Free Forbidden by Lori Adams

disappears into the office, and I notice a student from every room follows suit, each holding a single blue card. A manual attendance list? Wow, small school. I’m tempted to get excited. Tempted to imagine countless test papers with giant A’s sliding across Dad’s desk that translate to: See how brilliant I am? Please don’t hate me anymore .
    I’m not quite there yet because the pyramid of Giza has yanked my freak chain. I situate my books on a shelf in the locker. A moment later, Raph sidles up with my remaining books. They are thick and heavy but look insignificant in his muscular arms. His hair is shiny and straight and falls like columns of blond glass when he looks down.
    “Willa thought you might need help.” He has an easy smile and pretty eyes. Not as clear or distracting as Michael’s but just as pale. And do I detect a faint foreign accent?
    “Oh, thanks.” I take the books, and Raph cocks his head curiously like Sundance does when he thinks I’m doing something particularly amusing. Raph withdraws when I shut the locker.
    “Know where you’re going?”
    “Um …”
    He takes my schedule and reads. “Mr. Wagner’s bio! With me.” He seems pleased.
    “Aren’t you a junior?” I hope I’m not placed in a lower biology class.
    “Don’t worry. You’re in the right class. I’m working a head .” He grins secretively like I’m supposed to get that. “Biology is kinda my thing, ya know?” I don’t.
    He opens the classroom door, and a million eyes stare. Okay, not a million but the intensity is the same. Everyone from the café is here except Rachel. And Michael is the only one not staring. He is looking out the window like he couldn’t care less about the newbie. He didn’t say hello at the café either and I wonder if he is embarrassed to know about my scar issue. Then again, shouldn’t I be the one embarrassed?
    I step into the room and flinch. The sharp pain in my chest that is becoming all too familiar strikes again and for a moment all thoughts of Michael vanish. But as the second heartbeat starts and I stare at the back of his head, something I should know rises to the top of my brain. Is it my imagination or do I feel this every time —
    Mr. Wagner is snapping his fingers at me and I startle. I walk to his desk and hand over my information card. He tells me to take a seat so I slide into the second row because it brings me directly across from Bailey. She smiles and wiggles her eyebrows like something’s up.
    To my right is Casey James with a face full of grin. He is so open and honest that it’s hard not to smile back. Jordan the Leerer is next to some guy named Pacer, another leerer. They come in pairs. Jordan grins, and I feel the need to go home and exfoliate.
    Lizzanne is flanked by her BFFs, Sarah Cooley and Harper Rose Emerson. I smile at Lizzanne but she strikes a cool demeanor. An iceberg with boobs. Okay, so we won’t be friends .
    Sarah is geek chic, sitting up straight like she’s got a stylus shoved up her … back. Her hair is paper bag brown and pulled into a ponytail to accentuate her fake, black-rimmed glasses. She is engrossed in her Phablet but I can hear her mumbling disparaging remarks under the radar. Apparently, my Rolling Stones T-shirt is passé to her pocket protector.
    Bailey said Harper Rose is a distant relative of Ralph Waldo Emerson, and is rich as hell. Which explains the hipster fashion and the fatalistic “fuck you” attitude she sports. You just know she’s teeming with Facebook philosophy and loads her sarcastic, culture-hating blog with enlightened, recycled gems from Jack Kerouac.
    I turn away and there is Raph leaning on his elbow, watching me and grinning. In front of him is Michael, relaxed in his chair with his long legs blocking the aisle and his attention out the window. I think about him beating that grungy kid on the side of the road and wonder, again, why no one else saw them or how they disappeared. All this mystery is riling