Undertow Page 8

  Gabriel takes the binoculars back. “I love when they try to act all human. It’s like when they put monkeys in people clothes. They’re hilarious.”

  I press my hands to his mouth so no more of his words can escape. I want to shout, Shut up! You’re ruining this for me.

  “What?” he asks.

  He would stare at me if I was in that camp. He would think my private moments were funny. I would be the monkey in his zoo.

  “I can’t do this,” I whisper.

  “Huh?” he says, setting his binoculars down. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” I say as I rebutton my pants and fasten my belt. My fingers give me no trouble now. Interesting.

  “Hey, where you going?” he says as I walk to the fire escape.

  “I’ve got to get home. I’ve got a mess to clean up.”

  Chapter Nine

  In the morning I wake to an F3 jabbing where my spine meets my skull and Bex curled next to me in my bed. She’s wearing the clothes she wore yesterday. I guess Dad didn’t like what he found when he went to check on her. It’s a peace offering I’m happy to accept.

  It’s early, probably still dark outside, and normally I would be cursing my body for waking me up—sleep sometimes helps the migraines—but I’m going to take advantage of it. Our apartment is so tiny, we have to climb over one another to do the simplest things. When you throw Bex into the mix, which is most days, it’s similar to living in a clown car. It’s rare to have a moment to just sit and sort things out, and this morning I need to get my head on straight.

  I tiptoe into the living room and push the coffee table aside so I can sit cross-legged. I haven’t gotten a chance to meditate in months. I listen to my breathing, trying to be present. A little om will get my mind right. It will help me compartmentalize this hot mess of problems.

  I meet my new BFF—the Alpha prince—today.

  I have to be ready.

  I need to show Mr. Doyle I’m a team player.

  If he gets what he wants from me, he’ll leave me alone.

  I can do this. I can do this.

  This is my mantra.

  I can do this, and if I can’t, then I can fake it. I’m good at faking it, and I have a brilliant teacher in Bex. I’ll just channel her, borrow her smile for the day, the one that hides the troubles. Besides Shadow, I’m the only person at our school who doesn’t think Bex has a charmed life. Yeah, that’s it! I’ll be Bex Conrad today. I run a cold bath to push back the F3 to an F2, all the while practicing my grin. By the time I’m dressed, I’m actually starting to believe everything is going to be all right. So I head back to my room, barge through the door, and shout, “Wake up sunshine! It’s time for school!”

  Bex is sitting on the floor digging through my getaway pack.

  “I was looking for some undies,” she says defensively.

  I bolt to her side and pull the pack away, then shove the scattered contents back inside.

  “Lyric—”

  I look into her face and know she found the gun. She doesn’t have to say it. Her eyes are shouting it.

  “Bex, the pack is—”

  I don’t know how to lie about this. What kind of story could I invent that wouldn’t sound like outrageous BS? I fumble a few times, starting and stopping, leaning toward spilling my guts, but before I can, she gets up and points to the closet.

  “Is this off-limits?” It’s a little sarcastic and sounds awful, like What craziness are you hiding in here, too? But it also sounds like an out. She wants to change the subject, and I’m grateful, but it feels like we’re now standing on either side of a fault line and the ground is rumbling.

  “I need something to wear today,” she continues. “I can’t go back home until Russell calms down.”

  I nod. “Take whatever you want.”

  She turns her back on me and opens the closet.

  “Where are all the skirts?” she says, sorting through the survivors of my tantrum. “Didn’t you have a blue mini in here?”

  She turns to me with a cocked eyebrow. “Oh, wait! Did you say whatever I want?”

  “I did.”

  “The flapper dress?”

  “It’s yours. Early birthday present,” I say.

  “Seriously?”

  I nod because the next word would accompany sobs. Watching her pull it from my closet and squeal while she clutches it to her chest is excruciating. It feels like she ripped a child out of my arms, but it has to be done. Anything you want, Bex, as long as we get back to stable ground.

