Free Defiant Heart by Marty Steere

first sight of the building brought a momentary unpleasant memory of the encounter with the pickup truck, it passed quickly. The scene that confronted him this morning was completely different. What had been an empty parking lot in the rain was now a beehive of activity on a sun-splashed day.
    Jon steered the bike into the lot and picked his way carefully across the uneven gravel surface to the front of the building, where he found a rack in which a half dozen other bicycles of myriad colors and styles had already been parked. After placing his bike in the rack, he shrugged off the knapsack, retrieved its contents, and hung it from the handlebar. He then followed a group of students up the broad steps to the large double doors.
    In the vestibule just inside, Jon found a series of tables had been set up around the edges of the large entryway. He located the table with the letters “K‌—‌M” taped above it. Seated behind it was a wiry, athletic looking man who, at the moment, was sharing a laugh with two boys standing to the side of the table.
    A line of students had formed in front of the table, and they were waiting for the man to finish his conversation with the two boys. Jon stepped up to the back of the queue and looked at his surroundings.
    Light banter, punctuated by occasional outbursts, echoed off the tiled floor and marbled walls with a natural amplification that made a sound much louder than it would have been in a more open area. The faces of some of the students, particularly the younger ones, reflected varying levels of anxiety, but, for the most part, there was a sense of gaiety. It was not so different, Jon reflected, from his old school. He found that, by squinting and blocking out all but the general shapes in the milling crowd, he could believe he was back in Glen Cove.
    As he reopened his eyes and focused, he was surprised to see another pair of eyes staring back at him from across the room. They were a pale, iridescent blue, almost transparent. Eyes like Jon had never seen before. They were so mesmerizing, in fact, that it took Jon a second to realize they belonged to the girl with the tousled blond hair, the one he’d seen on the Fourth of July. She stood calmly looking at him. Not in a judgmental way. Not in a curious way, either. She was just looking at him.
    They both stood that way for a long moment, eyes locked. Then someone near the girl said something, and she turned, laughing as she did.
    A movement next to him drew Jon’s attention. A boy about Jon’s age was gesturing with one hand. He pointed past Jon and said, “Line’s moving.”
    Jon saw that, indeed, the line had grown shorter. In fact, there was only one student ahead of him, and she was just turning away from the table with an envelope in her hand. Jon took a step forward. Suddenly, something very large and solid was in the space between Jon and the table, and Jon was staggering sideways, his lunch bag and school supplies falling in a scattered pattern on the hard floor. Jon was able to catch himself before he also hit the floor, his right hand reaching out in an instinctive gesture and grazing the tiles as he shuffled his feet to avoid falling. As he regained his balance and straightened, he found himself looking up into the face of the blond boy he’d first seen on the Fourth of July. The boy was at least ten inches taller than Jon, and, with his broad shoulders and sturdy build, he towered over him.
    “You don’t mind if I cut in, do you?” Without waiting for a reply, he added, “Of course you don’t,” and turned his back on Jon.
    Without thinking, Jon tensed and was about to take a step toward the bigger boy when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning reflexively, he saw the face of the student who’d previously spoken to him. It was a ruddy face, with full cheeks dotted by freckles. The boy increased his grip on Jon’s shoulder and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.
    “Nice pick,” he heard a voice