Mortal Danger

by Ann Aguirre

  “Busy.” My dad listed all of the conferences, and it was mind-boggling. It sounded like they’d put a lot of miles behind them. If I had been in the city, I would’ve been lucky to see them once in two months.

  My parents did their brain-sharing thing, trading a look laden with information, and then my mom said, “You look good, honey.”

  “Thanks. My roomie was kind of fitness buff, and she got me to work out with her.” I spoke the lie with a mental apology to Vi. “We fit in a trip to the salon, too.”

  Results like this couldn’t come from a simple summer regimen alone or a cut and color, but my parents, being utterly unconcerned with personal appearance, didn’t know that. They fumbled for a few seconds, murmuring incoherent words of support and approval. It was kind of cute how much they didn’t know how to react; clearly, they’d never discussed this, as they’d raised me to be a brainy overachiever.

  “Well, as long as you’re happy,” my dad finally said, as if I’d gotten a tattoo or dyed my hair fuchsia. “How was the SSP?”

  I could tell they were both eager to get back on familiar footing, so I took them through the syllabus and what I’d learned, which put them at ease. Having good hair hadn’t rotted my brain, at least. After I finished my summary, I said, “I’ve gotta unpack, if that’s okay. Then I need to do some shopping before school.” At their mutually alarmed look, I added, “Just uniforms. And normal supplies.”

  I still had to wear the green-and-navy plaid skirt, white blouse, and navy blazer that made up the Blackbriar dress code. There were ways to make the getup seem stylish, though, and if you were one of the beautiful people, the teachers let you get away with infractions, like too much jewelry or makeup, skirt hiked up, platform Mary Janes, that sort of thing. Most of the popular chicks looked like they belonged in a schoolgirls-gone-wild video. I had just over a week to put together my own look without copying them.

  “Of course,” my mom said. “I’ll give you the Visa.”

  I nodded. “After I put my stuff away, okay?”

  “You look perky after being at the airport,” my dad said.

  They were smart people. If I slipped up, they’d start wondering, and I couldn’t afford questions. “Yeah, I took the red-eye, slept all night.”

  “The only way to travel.”

  Before they could ask anything else, I grabbed my bags and ran to my room. Once I closed the door, I felt a little safer. Thankfully, we didn’t have a close relationship or they’d wonder at how eager I was to get away. But I’d always spent my time alone in my room, so this didn’t change anything at all.

  First thing, I did as I’d claimed, then I sent quick e-mails to Vi and Ryu. I didn’t expect an answer anytime soon as they had lives to get back to, but I considered them my only real friends, which was kind of sad. But at least I had some, now. Just knowing they existed—and that they liked me—helped me gear up for the showdown to come. Which totally made me sound like I was strapping on six-shooters and challenging Cameron Dean to a shootout at high noon. The truth was way more devious.

  For the remainder of the day, I spent time online, learning different ways to style my hair, methods of using shadow, eyeliner, bronzer, and other products I’d only heard of vaguely before this summer. This was stuff my mother never taught me; I didn’t think she knew. If I’d asked, I was positive I’d receive a lecture on the dangers of vanity versus the value of feminism, but this wasn’t strictly for the sake of appearances. No, this was a disguise for my undercover work at Blackbriar. To infiltrate the inner circle, the beautiful people needed to think I’d changed enough to become one of them. Hence, the camouflage. I’d always been an overachiever in the academic world, now it was time to apply that trait to my social life.

  My mom knocked on the door around nine. She waited for me to open it before she spoke. “You said you needed some things before school starts?”

  “I thought I’d go shopping tomorrow.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?” Her tone said she’d rather be summoned to jury duty, but that she felt like she needed to make the offer.

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Then here’s the card. Save your receipts, please.” That was Mom, always concerned about making the numbers in all columns tally up; she must drive her grad students crazy.

  God knew what she’d say if I confessed the true explanation for my transformation. Best guess? She’d decide I had taken some dangerous, highly illegal weight-loss drug and ship me off to rehab. And from there, I couldn’t accomplish the one goal I’d set myself this summer—to make Cameron Dean pay, along with the rest of the Teflon assholes in his group.

