Then I’m gasping for breath, choking on air as I jerk myself awake.
I’m up like this every single night, in my dark bedroom, sweating and heaving. Some nights I have that dream more than once. Other nights, that dream is accompanied by another that is just as disturbing. Me trapped in a dark room, drunk, disoriented. Hundreds of blond, bloodstained dolls surrounding me as the girl Jamie hit stands over me, a grin plastered to her pale face.
I get up, spots dancing in my vision as I run into my bathroom, my stomach rejecting all its contents.
In my dreams, I’m not a coward. I don’t let us drive away, leaving her to die. I get out. I touch her. I see her blood on my hands. In my dreams, I don’t help her either. I kneel on the ground, staring at her pale face, her eyes closed as blood oozes out, until my mind can’t take it anymore.
At night when I’m alone, I’m reminded of the things I can’t control. When I’m at school, I get to be someone else. Someone people like. But when I’m here, sitting in the dark, shaking as that night replays over and over, her face a permanent bloodstain, I remember that the person I play at school isn’t me, not in the slightest. The Chi who turns up at Niveus every day might not be afraid to hurt people’s feelings, to do things to get what she wants. But she’d never do the things I’ve done.
She’s a good person. Someone who deserves to be Head Prefect and to go to Yale, to become a doctor.
I clutch the toilet bowl, letting my body shudder and release quiet sobs.
And me …
I’m a monster.
5
DEVON
Tuesday
I’m a few blocks from school, trying to prepare myself for the stares and whispers before I go inside.
It’s no big deal.
It’s no big deal.
Even though it is. I haven’t even come out to Ma yet, and now everyone at school knows. I never planned on coming out at school. Not because I’m worried about being bullied, it’s just … When I was dating Scotty, he wanted to keep it a secret because he wasn’t out, and I figured he was worried about losing his friends from the football team. Then, when we weren’t dating anymore, I figured no one would care who I dated—not that it’s their business anyway. If anything, I worried about the information somehow getting back to my neighborhood, and then to Ma.
That’s my biggest fear, her knowing. When I think of Ma finding out, I think about how disappointed she’d be. The thought keeps me up at night and makes me feel sick to my stomach. First, she’d stop making eye contact; then she’d stop talking to me. After that, who knows. I remember when that guy from Prison Break came out and Ma said, “What a shame,” shaking her head like being gay is something pitiful. I don’t know what I hope for. Maybe that somehow she’ll be okay with it, with me, even though she loves her Bible more than anything in the world.
I take a few steps forward, stop, walk back, then take a few steps forward again. The closer I get to school, the more faint I feel, like I’m about to collapse. I thought I’d at least walk in with Jack today, like I usually do, but he didn’t answer my texts. I even swung by his place before school, but his uncle said he’d already left.
I wouldn’t feel this anxious if I had Jack next to me. I hope he’s not avoiding me too.
I place my face in my hands, rubbing my eyes over and over before taking a deep breath.
No big deal.
The guys in my neighborhood, the ones I used to go to school with before I got into Niveus, they’d kill me if they saw that picture. Toss my body into the garbage disposal once they were done with me. These guys watch me on my walk home, staring me down, smirking. Sometimes they yell shit. Other times they push me to the ground, then walk off laughing. The picture would make things in my neighborhood ten times worse.
I know the likelihood of them seeing it is slim—Niveus is a world so separate from my home life—but I can’t help feeling paranoid.
My stomach twists painfully, knotting, the longer I stand here thinking. I look up, inhale, then I walk, not stopping until I reach the big black iron gates that stand open for us in the morning. The two huge columns and double oak doors of the enormous white building loom ahead of me. I hesitate before climbing the steps, my heart beating so hard I can hear it. The footsteps of some students behind me get closer. If it’s not me who opens the door, it’ll be them, and I’d rather be the one to control when everyone sees me.
I hate this so much. I hate feeling like I’m gonna stop breathing any second now.
Without letting myself think much more, I push the door and walk in.
As expected, the crowded hallway quiets as everyone sees me enter—sly smiles and whispers on pink lips. If it weren’t for Scotty and that picture, I’d be uninteresting, like any other day. When I went to bed last night, all I knew was that I had to find Scotty and ask him why he’s doing this, leaking pictures of me after months of semi-harmony between us.
If I still had his number, I wouldn’t have to see him face-to-face.
Note to self: Don’t delete numbers of the people you hate. They might come in handy someday.
I put my head down, moving as fast as I can toward the drama department. The drama kids usually hang out behind the stage there—in Crombie Auditorium, named after another rich donor. Crombie is my best shot at finding Scotty, seeing as I don’t know his schedule by heart, like I used to in freshman year. A few weeks before we started dating, when I still thought of him as the cute white guy who played the trumpet at the back of the school band, I learned his entire schedule, including where he went before and after classes. I wanted to make sure I kept bumping into him “by accident.”
