Uninvited

by kindle@abovethetreeline. com

  Then he turns. With just a few strides, he’s in front of me. My heart thumps hard and fast as he reaches for my face, cups it with one hand. And then he answers me with one word. Just a breath. A whisper.

  My heart seizes in my chest.

  I lean forward, savoring against my better judgment the sensation of his hand on my face.

  Dropping his arm, he turns and leaves my room. Only the echo of his voice stays behind, lingers on the air, in my head.

  Perfect.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  * * *

  Juilliard Dance, Drama, Music

  The Juilliard School, 60 Lincoln Center Plaza, New York, NY 10023

  To Ms. Davina Hamilton:

  We have been alerted of your recent HTS status and must, unfortunately, revoke our offer of admission. As you know, entrance into Juilliard is extremely competitive. Every year the most talented, most promising students vie for a place at the School, and it is the Office of Admissions’ responsibility to see that only the most deserving gain entry. Clearly, you no longer possess the necessary qualifications to be included among those ranks. . . .

  SIXTEEN

  I DRAG MYSELF DOWNSTAIRS THE FOLLOWING morning. Dad’s not there but Mom is, sipping from her oversized coffee mug, looking once again her usual put-together self in a pantsuit. Pearl drops dangle from her ears. She hardly looks the mother of someone like me. This strikes me almost at once. How easy it’s become for me to alter my perception of me. It makes me wonder if I really ever knew myself.

  I dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt that Mitchell outgrew—some band I never heard of emblazoned across the front. I finally washed my hair. Still wet, it looks dark brown in the twin braids that hang low across my shoulders.

  My imprint is there for the world to see. I don’t try to hide it with my hair or a high collar. When I got ready for school this morning, I kept thinking of Sean. How proud he appears. Unapologetic. And I want to be like that. I don’t want to look cowed or ashamed. I may not want to be this, but I don’t want to be that girl, either. I don’t want to be afraid.

  “You’re going to school?”

  “Yeah. I kind of have to.”

  Mom nods. “Yes. Of course. I’m glad to see you up and moving around.” She fixes her gaze to my face, her eyes strangely wide and unblinking. Like it’s taking everything inside her not to look down. Not to gawk at my neck. At what I’ve become.

  She sets down her coffee cup and picks up some papers from the table. Sliding them into her brief bag, she murmurs casually, “You sure you want to wear your hair like that?”

  “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  She shrugs. “It’s just a little . . . young for you.”

  This almost makes me laugh. She doesn’t care how young it makes me look. She cares about how much it exposes my neck. “I can’t hide it from the world. Figure I better get it over with and let everyone see it today.”

  Her cheeks pink up and I know it’s because I saw through her words. She opens her mouth as if to deny this, but then presses her lips shut. Instead, she nods. Picking up her bag with one hand and her coffee with the other, she nods at the door. “You ready now? Your car is still at school. I can give you a lift.”

  “Sure.” Grabbing my backpack, I follow her out.

  We’re a little early arriving to school. There are still a lot of kids mingling in the parking lot, gradually making their way to the double front doors. She pulls up to the curb, and I hesitate in my seat.

  Mom waits a moment, glancing at the clock on her dash. “Sorry,” she finally murmurs. “I have a meeting.”

  “Just take me to my car. I’ll wait inside until the bell rings,” I snap, clearly annoyed. She knows the rules. I’m not supposed to arrive until twenty minutes after the first bell. What does she expect me to do?

  Mom doesn’t comment, which only aggravates me further. I don’t say good-bye, just open the door and start to climb out, pausing when she calls out, “I won’t be home for dinner. You can order pizza.”

  “All right.” With a grunt, I slam the door shut and punch the UNLOCK button to my car. I’m already sliding behind the wheel as she drives off.

  No one really notices me, sitting alone in my car, watching the swarm of students. I start the car and listen to the radio. One guy races across the parking lot, his letterman jacket a blur as he grabs a cheerleader off her feet. He twirls her, sending her little yellow-and-blue-pleated skirt flying around her tan legs. She swats his back, laughing, loving the attention.