  So I smiled at her, and it must’ve made her suspicious. She hesitated in my doorway. “Do you want to talk about … anything?”

  I pretended to misunderstand the question. “No, my schedule is already programmed. I’m taking Advanced Calculus, physics, AP Literature, World History, Introduction to Japanese, photography, and computer science.”

  “Sounds like a balanced curriculum. Good night, then.”

  She let herself out, doubtless praising herself for raising such an organized, rational child. The truth would devastate her, both of them, actually. My computer beeped, telling me I had an e-mail. It could only be Ryu or Vi since there was nobody else.

  Are you home yet? I forget how long the flight is to Boston. Anyway, I’m back. My mom threw me the lamest WELCOME HOME party. There was Jell-O. You said you go to Blackbriar, right? I bet you missed your real friends, but I’m glad I met you. Talk soon! Vi.

  “Real friends?” I said aloud.

  Right. In a month or so, I might have people who pretend to like me, who want to know me, but they would be a means to an end. The Teflon crew had no idea of the Armageddon bearing down on them.

  BLOOD IN THE WATER

  In the morning, I completed the getting-ready process and went out to face the world. Deep down I was a little uncomfortable with my new clothes, even if I’d been wearing them all summer. Part of me still wanted to pull my hair into my face and hunch my shoulders and walk too fast, as if that could keep people from looking at me, judging me. It took all of the confidence I’d built up at SSP to step out of the brownstone. Our downstairs neighbor smiled at me as he came up the four steps that led into the building; Mr. Lewis was a notorious crank, but I thought he might actually doff his cap. I braced and headed for the T station.

  My first stop had to be Blackbriar; the school uniform store was open as of today, and none of the clothes I had from last year fit me. My stomach churned as I went underground, used my Charlie Card, and got on a car that wasn’t as a packed as it would’ve been earlier in the day. Plus, I was heading away from the city center.

  Blackbriar had an Auburndale address. The school was the size of a small private college, “lush, pastoral grounds where the curriculum is…” and some shit in the mission statement about respect and diversity, but there sure were a lot of white faces at Blackbriar. It went along with the country club nearby, and the price tag on my annual tuition.

  My parents lived relatively close to the university without paying the prices of Beacon Hill or Back Bay. Which left me twenty minutes from school on the T, and the walk from the station wasn’t so bad, unless it was raining or snowing. On those days, I could count on some asshole to splash me when he went past in his expensive sports car, paid for with Daddy’s money. Since my parents were college professors, I had good health coverage and excellent academic resources but no car. Their patent paid enough to keep me at Blackbriar, but my folks weren’t swimming in cash, unlike the majority of the school. People at school had summer homes in Martha’s Vineyard and jetted to Europe on winter break.

  And I live in a walkup and ride the T.

  For the first time in my life, I had trouble on the subway. See, homeliness was like a cloak of invisibility. People often pretended they didn’t see me or if they got caught looking, their gazes slid away. Sometimes I used to overhear whispered jokes or
throwaway insults, and I was pretty inured to it. But today, two frat guys jostled over the seat next to me, and the victorious one immediately sprawled into my space, so I had to touch my bare knee to his or pull my legs closer together. Good old lavaballing.

  I was supposed to look at him, I think, or acknowledge him in some way, but instead I sat silent through the ride despite a couple of attempts to catch my attention. Apparently, that merited a mutter of “stuck-up bitch,” as I got off the train.

  Pass, jackass. Not interested.

  I considered the purchase of uniforms a dry run, so to speak. Most of the students around today would be underclassmen or those who gained weight or lost it over the summer, but this should help me gauge people’s reactions. I was betting most wouldn’t recognize me. Since I was dressed in Converse, shorts, and a tank top, I ran from the station to the front gate, mostly to see how long it took.

  Six minutes.