Later, after a toxic yearlong relationship from the end of freshman year to the beginning of junior year, and a lot of tears and heartbreak, I used my knowledge of his schedule to avoid him as much as I could when things—we—didn’t work out. And so, I hardly ever venture here anymore. I even forgot how big Crombie is. Then again, everything in this school is unnecessarily huge.
I climb the steps of the spacious, dark oak stage, slipping through a gap in the thick green curtains to find a circle of students on the other side. They’re all seated on black metal chairs, with white scripts on their laps. Apart from one girl who looks at me with an offended expression, no one else even glances my way. It’s a weird change from the hallway earlier.
“This is a closed practice,” the girl says, her plaid skirt the only item fitting the school’s rule book. The rest of her is drenched in black—black leather jacket, black fishnet tights, black band T-shirt, black boots. The first day of school is the only time everyone follows the dress code. After that, it becomes more of a suggestion than an enforced rule. I guess this is one of the many things you can get away with at Niveus, but I’ve never had the money to customize my uniform past the beat-up Vans I wear most of the time.
“I’m here to talk to Scotty,” I say. We turn to where Scotty is sitting, flipping through his script like I’m not here. My heart jolts a little when I see his face, though not for any reason other than the fact that I haven’t seen him since just before summer break, at prom. He’d brought some girl from the lacrosse team and spent most of the night obviously trying not to look at me. It’s been even longer since we spoke—I actually think the last time I spoke to Scotty was to break up with him.
Scotty’s hair is longer now, some of it tied up in a messy knot, while the rest sweeps his shoulders. Like the frowning girl, he’s customized his uniform, and like always, it’s fancy, his designer shoes screaming Rich kid.
The more I look at him, the angrier I feel. He didn’t even notice me walk in, distracted by his stupid script.
The girl looks at me again through squinted eyes, then realization smacks into her face.
“Shit, Scotty.”
He finally looks up at her, then follows her gaze to me, and his blue eyes widen.
“What the fuck, Scotty?” I grind out.
“Can we go outside?” he asks, a
bandoning the script on his chair as he stands.
Everyone else is staring at their scripts now, as if the pages suddenly got more interesting—like they’re not listening to every word. I push past the curtains and jump down from the stage to wait for Scotty. He scoots down a moment later and I shove him back.
“Whoa!” He puts his hands up, shielding himself. “Before you kill me, you should know it wasn’t me. I didn’t send that picture to anyone,” he says, straightening his blazer.
“You really expect me to believe that?”
Naturally, I can’t trust a word that Scotty says. Not after he cheated on both me and his SATs.
“I don’t even have pictures of you anymore; I got a new phone.” He waves it at me. The latest model, of course. “Besides, why would I out myself? Especially at Niveus? You know how they take news like this. They’re treating me like I’m some socialite now, keep asking me for details…” He smiles.
He’s loving this, which is expected. Scotty loves being spoken about, and unlike when we were dating—when he was firmly in the closet—his sexuality is now an open secret among the arts students. Even I hear about his sexcapades from my corner of the school. Which is why that picture being released feels aimed more at me than at him. And it’s also why I think he might be the one behind it.
“It’s embarrassing, really—I don’t even know how I’m gonna show my face at football practice without the guys wanting to know stuff.”
I’m not even surprised that this is Scotty’s only concern. He doesn’t have to think about how the boys in his neighborhood would react if they saw it.
I hate past-me for trusting him that much. I hate him for making me trust him that much. I already feel so exhausted and first period hasn’t even started yet.
“I swear, Scotty, if you’re lying to me about deleting all of it, I’ll kill you.”
“I’m not lying; wish I was, though. We were quite photogenic, weren’t we…?” He moves toward me. “And video-genic, if my memory serves me right. It’s a shame I don’t have those files.”
My ex is a psychopath. I always forget that part when I think about the other reasons we broke up. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping the tears that desperately want to fall don’t. Scotty seeing me cry would be another victory for him and a loss for me.
“Stay the fuck away from me, okay?” I move back. “Keep me out of your games.”
Turning, I storm out of Crombie and go to Jack’s locker. I feel weird not having seen him yet this morning. I usually see him by now, even on days when he goes to school early. I need someone to talk to about this.
Jack is always easy to find in a crowd. He’s the only guy with a buzz cut at Niveus.
“Hey.”
Jack stiffens at the sound of my voice. He pauses, then goes back to searching for whatever it is he needs from his locker.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“You weren’t at your place this morning … Your uncle said you left for school early.”
He nods, his pale skin tinted pink now. “Yeah, had to talk to my math teacher.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling a little relieved. At least he wasn’t avoiding me because of the picture.
I can feel eyes on us. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“You good?” he asks, shoving papers into his bag.
I nod. “Yeah.”
Someone snickers nearby and Jack slams his locker shut, turning to face them.
“Go and find a fucking hobby,” he says to a random girl whose smile immediately disappears. He pulls his bag on, then turns without saying bye.
“Wait.”
“What?” he asks, turning around without meeting my eyes. My stomach flips. Maybe he is avoiding me.
“What do you mean ‘what’?”
“I mean, what do you want? I need to get to registration. It starts in ten.”
He finally looks at me, and the realization hits. He’s angry.
“Did you see that picture … going around?”
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares at me, his brown eyes unreadable. “They’re gonna kill you. They won’t let you deal for them like before.”
My heart hasn’t stopped beating this fast since yesterday.
“Who?” I ask, playing dumb.
“You know who.”
I say nothing.
Jack sighs. “I don’t know what you got yourself into, man, but I want nothing to do with it. I can’t have my brothers targeted.”
I grab Jack’s arm as he tries to turn. He pulls it back, looking around all uncomfortable.
“I can … I’ll talk to Andre. I can tell him to sort this—”
“Course you can,” he says, the disgusted look on his face unsurprising but still painful. I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that whenever I mention Andre. “I can’t do this right now.” He moves back a bit, looking at me one last time. “I’m sorry.”
And then he’s gone.
I stand there, feeling worse than I did yesterday when I saw the picture.
I can still hear the whispers around me, because that’s all anyone ever does here. Talk about people.
Jack’s words echo in my head.
I can’t do this right now.
I’m trying not to let it get to me. He has his brothers to think about, and the area we come from doesn’t operate like Niveus. Here, they whisper about you. In our area … If they see or even hear about the picture, and Jack’s seen with me, they could do things to him and his younger brothers, as well as me.
It wouldn’t be the first time Jack has suffered because of my bullies. I just hope they don’t know about the picture already.
As I turn, I’m met by three girls, all blond-haired and peach-faced, staring at me like they know me, even though I have no idea who they are.
“Is it true that Scotty cheated on you with Chiamaka?” the one in the middle asks. She has a huge blue bow in her hair and a large rainbow-colored lollipop in her hand. I know it’s taboo to push a girl, but I want to. I dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from moving the girls out of the way.
I knew about Chiamaka, believe it or not. Scotty cheated on me with some other guys at parties he went to. His relationship with Chiamaka, he explained once, was a mutual popularity contract, not a real relationship. And I was stupid enough to accept that as an excuse.
“Excuse me,” I say, before barging past them. I need the music room. I need to drown, I need to play. Jack once joked that music to me is like nicotine to a heavy smoker. I’m not a smoker, so I can’t exactly say if that’s true, but sometimes I feel like I’d die without music.
As I walk up the stairs to the music room, there’s a buzz in my pocket. I stop walking, letting my eyes shut so that I can focus on calming my breathing—which is hard to do when your heart keeps hammering away like mine is. I slowly reach into my pocket, and beneath the old candy wrappers I’d forgotten to remove, I feel the warm, smooth plastic of my phone.
It could be anything. It could be anyone.
It might be them … talking about me again.
Then again, it might just be Andre texting or my ma …
[1 new message from unknown]
My heart stops.
Just in …
I scan the screen.
And my nerves shatter when someone nearby says, “No fucking way.”
6
CHIAMAKA
Tuesday
In my soon-to-be four years at Niveus, I’ve encountered many secrets, whisperings, and rumors. While some of them have been about me, they were certainly never enough to ruin my reputation. The worst gossip was always about some other poor soul who would either drop out from the weight of having to face their mistakes every day or have a mental breakdown, leave school for a week, and come back with a new nose or handbag. And if I’ve learned anything during my time here, it’s perfecting the art of making a rumor work in your favor—and coming out unscathed.
So it comes as a surprise when I walk
through the double doors—later than usual because my hair straighteners were acting up—and everyone stares at me like I’ve got something to be ashamed of.
My stomach flips as I walk toward Ruby, who is by my locker, scrolling through her phone.
“Hi, Ruby.”
She looks at me, a smile slowly forming, her ginger hair wrapped around her head in a braided crown.
“Hey, Chi.” There’s a playfulness in her eyes, like the look a wolf gets when it’s hunting for prey.
I open my locker and push my bag inside. “Is there a reason, other than eternal jealousy, for all the stares this morning?” I joke, trying to seem unbothered. I pretend to search for something so that I don’t have to look at her. “It’s like I shaved my eyebrows off or something.”
Her head cocks to the side. “It’s probably just about the Jamie thing.”
I close my locker and look her dead in her cold green eyes.
“What Jamie thing?” I ask. It could be anything …
Her smile widens. “Everyone’s saying he rejected you yesterday at lunch.”
Oh.
“Well, you heard wrong, Rubes,” I say, giving her a tight smile.
Her red-stained lips make an O shape.
“It must be people telling fibs,” she says with a shrug.
My eyebrows furrow together. “Who?” I ask, because she clearly knows more than she’s letting on.
Ace of Spades Page 4