  Several of her friends look on enviously. I stare with a hollowness in my heart. I used to be that girl with the envious friends, the coveted boyfriend, a bright future. It had all been an illusion. None of it real. Just as I hadn’t been real. If my life had been real, if it amounted to anything, it would have survived a DNA test that declared me potentially dangerous. I’d still have that boyfriend, those friends, the life that was going somewhere. I have to make my own way now, figure out a new future.

  The students thin out. I tap my fingers against the steering wheel and keep an eye on the clock. When it’s finally time, I turn off the car and get out. Coco and I enter the building almost simultaneously. She forgoes her usual pattern of ignoring me and stares openly.

  When I meet her gaze, she gives me a slight nod and falls into step beside me. “It’s a good look on you.”

  Unbelievable as it seems, I smile.

  I realize I forgot to pack a lunch when Brockman announces that everyone can eat. I continue working on my assignment, not lifting my head. Not even when I hear the metallic clang of the door.

  “Did you hear me, Hamilton?” He nudges my shoulder, and I pull away sharply in the opposite direction. He never touches me when Sean’s around. I wince at the realization, wishing there was something I could do to earn the same results. Sean can’t be around all the time. “Time for lunch. I’m not going to let you eat later. This is your one chance. Don’t think that mark on your neck changes anything. It doesn’t impress me—”

  “I don’t have a lunch,” I interject, hoping to end his diatribe. Did he really think I thought this mark on my neck would earn me better treatment?

  He grunts and mutters something. I can’t understand him. I’m just glad when he walks away.

  A few moments pass and Gil slides into the desk in front of me. Facing me, he hands me half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  I look from the half sandwich to his earnest face, hesitating before saying, “I’m not hungry.”

  “Yes, you are. Take it.”

  “I don’t need your pity. I’m not starving. I just forgot to pack my lunch today.”

  “It’s not pity. It’s food. Take it.”

  Feeling a little silly for being so unfriendly to one of the only nice people I’ve met since this all started, I take the sandwich and bite into it. Instantly, the sweetness of the jelly floods my taste buds, and the peanut butter sticks to the roof of my mouth.

  “I don’t think I’ve eaten peanut butter since I was ten,” I get out around a gooey mouthful.

  He pats his almost concave stomach. “Lines your belly.”

  I point. “What belly?

  “Oh, this belly can put away more food than you probably eat in a month. It’s an endless pit.”

  “And that’s just tragically unfair.”

  He starts digging around in his brown paper sack. “I’ve got cheese puffs in here, pickles, fruit snacks, a couple of Snickers, and three pudding cups.”

  I gawk at the load he starts spreading out on my desk.

  He motions before him. “Help yourself.”

  After a moment, I pick up one of the fruit snacks and tear the wrapper. “Your parents must have one hell of a grocery bill.”

  “It’s just my mom. And she’s actually the manager at the convenience store where I work.”

&nbs
p; “I didn’t realize she works there.”

  He leans in conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone, but she sneaks me the candy bars.” He points to his drink. “Sometimes she even scores Gatorade.”

  I nod with mock seriousness. “Perks of the trade.”

  “Precisely.”

  He sobers. “Soon, I’ll be able to reap the benefits, too. She’s almost convinced the owner to promote me from stock boy to cashier when I graduate.”

  He looks genuinely pleased. I bend the corner of the spiral notebook on my desk, looking at him quizzically. “Is that what you want to do when you get out of here?”

  He gives me a funny look. “C’mon, Davy. You know it has nothing to do with what any of us want. Did you want that on your neck?”

  I resist the urge to touch my neck, as if I can feel the thing he sees, like a serpent wrapping around my throat. It’s easy to forget it’s there during the course of the day. Until someone reminds you.

  “You’re going to have to think beyond this room and what comes after. There are limitations.”

  What comes after . . .

  I nod slowly. Of course, he’s right. I need to start planning. Before, my whole life had a plan. Ever since I was three I knew my destiny. And now that plan is dead, gone. If Gil is to be believed, I can’t aspire to any type of high-level position. A bitter taste fills my mouth. Maybe I can live at home forever. Or in the pool house when Mitchell finally gets his act together and moves out. The very possibility makes me feel slightly ill. It’s so far from the dreams I had for myself.

  The door clangs. I turn. Sean steps inside. I don’t look away. Not like before. Not anymore. After yesterday, I don’t need to look away anymore. If not friends exactly, we’re at least friendly. This conviction grows as I meet his gaze head-on.

  “Hey, Sean.” Gil gives a small wave.

  I stare, smile a little. As much as I can manage. “Hello.” It’s the first time I’ve even greeted him.

  He stares back, his pale eyes missing nothing. Not the hair scraped neatly back from my face. He sees all of me. He hesitates, not taking his usual seat. I feel Gil watching us. Finally, Sean moves forward and takes the seat behind me.

  I turn so that my legs stick out in the aisle. This way I can see both boys.

  “Hey,” he greets. To both of us, I guess, but he’s looking at me.

  Gil’s voice pipes up from my right. “So, you two are friends now?”

  I feel my face heat.

  “Makes sense, of course,” he adds, motioning to both our necks with a flick of his hand. “You’ve got matching ink and all.”

  I could strangle him. My mouth works, at a loss for words, and I’m sure I look like a fish.

  Sean laughs low. “Yeah. ’Cause we picked them out and everything, Gil. Like matching T-shirts. Next, it will be wedding bands.” He’s obviously joking, but that doesn’t stop the heat from spreading to my ears.

  “Well, you know.” Gil shrugs. “You have something in common now.”

  “Yeah,” I murmur, meeting Sean’s eyes. “I guess we do.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  * * *

  To: Mika, Billy, Miguel

  From: Kevin

  2:30! Don’t b late! We gotta do this right

  Mika

  Which mall again?

  Srsly? Northchase!

  And ur not doing mall

  ur going 2 stadium

  I’m picking u up at 1:30, remember?

  Mika

  Y—got it

  Miguel

  We’ve only gone over 100x!

  Mika

  K—gonna roc!!

  Billy

  Glad ur babysitting, dumbass. U know how 2 shoot, right?

  Mika

  Screw u!

  Cut the crap-stay focused

  treat us like animals

  we’ll show them animals

  Mika

  Hear that!

  Miguel

  Payback a bitch!

  Mika

  Can’t wait! Gonna blow some shiz up!

  SEVENTEEN

  MR. TUCCI APPEARS MID-AFTERNOON WITH TWO uniformed campus security officers. I’m slammed with the same sick feeling I got the last time he showed up, but this time there is no Pollock. That makes me breathe a bit easier.

  Gil leans sideways in his desk and hisses, “What did you do?”

  I’m not sure who he’s whispering to—Sean or me. My pulse jackknifes against my throat as I strain to listen to whatever Tucci whispers at the front of the Cage. It feels like forever before he enters and addresses the group. Everyone swings around in their seats.

  “All right, everyone. Listen up. We have a bit of a situation.” He waves his hands in the air like he’s mollifying an unruly mob. “We’re dismissing you all early today. Gather up your things. Security is here to escort you to the doors.”

  Nathan and Brian whoop loudly.

  Tucci sends them a stern look and waits a moment before continuing. “You’ll all learn soon enough. There’s been an incident.” He clears his throat. “A terrible tragedy.”

  “What happened?” This from Gil.

  Tension tightens across my shoulders as we all wait for Tucci to answer. He looks to the side, blinking rapidly with obvious emotion, and I know it’s going to be bad. When he does finally speak it feels like all the air is sucked out of the room.

  “A mass shooting. At a mall and stadium in Houston.”

