Chapter One
âThis is awesome,â I say. âHard-core manual labor is exactly how I planned to spend my Friday after school.â
With a loser goth weirdo in tow, I think. But I donât say that part.
âWell, itâs not like I want to be cleaning up the boathouse either,â Shannon shoots back. She claps her mittened hands together as we walk along the gravel road leading away from the school.
I grunt. Who wears mitts anyway? What is she, five?
I wonder if her palms are pierced too, or if itâs just her cheek, nose, eyebrow, lip and tongue. And god knows what else.
I shudder at the thought.
âAnd anyway, I wouldnât exactly call it hard-core manual labor,â she continues.
âSo sorting through piles of old life jackets and busted paddles sounds like fun to you?â
She shakes her head. âNot fun. But not hard-core either. Hard-core is hiding the principalâs Smart Car in the woods.â
âNo, thatâs what they call stupid,â I say. The late October wind sneaks under the bottom of my hoodie and around my collar, making me shiver.
âIt wasnât stupid. At least, it wouldnât have been if those idiots hadnât rolled it onto my foot. It wouldâve been funny.â
âFunny for you, maybe,â I say. âNot so much fun for Mr. Harrison. And not funny for me. You should think twice before pulling dumb pranks that get innocent bystanders in trouble.â
I can feel Shannon looking at me, but I donât return her gaze.
âHoly,â she laughs. âEase down there, Mr. Perfect. I already said I was sorry you got caught up in it. Itâs not like I planned for them to roll the car onto my foot. And anyway, I never asked you to come crashing through the bushes to save me, scholar boy.â
âScholar boy?â
Shannon ignores me. âYou were in the wrong place at the wrong time,â she says. âAnd you got in trouble. Whatâs the big deal?â
I look at her in disbelief. âEver heard the term âmiscarriage of justiceâ?â
She shrugs. âLifeâs unfair,â she says. Then she gives me a sly smile. âMust be a hard pill to swallow for a rule follower like yourself.â
âSince when is following rules a bad thing? Just because theyâre rules?â
âDepends on your reasons for following,â she says. âI think youâre one of those people who does what theyâre told because theyâve been brainwashed by the establishment.â
I stop. âExcuse me?â Iâm almost certain I didnât ask to have my character assaulted. Especially by a freak with purple hair and multiple puncture wounds whose crime Iâm about to serve time for.
Besides. She doesnât even know me.
âNever mind.â Shannon waves a hand dismissively. She keeps walking.
I donât move.
She turns and looks at me, then sighs. âI apologize, okay? For the millionth time.â Her ultrawhite face and red lipstick look stark against the flat gray sky. Sheâs dressed in a long black coat. A thick gray scarf winds around her neck. Docs on her feet. Those ugly boots are the only thing that saved her foot. She walked away instead of crawling.
Maybe I shouldâve let her crawl.
âHonestly, Elliot,â she says, âyouâre making a huge deal out of this. All we have to do is clean up the boathouse.â
âYeah, and whoâs going to clean up my record?â I ask. âI just started at this school two months ago, and already I got a rap.â
As soon as I say it, I wish I hadnât. Sheâll just chalk it up to me wanting to impress the authorities. I try a different tack.
âBesides, why should those other jerks go free? They ran their little emo asses off when Harrison came. Beat a chickenshit retreat and left you stuck under the car.â I shake my head. âWho does that? They should be here
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley