by Todd, E. L.
“Thanks,” Calloway said. “I feel a lot better now.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled.
“I was being sarcastic,” Calloway said.
“And I was being sincere,” Breccan said.
“Anyway,” Easton said, disrupting the beginning of an argument. “Do you want me to talk to Weston?”
Calloway looked at her. “About what?”
“The truth about the situation,” she said. “It changes everything, Calloway.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Calloway sighed. “I’ve been hiding so much from her; the Kirin Book, the location of the portal, my father’s ownership. The list just goes on, Easton. I can only tell her everything after I prove myself—then she can trust me.”
Easton nodded. “I understand.”
“When are we going to be done with the Kirin Book anyway?” Breccan asked, looking at Easton. “It seems like you haven’t made any progress. Have you even worked on it?”
Easton glared at Breccan. “What do you think I’ve been doing? I’ve worked day and night trying to decipher this thing but it’s harder than it looks. The White Wing doesn’t have a fluent translation of the text—I have to figure out the rest.”
Breccan raised his hands in the air, indicating his surrender. “I was just wondering,” he said. “Calm down.”
The fire leapt in Easton’s eyes, displaying her foul mood and desire for vengeance. “Why don’t you actually be useful instead of just sitting there, stuffing your face with whatever is in front of you, and stop telling everyone else how to do their job!” she snapped. “You haven’t attributed anything to this project—at all. You are completely useless!”
Breccan shifted his weight in his chair, stung by the harsh words that Easton said to him. Normally, he would respond to an insult with equal intensity, but he just sat in his chair, completely silent. Calloway knew Easton’s words had wounded him.
Easton turned her gaze to the Kirin Book, reading the next paragraph. The room was filled with an awkward silence. Breccan stared at the surface of the table with his arms crossed over his chest while Easton scribbled notes in her binder. Calloway looked at the time and realized he needed to leave.
“I need to get to work,” he said, breaking the silence like a clattering piece of metal.
“Okay,” Easton said. “I’ll drop you off.”
“And I’ll walk home,” Breccan said as he shouldered his backpack and walked toward the door.
“Don’t be like that, Breccan,” Easton snapped, gathering her supplies from the table. “I don’t mind taking you home.” Calloway and Easton followed him out of the entrance and down to the sidewalk, where Easton’s car was parked against the curb.
Breccan glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll be more useful if I just walk myself home—at least I’m being productive.”
“I’m sorry, okay?” she said. “I just snapped.”
Breccan didn’t respond to her comment and continued walking.
“Breccan!” Easton shouted. “Stop being a child.”
He moved down the path without looking back, heading toward his home a few blocks away.
Easton sighed. “I’ll just chase him down.”
Calloway opened the passenger door and got inside. It was the first time he got to sit in the front seat, directly next to the stereo and the dashboard. “Leave him be,” he said. “He needs his space right now.”
“Are you sure?” she said as she buckled her safety belt.
“Yes,” Calloway said. “Breccan needs alone time. I’ll talk to him when I get home.”
“Okay.” she sighed. “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings—it just came out.”
He patted her on the shoulder, comforting her in a simple gesture. “We all say things we don’t mean,” he said. “Breccan will get over it. I’ve done worse things to him.”
“But you are family.”
“So are you.”
Easton smiled. “So, I’m your sister?”
“My annoying sister, actually.” He smiled.
Easton rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ll take it.” She started the car and drove to Togo’s across town. Calloway was thankful he had her as a friend so he wouldn’t have to ride his bike in the heat. He felt guilty for letting her drive him everywhere so he gave her gas money every week. It was a lot better than traveling on foot.
“I’m sorry about you and Weston,” she quietly.
“Please don’t bring her up again.”
Easton glanced at him, seeing the despair that clouded his features at the mention of her sister. “Okay,” she whispered, wishing she hadn’t said anything.
Calloway clocked in and began his shift after Easton dropped him off. As soon as he walked inside he knew it was going to be a slow night. Marquan was standing at the counter eating a cookie, in plain view of the windows, and he was playing with his cell phone.
“How was prom?” he asked, chewing his cookie with his mouth full.
Calloway sighed. “It was the worst night ever.”
“Whatever,” Marquan said. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“Well, Beatrice dumped me a few days before, for Bird Boy, and then I got suspended from school for getting in a school fight—it sucked.”
He stopped eating his cookie. “Damn, that does sound bad.”
“Yes,” Calloway said as he leaned against the counter.
“Did you go stag?”
“No,” he said. “I took Weston.”
“Then you must have been the hit of the dance.” He smiled.
“You could say that.” He remembered the feel of her face against his, her lips almost touching his as they swayed on the dance floor, and he felt so happy—elated.
“It’s not that bad,” he said. “If you are already accepted into school it shouldn’t matter. They probably won’t find out anyway.”
“I sincerely hope not,” he said. “I already committed to Fresno University.”
Yes!” Marquan smiled. “It’s going to be great.”
“Yeah,” Calloway said non-committedly.