  The black wrought-iron gates were open, inviting alumni and current students to enter the magical land of learning. During the school year, there would be guards here because the children of politicians, dignitaries, and executives attended Blackbriar. At pickup, the cul-de-sac would be full of black SUVs and bodyguards collecting the under-sixteen offspring of important people. I followed the paved drive toward the brick building with white trim and matching colonial columns.

  Funny that my personal hell could look so charming.

  The main building housed the administrative offices, the library, auditorium, and a few freshman classrooms. Green manicured lawns crossed with stone paths led between the various departments, each built in a unique architectural fashion. The athletic complex, also known as the Stinkatorium, was built in what I’d call Greek Revival style, with white stone facing, pillars, and a dome over the swimming pool.

  The sheer scale of the campus sometimes made it hard to get to class on time, and it was worse when some jackass had you cornered. Not that the teachers cared why I was late. I stepped through the front door and scanned for changes. Since it was mid-August, the hall was practically empty, apart from a few scared-looking transfer students. I understood that reaction; Blackbriar was intimidating as hell, and it would probably take them a week to remember where all of their classes were located. Most of the buildings had been named after school benefactors, so that made it even harder to keep it all straight.

  Student volunteers sold uniforms in the school store, where you could buy all kinds of branded crap: pens, notebooks, folders, jackets, T-shirts, hats, along with the required school garb. I knew my sizes, so I strode in, mostly wanting to get this over with. I froze for a few seconds when I recognized Cameron Dean, currently facing away from me while he fiddled with the stock. The old, awful humiliation washed over me, until I thought I might be sick.

  Choke it down. Otherwise you blow your second chance, along with chunks. Stay calm. This could work to your advantage. If he puts the word out on you, it’ll make the first day of school easier.

  So I took one breath, two, and thought of Kian. His face sprang to my mind’s eye, steadying me. And it wasn’t the fact that he was hot that bolstered me; it was that he’d liked me before. Or so he said.

  Cameron had brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, the quintessential all-American guy. He even had a nice smile—with dimples—not that I’d ever seen it before. But the minute I stepped up to the counter, he went into dazzle mode, though he had been dating Brittany King, head queen bee, for almost two years.

  “You must be new,” he said.

  I shook my head, pushing my list of clothing requirements across the counter toward him. It gave me a ridiculous amount of pleasure to say, “Guess again. I didn’t come to chat with the help. Could you fill my order, please?”

  His smile slipped, as if he couldn’t fathom that I hadn’t immediately fallen victim to his charm. “I don’t actually work here. I’m helping the PTA because I’m a nice guy.”

  “Too good to make an honest living, huh?” My mouth twisted in a scornful smile. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Do you have a problem with me?” he demanded.

  Too far, I cautioned myself.

  “Only that I still don’t have my uniforms.” I paused, tilting my head. “Wait, you thought I was serious? Don’t you have a sense of humor?”

  I had been listening people say cruel, unforgivable things my whole life, usually to me, and then playing it off like I was the one with the problem. You gonna cry, Eat-it? Can’t take a joke? Why don’t you do the world a favor and just kill yourself already?

  And I almost did. Hateful words had a way of worming beneath the skin, until they became the unbearable echo in your head. But I wasn’t listening anymore.

  “Right,” he said, moving to pull my clothes from various piles.

  Then Cameron used a calculator to total up a bill I could’ve done in my head. Kind of hard not to mock him, but I managed. I’d blown cold enough for this encounter. Though I’d rather tongue kiss a tailpipe, now I had to convince him I didn’t think he was the most disgusting creature ever to crawl out of the primordial ooze.

  Maybe I should go out for drama.

  I handed him the credit card after he gave the damage. Pausing, he said, “Mildred Kramer? Huh.”

  “It’s my mom’s card.” Though I was pretty sure that wasn’t why he was wearing the I’m-thinking-hard-and-it-hurts look.

  “I figured. You don’t look like a Mildred.”

  “She knows I have it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Go on and make the connection, genius.

  “No, it’s not that. We had a girl named Kramer here last year.”

  “Oh?” Noncommittal reply. “It’s a common name.”