  A hush falls over the room. No one says anything, but we all look at one another. And I know we’re all thinking the same thing, wondering why we have to leave school early. Escorted by security guards.

  Tucci sighs. “The body count is high. Over fifty so far. They have multiple suspects in custody. They’re carriers. All of them. It’s been confirmed. It’s all over the news.”

  And it all clicks together. The bottom drops out of my world. This is bad. Very bad. For all of us.

  Tucci continues, “We need to hurry. It’s twenty minutes until the next bell.” And, presumably, news of the catastrophe has infiltrated the student population. There’s no way news this big isn’t on everyone’s radar.

  For a long moment, no one moves as this sinks in, and then there’s a sudden flurry of activity. I fly into action, grabbing my backpack.

  “Do we have to show up to school tomorrow?” Nathan asks as we file out from the Cage.

  Tucci looks over his shoulder as he strolls ahead of us down the hallway. “No promises. I need to consult with the Agency. I’m unsure what protocol is in place. Your caseworkers will be in touch with each of you.”

  No school tomorrow? What about next week? Will we still graduate? Does that even matter anymore?

  Nathan leads the pack, his strides hurried, eager to exit campus. Sean walks ahead of me. I watch his back, studying the play of his shoulder blades beneath the cotton of his T-shirt . . . wondering if he’s as knotted up with tension as I am. Has this affected him? Does anything?

  Tucci leads the way with one security guard at the back of our little group and another flanking us. The guard keeps pace to my left. Several times he sends sidelong glances at me, eyeing my neck, one of his hands drifting to the baton attached to his belt. He’s probably worried that I’ll go berserk like one of the carriers who just massacred innocent people in Houston.

  “Pick up the pace,” Coco mutters, passing me. The rear guard moves up, stepping beside me on my right. Unlike his colleague, he doesn’t seem that interested in me or my ink.

  We’re almost to the front of the building. The front office looms ahead. The afternoon sun winks off the glass of the main double doors.

  Suddenly, pain bursts in the back of my skull and I’m falling. My hands barely have time to rise up and break my descent.

  “Carrier scum!”

  There’s a commotion. Voices. Loud grunts. A flurry
of feet pounding around me, stomping down on one of my braids. I cry out, unsure what’s going on. I curl my hands around the back of my head, trying to make myself as small as possible.

  “Davy! C’mon! Can you stand?” Gil’s face comes into focus. He tugs on my arm.

  I nod and he helps me to my feet. I look around, taking in the mad scene. Fear lances through me as I spot Sean wrestling with a boy on the floor as the security guards try to wedge them apart, using their batons. He’s already been imprinted. What will they do to him for this?

  Nathan and Brian dance around the writhing bodies, shouting encouragement, landing kicks when they can to the boy attacking Sean.

  Tucci’s voice lifts over the din, directing the rest of us down the hall. “Outside! The rest of you! Now!” Soles squeal on the tile. Coco’s the first to escape through the doors. Nathan and Brian tear themselves away much more reluctantly.

  Gil pulls me along. I only manage a few feet, watching, mesmerized as Sean climbs atop the boy and unleashes his fists in a powerful fury. It’s him, I realize . . . the savage he’s purported to be. The wild animal the mark on his neck proclaims.

  I lightly rub at the back of my head where a knot is already forming. The boy hit me either with his fist or some object.

  Even after everything, even after I’d been bound and branded like an animal, the idea that I would be attacked still astounds me.

  One of the security guards locks his baton around Sean’s neck and drags him off the boy. Sean’s face purples as he struggles for breath.

  I lunge forward, ready to help him, but Gil’s hand tightens on my arm. “You want to get in more trouble?”

  “We have to help him!” I pant. “They’re killing him!”

  “No, they’re not! Don’t worry! Sean can handle himself.”

  As Gil pulls me through the front doors, I watch the guards drag Sean down the hall like he’s the one who did something wrong.