Marquan noticed Calloway’s solemn attitude. Normally he was talkative and cheerful, but now he was quiet and dismissive, clearly upset about something. Calloway had been so excited about attending college in the fall but now he seemed miserable. “What’s your problem?” Marquan asked. “Did a family member die or something?”
Calloway dropped his hands to his sides, realizing how rude he was being to Marquan, who he considered to be close friend, and tried to wipe away his frown. “Weston says she doesn’t trust me.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I saw a Hara-Kir at the prom—outside of the building—but I didn’t chase it because I wanted to save Beatrice, who was being harassed by Bird Boy again.”
“And why was she mad about that?”
“She says I don’t hold the same values as her—that I risked the innocent lives of the students by choosing to rescue my ex-girlfriend, who doesn’t deserve my aid or compassion.”
Marquan nodded. “I understand now,” he said. “Weston is a hard woman. She tends to live in shades of black and white, if you know what I mean. I don’t agree with her opinion but I’m not surprised she feels that way. Don’t worry about it. She’ll come around.”
“She says she wants nothing to do with me—never wants to see me again.”
“That’s harsh,” he said. “There has to be more to this story.”
Calloway shrugged. “She just doesn’t trust me.”
“Well, prove her wrong.”
“I’m trying.”
“I have an idea,” Marquan said. “Let’s go to the lab after work.”
“And do what?” Calloway asked.
“Do you remember how I told you I could test the DNA of Hara-Kirs and compare it to human DNA? And if it was one-hundred percent accurate then the evidence was un-refutable—you’re human?”
“Yes,” Calloway said. “But I don’t think she suspects I�
�m a Hara-Kir.”
“You obviously don’t know Weston very well.” He laughed. “She is suspicious of everything and everyone. At least this way you can prove it—there won’t be any speculation.”
“But there’s a possibility that my DNA will only match by ninety-nine percent.”
Marquan shrugged. “Let’s hope it doesn’t.”
When the shop closed, they drove to the university and parked outside of the building. It was completely deserted on this Sunday night and Calloway wondered how they would get inside. All the lights in the building were off and there wasn’t a single car in the parking lot.
The buildings were made of old-fashioned stone and reminded Calloway of an English castle, fortified by the concrete walls of the structure. Tall trees were dispersed around the campus along with stretches of lush grass and flowers. Brick pathways reached across the campus to the other buildings on the plot, making it sophisticated and peaceful. The campus was beautiful in its architecture and Calloway couldn’t wait to begin classes. They walked to the front entrance and Marquan inserted his key into the door, unlocking it with a quiet click.
“Why do you have a key?” Calloway asked as he followed him.
“I do research,” Marquan said. “I have to come in on the weekends to prepare samples.”
“On the weekends?” Calloway asked incredulously. “That sounds like fun.”
“You bet it is.” He smiled.
They reached the third floor and Marquan unlocked another door. When they walked inside, Calloway noted the white color of the walls and tile, making it appear sparkling clean. All the scientific equipment was also the same pristine color, and it contrasted against the black tables in the center of the room.
“Take a seat,” Marquan said, putting on a white lab coat and pressing the start button on a small machine.
Calloway sat down and waited for the procedure to begin.
Suddenly, Marquan tore a few strands from Calloway’s head and dropped them into a cup full of clear gel.
“Ouch!” Calloway said. “You could have warned me!”
“The anticipation of pain is always worse the pain itself.” He laughed. “I did you a favor.”
“How long is this going to take?” he asked, running his hands through his hair and rubbing the tender spot on his head.
“A while,” he said. “Just sit back and relax.”
Marquan placed the specimen in a centrifuge then ran the colored samples on a gel machine, and an hour later, he had a printed analysis of his DNA. Marquan smiled when he read the machine. “It’s matches by one-hundred percent. Congratulations. It’s official—you’re human.”
“I already knew that I was.” Calloway smiled. “And so did you.”
“You don’t have an evil bone in your body.” Marquan laughed. “I can’t see you having any involvement in the sickest fiends in our existence. Weston is just overreacting.”
Those words meant a lot to Calloway. He would prefer it if Weston was the one who said them, but he was still happy to hear them at all. “Thanks.”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” he said. “I’m just telling you how it is.”
Calloway laughed. “Okay,” he said. “When are you going to tell her?”
“Whenever it comes up,” he said. “If you apply to the White Wing, the quorum is going to want this evidence anyway. I’ll keep the results here in the lab.”
“Thanks for helping me out,” he said.
“Or maybe I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t working with a Hara-Kir.” He laughed.
“Well, it’s a good thing you checked. Togo’s sounds like a place a Hara-Kir would infiltrate,” Calloway said sarcastically.
“You never know.” Marquan laughed.
Innocent
Monday morning arrived and Calloway traveled to school with his aunt and uncle to speak to the principal, hoping they could remove the offense from his permanent record since he was innocent. Uncle Scott called in sick just so he could come along, determined to protect his nephew from being incriminated for a crime he didn’t commit.
They sat in the lobby of the school office until the secretary ushered them into the principal’s office, where they took their seats in front of the massive desk that took up most of the room. The walls were covered with various fancy degrees and the table was laden with pictures of Hawk and his mother. Calloway wanted to vomit at the sight.
The principal stood up from his desk and shook hands with Aunt Grace and Uncle Scott. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Principal Charles. What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“You wrongfully suspended my son from school,” Aunt Grace said. “There is no pleasure in that! We want his suspension to be dropped and erased from his permanent record.”
Principal Charles sighed, tapping his fingers against the wood of his large desk while he thought for a moment. He had brown hair just like his son and the same eyes—it was creepy. It was like looking at Hawk in twenty years—only fatter. “I was under the impression that Calloway was your nephew—not your son.”
“Same difference,” she spat.
“And Calloway was seen assaulting another student, who happens to be my son, fracturing his nose and bruising his face. There was even a witness to testify against Calloway’s account of the story. She claimed Calloway assaulted Hawk for no reason—he was just jealous.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Uncle Scott said. “Your son is a big, fat liar. He broke Calloway’s camera in photography and now this—he is a bully.” Calloway glanced at Uncle Scott, astonished by his aggression and anger. He had never seen him so furious.
Principal Charles clenched a pen on his desk, masking the true anger he felt at the insult. “I am telling you the facts of the situation,” he said gently. “Since I was not at the scene, my evidence is unbiased. You have no witness to prove Calloway’s story.”
“I want to speak to Hawk and Beatrice,” Uncle Scott said. “Bring them here.”
“I’m not pulling students out of class for this,” the principal said firmly.
“I want your son to look me in the eye and lie to my face,” Uncle Scott said. “And I want to question the girl as well.”
“Well, the students—”
“We aren’t leaving until we question them,” Uncle Scott interrupted. “You may as well save your time as well as ours.”
Calloway was amazed at Uncle Scott’s resolution and determination. His uncle had never been so firm and commanding in his entire life—he was astonished.
“Well?” Uncle Scott pressed, waiting for the principal to make the call. “We don’t have all day.”
The principal stared at him for a moment, clearly irritated that Uncle Scott was controlling the situation, and then spoke into the intercom on his desk. “Please retrieve my son and Beatrice Reese from class,” he said politely. “And bring them to my office.” Hawk’s father leaned back in his chair and avoided their gaze.
They sat in awkward silence while they waited for Hawk and Beatrice to arrive. Uncle Scott stared at the principal with a look of rage, and Calloway was frightened of the sight—he had never seen him so angry.
“Can I get you anything?” the principal asked finally. “A cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Aunt Grace said tonelessly. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked out the window.
Finally, Hawk and Beatrice walked into the room, dispelling the awkwardness that infected every corner and crevasse of the office. When Beatrice saw Calloway, who still had a large bruise over his eye, her eyes widened in fear. Hawk avoided Calloway’s gaze and didn’t glance at his guardians, too pretentious to even look at them. The sight angered Calloway.
“This is Mr. and Mrs. Donahue,” Principal Charles said. “They are Calloway’s guardians and would like to question you about the incident.”
“I already told you everything,” Hawk snapped.
His father glared at him. “Well, tell them again.”
&
nbsp; Hawk sighed. “I was in the parking lot when Calloway attacked me from behind,” he said without looking at Aunt Grace or Uncle Scott. He glanced at his father then the opposite wall. “He started punching me and kicking me until help arrived.”
“Look at me when you speak to me,” Uncle Scott snapped.
Hawk met his gaze with an insolent glare. Calloway wanted to punch him again.
“So, Calloway attacked you until help arrived?” Uncle Scott asked.
“That’s what I just said,” Hawk snapped.
“It looked like you had ample time to hit Calloway,” he said, pointing to Calloway’s bruised face. “He looks pretty beat up.”
Hawk glared at him. “It was self-defense.”
“And what were you doing in the parking lot?” Uncle Scott asked.
“Beatrice was sick—I was taking her home,” Hawk answered hesitantly.
“Don’t you have to sign out if you leave a dance early?” Uncle Scott asked.
“Well, we didn’t have time,” Hawk spat.
Calloway was getting more irritated with Hawk’s obvious disrespect towards his uncle. It angered him as much as it did when Hawk pushed Weston to the ground.
“And what was the source of your sickness?” Uncle Scott asked Beatrice. “You seem well now.”
Beatrice played with her hands for a moment. Calloway stared at her, begging her to be honest about what happened. Calloway had rescued her again, even after she betrayed him, and he deserved her honesty. If he was suspended because of Beatrice he would never forgive her—ever.
“My stomach hurt,” she said quietly.
Calloway shook his head. He couldn’t believe this was happening. For the first time, he wished Beatrice nothing but bad things. He wanted her to suffer and wished she had—that he hadn’t saved her. If only he had pursued the Hara-Kir and left her to fend for herself this wouldn’t be happening. On that afternoon in photography when Hawk was harassing her, he should have just walked away, letting her suffer his torment. Calloway was full of regret. He never should have helped her, not the first time or the second time. And now he hoped Hawk would hurt her, damage her irrevocably, and make her regret everything she had done to Calloway. Never had his thoughts been so dark but now they were—they were covered in black.