  “I guess. Are you a junior?”

  I shook my head. If I wasn’t so determined to make him pay, I could almost feel sorry for Cameron, because he didn’t have enough cerebral wattage to light up a single Christmas bulb. “Senior this year. I’m surprised you don’t remember. You used to pay an awful lot of attention to me.”

  “Eat-it?” he blurted. “I mean … Edith?”

  “My friends call me Edie,” I said breezily.

  Not that he would ever number among them.

  “Holy shit. What the hell did you do this summer?”

  I just smiled. “Do you think you could run that card instead of tapping it on the counter? I still need to get school supplies.”

  Mostly I wanted to get away from him before I started shaking or burst into tears. Remembering what he’d done to me—and how utterly fine with it he seemed—I could hardly breathe for the tightness in my chest. The shame washed high, higher, until it collared my throat, the spiked leather dog version. Pure inner steel kept me upright and my lips curved into a smile that swore I wasn’t on the verge of total collapse.

  “Yeah. Sorry.” Now he was awkward and fumbling.

  Somehow I kept it together until he gave me the ticket to sign. I was an authorized user on my mom’s card, so I scrawled on the slip and passed it back. In turn he handed me my bag of uniforms. Still have to figure out how to rock this without looking like I’m trying too hard.

  “See you around,” I said.

  Smooth strides carried me out of the store and then I practically ran into the restroom, where I leaned my head against the wall, trembling. Slowly the urge to barf passed, but before I straightened up, a girl came in. I recognized her as Jennifer Bishop, a peripheral member of the Teflon crew. She wasn’t as popular as Brittany or Allison, but since she was one of them, I couldn’t trust her. Jennifer had dark hair and eyes; she looked as if she had Thai heritage, though her last name didn’t reflect it.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I just didn’t eat breakfast. I’m a little light-headed.” Bending down, I splashed some cold water on my face, then belatedly realized that most girls wouldn’t do that because it would destroy their makeup.

  Looking in the mirror, I saw that I had, in fact,
screwed up my eyeliner. With a faint sigh, I got a paper towel and did what I could to amend the damage. Now I got why girls in the Teflon crew carried around a cosmetics studio. Apparently I still had some things to learn.

  “You can use mine if you want.” She was touching up her face, but the idea of risking pink eye was enough to make me shake my head.

  “Thanks, but I’m headed home now anyway.”

  “It’s Edith, right?”

  I was honestly surprised. “Edie. Have we met?”

  “No, but I know who you are.”

  After what Cameron did, that was probably true of everyone at school, to say nothing of the five thousand viewers on YouTube. “What can I say, I’m memorable.”

  “I hesitate to say this, but … you had me worried toward the end of last year. You look amazing now, though. I guess summer break put things in perspective?”

  “Yeah.” More than you can ever know.

  “I just want you to know, I had nothing to do with what happened. And I’m really sorry.” That was the most I’d ever heard Jennifer say.

  “I survived. For what it’s worth, I know it wasn’t your idea. Talk to you later.”

  She wore a pained look as I pushed past her, but I wasn’t interested in her crisis of conscience. For the sake of my sanity, I needed to get away from Blackbriar and marshal my strength for school next week. Bag in hand, I jogged out of the main building and toward the gate. Guys yelled after me; there were whistles and catcalls, but it didn’t make me feel pretty or special. It just made me feel worse, knowing that it didn’t matter what kind of person I was, only how I looked.

  Eventually, I collected myself enough to head for the T station. In the city, I bought school supplies, and when I got home, my parents were both out. That was par for the course. Since I turned thirteen, I’d spent a fair amount of time alone. I wished my parents had evaluated the social atmosphere at Blackbriar in addition to the academics, but stuff like that didn’t occur to them. They saw high school as a hurdle to overcome on the way to an awesome adult life, and I should ignore people who made fun of me. I tried to talk to my mom about it once, and she told me a long story about how things were worse for her growing up and I should be grateful for my advantages. That was the end of me trying to make her understand just how bad things had gotten.