  Compared with today’s throng, yesterday’s crowd was downright chill. There are easily twice as many people gathered outside the school, and they are bigger, meaner, and shriller. And the biggest, meanest, shrillest of them all, Governor Bachman, is back in a fresh blue business suit and a brand-new megaphone. This one is painted red like the shirts the Niners wear. Her face is painted with phony conviction.

  “America welcomed the Alpha with open arms. That’s what we always do. Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free! That’s what makes us so exceptional: the world knows that America is a place where you can start a new life. I personally extended an olive branch, but they turned their backs on me. I tried to show them all what our great nation has to offer those who work hard and pledge allegiance, but they’re an arrogant bunch. They call themselves the Alpha, the First Men. I hear they think they’re better than us. Their actions over the last three years tell me so. They don’t want to be part of our nation. But oh, are they ready for the handouts! Now they want a free education! Well, I say enough is enough. You want to thumb your nose at us? Fine! Human schools for human children!

  “I call on the president, Congress, and the mayor of New York to give up this failed experiment and let the children of Coney Island have the school their parents worked so hard to provide for them.”

  “This is no place for sea monkeys,” someone shouts.

  Bachman smiles. “No sea monkeys!” she echoes, and it morphs into a chant.

  A reporter pushes to the front and begs the governor for an interview. “Governor, how is your plan to build an electrified fence on the beach coming?”

  “It’s an uphill fight but one the people of New York will win,” Bachman says with a smile.

  “I reviewed your plans. You want it to be constructed five yards away from the shoreline.”

  “And thirty feet high, which I’m told is just higher than an Alpha can jump,” she sings.

  “That will push them back into the ocean.”

  Bachman’s face is full of mock surprise. “Will it? Well, you know, that property belongs to the people. It’s valuable real estate, and the taxpayers want it back. The amusement parks that used to operate there brought in millions in tax revenue. They were a cultural and historic treasure.”

  Bex laughs. “Cultural and historic treasure? The most popular attraction was an open field where people paid five bucks to shoot paint balls at a dirty clown.”

  A buzzing drowns out the crowd when the Selkie Guards arrive, which, like yesterday, gob-smacks the crowd. Next come Terrance Lir and the six Alpha students. They rush up the front steps with the help of two dozen soldiers. As they pass, I spot the prince and we lock eyes. I can’t read what he’s thinking, but his female friend’s glare could melt me in my shoes. Is she his girlfriend? She must be. Only a girlfriend would act that territorial.

  Bachman charges up the steps after them and blocks the doors, and like yesterday two cops follow and arrest her. Another win for her! The crowd demands her release. A few surround the squad car they place her in before officers start blasting them in the face with pepper spray. All the anger that was aimed at the Alpha is now focused on the police and soldiers.

  My father takes my hand. “Lyric—”

  “Dad, don’t worry. I know what I have to do. No more trouble.”

  He nods. “Be careful.”

  “Like it’s my middle name,” I promise.
<
br />   When Irish Tommy gives the word, Bex and I run for it. Today I manage to make it inside catfish-free.

  Shadow is already waiting for us outside Ervin’s class. He does a double-take when he sees Bex. She’s all legs and blue eyes, a high school supermodel with a dress that barely covers her butt.

  “Yo,” he says just after he wipes the googly eyes off his face.

  “What do you think?” she says, giving him a twirl. The beading lights up like fireworks.

  He shrugs.

  She growls and stomps into Ervin’s room.

  “You’re not fooling anybody,” I whisper in Shadow’s ear.

  He shakes his head and quietly mouths the words, “I’m fooling her.”

  I can’t help but grin. He is lovestruck. I see it in the way he laughs at her jokes and how he stares when she isn’t paying attention. He looks for her when she is not nearby, and when she’s with him he smiles like my father does when my mother walks into the room. But he’s got game. This boy knows what he’s doing. He’s driving her crazy with indifference. I just wish his little plan wasn’t taking so long.

  “Just tell her!” I beg.

  “I’m waiting for her to tell me first,” he says, then saunters down the hall.

