's exactly it. Like, he shouldn't be in America, you know? He should be a transfer student from Europe."
"If he had an accent I'd die every time he opened his mouth and I like living, thanks very much."
"You're so dramatic."
Listening to them talk, I should've felt like rolling my eyes. But I didn't. It wasn't that I agreed with them - it's just that they were obviously really good friends. I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked with someone my age like that so....so casually. So openly. Guilt welled up in my heart. I was the one who pushed my old friends away. So I had no right to feel so sad. I had no right to miss talking like that with someone. This was the life I chose; this scholarship, a good college, Dad's recovery. It was much more important than a few friends.
I squared my shoulders just in time to hear my name said in Mr. Francis's voice.
"Why don't you go sit with Amanda and Jackie and Bee? It's the only group with three people."
"I'd...rather not." Wolf's voice was low, hitting me like a gut-punch to the stomach.
"I'd rather you would," Mr. Francis insisted. "Please, Wolf. Make my life easy today, for once."
There was a pause, and then footsteps grew near. I clenched my fist around my pen and focused as hard as I could on labelling the parts of the engine. Manifolds, oil pan, crank pins - a chair shrieked next to me as it was pulled out – flat-plane crankshaft, rocker cover, valve train -
"Hi Wolf," Amanda said. Next to her, Jackie giggled. Wolf said nothing back. I dared to look up, only slightly. Wolf was sitting next to me. His arm on the table was all I could see. And then his finger pointed on the paper.
"You mixed up the crank pins and the valve train," He said. I jerked my pen away from his finger, paranoid about getting too close again. Shit. He was right. I scratched the answers out and switched them. His hand lingered in the corner of my vision – I could’ve sworn I saw something white and gauzy beneath his blazer cuffs. Had he hurt himself? God, so what? Why did I even care if he did or not?
"Aren't you going to say thank you?" Amanda asked, clearly irritated.
"Yeah! He's just trying to help. The least you could do is say thanks," Jackie insisted.
I opened my mouth, but Wolf spoke first.
"The least you could do," He said. "Is not tell other people what to do."
Jackie shrunk back. Amanda looked like she wanted to melt into her chair out of embarrassment. I started laughing. It was so soft and quiet, but it burst from me like a bubble.
"That's ironic," I said. "When all you do is tell people what to do with those red cards."
I couldn't believe what was coming out of my mouth. It was reflex, an automatic response system my brain had built ju
st for him; insult him, quip back, do something, anything, but don't just sit there and take his shit.
I expected Wolf to stand up and leave, to glare. But he just scoffed, the sound rough but somehow gentle.
"For once, scholarshipper, you have a point."
The tense knot of anxiety in my chest loosened just a bit. It was suddenly just like how things were before the incident yesterday - resentful and wary between us. Nothing had changed, and I was so insanely relieved about it I blurted;
"I have a name, you know."
"It's a terrible one - like you came out of a storybook," He retorted.
"Oh?" I raised a brow, still too scared to look at him, my eyes glued to the paper. "Like Wolfgang's any better?"
Across from us, Jackie smothered a laugh in her throat. Amanda shot her a nasty look, then tried to cover it up with conversation.
"Your name's Beatrix, right?" Amanda asked sweetly. "Isn't that like, Beatrix Potter? The lady who wrote Peter Rabbit? Maybe we should just call you Rabbit-lady instead."
"Wolves eat rabbits," Jackie chimed in extremely not-helpfully, then giggled.
"Not if the rabbits are smart enough to hide," I said. "Everyone knows you have to hide from wolves, or they'll ruin your life."
"Projecting, much?" Wolf asked.
"At least I'm not self-aggrandizing," I shot back and pressed my pen into my paper hard enough to leave an ink stain.
"Look at you and your big words," Wolf sneered. "Yes, we all know you got into this school with your brain, scholarshipper, you don't have to be high-and-mighty about it."
"She does walk around like she's better than us," Amanda said. "I've seen her at break - she never talks to anybody. Are we all just beneath you, Rabbit-lady?"
Anger boiled my stomach. "I - I don't talk to anyone because I don't know anyone! I don't think I'm better than -"
"You do." Wolf smoothly cut me off. "You just don't want to admit it."
My ears went red. "Fine! So what if I do? So what if I think the entire school is an idiot for being hypnotized by your bullshit? All you guys do is talk about cars and clothes and -"