  “I need to get caught up in some true love right now, even if I’m riding in the sidecar,” I shout to him.

  Homeroom is shell-shocked—no dancing, no throwing stuff, no fronting. Everyone sits face forward, feet on the floor, quiet as houses. Deshane is missing in action, and since he is captain of the troublemakers, his crew looks adrift. Gabriel, however, is pissed. He comes in just before the bell rings and won’t even look at me. He keeps his eyes on the floor, like the meaning of life is written on his Doc Martens.

  “Someone’s got the boo-boo face,” Bex says, nodding toward Gabriel.

  “I sort of led him to believe he was going to get lucky last night,” I mutter.

  She looks back at him and laughs. “Poor guy. Where did he take you this time?”

  “A bird-crap-covered rooftop above a furniture store,” I say.

  “And that wasn’t good enough? Geez, Princess Lyric! What will please you?”

  I catch his eye. He scowls, then gives his attention back to his shoes. Funny, yesterday I would have been panicked about him being mad at me. Today, I’ve got bigger problems.

  Mr. Ervin enters with the soldier, Luna, and, much to my surprise, Ghost. The class murmurs as the Nix struts across the room. Apparently the new kids are not going to the Tombs. Jorge growls something under his breath. I turn and see that he is wearing a Niners shirt with a black mermaid on it. There’s a slash through her body, and underneath are the words throw the fish back.

  Terrance Lir enters next. He scans the room as nervously as the day before, then gestures to someone in the hall. A moment later, the prince steps into the room and stands next to his friends. He towers over them, shoulders back, perfect posture, surveying us like we’re privileged to be in his presence. Terrance whispers something in his ear, and the boy nods.

  “You may go,” the prince says. Mr. Lir bows deeply and leaves, but not before he turns his head and looks right at me. Is he going to say something? I hear my father’s warning and look down at my desk, feeling ashamed. I love this man. He’s as good as family to me, and I have abandoned him. My father doesn’t trust him. That has to be good enough for me, even if it makes me feel like a jerk.

  “People, we have another new addition to our class,” Mr. Ervin says.

  “This is such bull,” Jorge shouts. He’s so angry, he kicks an empty desk really hard and it slams into the wall.

  “Kid, shut your mouth,” the soldier barks. His hand is already on his rifle.

  Mr. Ervin jumps in without missing a beat. “He calls himself Fathom and he is the son of the Alpha king, which I learned this morning is called a prime. Thus, Fathom is a prince—he’s royalty, and I have been asked to inform you that he is accustomed to a level of respect you may not give your friends.”

  “Hey, prince, you suck,” Jorge shouts.

  Fathom peers down the aisle at him.

  Jorge laughs. “Yeah, I said it. What are you gonna do about it?”

  “Son, that’s strike two,” the soldier shouts at him.

  “Let’s all have a seat,” Mr. Ervin says.

  Ghost and Luna slip into a couple of empty ones near the front while Fathom slides into one next to me. My heart rate multiplies, and I’m sure I’m bright red. I want to crawl under this desk and die, yet I can’t help taking quick glances at him. His hands are criss-crossed in white scars, and I can see the horrible open wound where his blades break the skin. His arms are rock hard with bulging triceps, and his face is—oh, he’s staring at me like he’s waiting for me to tell him what to do. I bury my head in my hands.

  “Where’s Deshane?” Jorge asks.

  “Deshane will not be back,” Mr. Ervin says.

  “Did he go to jail?” one of the girls in the back asks. I think her name is Lynn.

  “He did,” Mr. Ervin responds. “But he was released to his uncle. Together it was decided that Deshane would be better off in a different learning environment, so he was transferred to a new school.”

  Jorge stands up and points at Ghost. “What about him? He started it all.”

  Ghost stands and hisses. “If you feel you’ve been wronged by me, you are welcome to challenge me.”

  “Bring it to me, ugly,” Jorge shouts, knocking over another desk.

  “That’s it. Let’s go,” the soldier shouts. He charges down the aisle and snatches Jorge by the scruff of the neck. The boy struggles to free himself, but the soldier is too strong. All Jorge can do is flail and scream on his way to the hall.

  “Fine with me. I don’t want to be around those things, anyway. They smell!”

  “They are simple beasts, with no backbone, Your Majesty, like sea cucumbers that can talk,” Ghost says to Fathom, then sweeps his gaze over the rest of us. “Cowardly, too. What about the rest of you? Or are humans all talk, like they say?”

  Mr. Ervin slams a book down on his desk. “Ghost, sit down.”

  “I don’t take orders from the likes of you,” Ghost says. “You grunt like a blobfish, and you’re only slightly less ugly than—”

  “Silence yourself,” Fathom commands. “This man is a teacher, like the Children of Ceto, and he deserves your respect.”

  Ghost is startled by the criticism. “Your Majesty, these beasts can’t be compared to Ceto!”

  “I have three challenges that await me in the camp, Son of Nix. Are you proposing a fourth?”

  Ghost shakes his head. His eyes are full of panic.

  Another soldier enters to replace the first. “Enough talk. The next person to make a peep is going to the Tombs.”

  When the bell rings, ugliness floods the halls like bursting sewers after a long rain. It comes pouring out of every room, a boiling soup of aggression aimed at the Alpha, and it threatens to drown us all. My classmates aren’t happy that Deshane is gone, even though most of them probably wished for it at one time or another. Someone has to answer for the outrage, and the Alpha are at the top of that list. Luna is cornered and called a whore to her face. The stupidest kid in the world tries to start a fight with the big Selkie. Ghost can’t walk six inches without getting shoved, but it’s the smallest of the bunch, the Ceto girl, who I learn is called Bumper, who gets most of the abuse. She’s small and quiet, but it’s her troubling appearance that makes her a target: a flat nose and a soft, pudding-like face. Her shoulders and neck have thick, black crustacean-like growths and her skin is slightly see-through. But like Ghost she hides something deadly, and if the others provoke her enough . . . No, I can’t get involved.

  No one bothers Fathom. Perhaps it’s how regally he stands, or his confident stride, or maybe it’s the wounds all over him that shout loudly that he will fight back. Whatever it is, no one dares punk him, but he does get plenty of attention. Everywhere he goes, people s
tare, which is unfortunate because he’s right behind me, step for step.

  “I think you have a stalker,” Bex says when she looks over her shoulder at him. “Sigh. Even in this dress I cannot compete with Lyric Walker.”

  “You can have him if you want,” I grumble.

  “No take-backs,” she says as she spins off into her chemistry class.

  I sneak a quick peek myself. There he is, my own personal lost puppy. Does he really not know that people are going to notice him waiting for me at drinking fountains and outside the ladies’ room? Are all the boys in my life really that dumb?

  I dart down a less-populated hall, then spin around on him.

  “You can’t follow me!” I growl as low as I can. “Do you understand? People are staring.”

  He looks around. He needs proof and, seeing it for himself, nods and gestures impatiently for me to move on. It hardly matters. Mr. Doyle has put him in my English lit, biology, and history classes, plus my fourth-period study hall. I’m fully prepared to find him standing at the podium in my debate class when I get there, but Doyle stops me in the hall.

  “I’m giving you and the prince some privacy so you can get to know each other,” he says.

  “What does that mean?” I say.

  He ignores my question and leads me up two flights of stairs to the third floor. We wait in the stairwell until the bell rings and all the students are in their classes. Then we continue on, stopping at a doorway surrounded by ten soldiers and Terrance Lir. When he sees me, he stands a little taller and gives me a smile that’s full of hope. Again I look away. I’ve never been this cruel to anyone before, and my mind torments me with flashes of his kindness: how he read Samuel and me stories when we had sleepovers, how he bought me a stuffed walrus at a birthday party at the aquarium, how he made waffle sandwiches with bananas and Nutella for us to eat during the long sun-soaked days at the beach.