Freefly (17 page)

Sammie pulls down the sleeves of my sweatshirt and shivers.  “Is this where you always sit?”

I shrug, slicing open my bagel with a plastic knife.  “Yeah.”

“It’s freezing.  Why don’t you go somewhere else?”

A variety of potential answers files through my brain, such as “I have no friends,” “The good tables get competed for by guys who enjoy causing me pain,” and “Seclusion makes it easier for me to read my physics book.”  Before I can say any of them, Joe Butt and the Leslies strut toward our table. 

“Savage!” Butt says, stopping behind Sammie. 

She pushes her chair out a little and cranes her neck to see him.  The Leslies parade past her and stop next to me, crossing their arms.  My heartbeat quickens, and dread balloons inside me.  Butt runs one hand through his red hair and drops his eyes to appraise Sammie, who regards him with curiosity. 

“
Who
is your friend?” Butt says, his mouth pulling into a wolfish grin. 

My nails dig into the table.  “Go away.”

Butt’s eyes go wide dramatically, and his mouth falls open in mock surprise.

“What is
this?
” Butt says, as the Leslies chuckle behind me.  “Savage, showing a backbone?” 

My cheeks grow hot.  I look down at my tray, unable to speak.  The laughter of the Leslies booms. 

“Hey!” Sammie says.

I jerk my head up.  Butt has snatched her pink visitor’s pass off the table and is reading it with a large smile on his face. 

“Your cousin?”  He eyes Sammie in a way that sends murderous feelings blazing through me.  “Does that mean I can call dibs?”

He grabs Sammie’s wrist, and she explodes out of the chair and bashes him in the mouth with the back of her head.  The movement is so swift, so quiet, that no one around us even notices.  Butt reels backwards, clutching his face.  I leap out of my chair, only to have both my arms grabbed by the Leslies.  Butt regains his balance and glares at Sammie.  Blood gushes from his teeth and drips down his chin.  Sammie stands in place, looking confused, glancing back and forth between me and Butt. 

“What the hell?” Butt says.  “Savage, you’re going to get it.”

Butt stomps toward me, clenching his fists at his sides.  The Leslies grip my arms tighter.  Sammie steps into Butt’s path, her expression hard. 

“Out of the way,” Butt spits.

He stomps forward one more step, and Sammie smashes him in the nose with her open palm.  Butt cries out, grabbing his face.  Blood streams between the cracks of his fingers.  He lurches toward her, swinging his arms, but she ducks out of the way and sweeps him off his feet with a kick to the legs.  He hits the ground with a
thwack!
  At this point, the entire cafeteria turns to watch us.  A ring of people stand up and begin to chant.  The Leslies release me and rush toward Sammie.  When the first one reaches her, she swerves out of the way and grabs his arm, twisting him to the ground.  The other Leslie grabs her from behind, but she cracks him in the face with the back of her head, and he staggers backwards.  Lightning fast, she kicks him in the chest and sends him to the ground. 

In under a minute, Sammie has taken out Joe Butt and both of the Leslies.

The crowd roars around us.  Sammie stands above the groaning bullies, her fists clenched at her sides.  The lights of the cafeteria blink, and the sound of teachers screaming to move out of the way thunders above the students’ catcalls.  I rush to Sammie.

“We need to get out of here!” I shout.

Sammie lifts her eyes to me, but her expression remains blank.

“Sammie!” I bellow, waving my arms around.  “Let’s move!”

She shakes out of her trance.  I hold out my hand, and she grabs it.  We take off into the crowd.  By the time the teachers reach the fallen Butt and the Leslies, we are bursting out of the cafeteria.

The moment we are back in the hallway, Sammie freezes.  She pulls her hand from mine and stares at her palms.  I follow her gaze and see that they are bright red.

I rush toward her.  “Are you okay?”

She back away, her features contorting with rage.  “They beat you up all the time, don’t they?”

My stomach twists.  I cast my eyes at the ground. 

“That’s why you had to lie about being on the baseball team,” she says.  “All those bruises and cuts.  I don’t understand.  Why didn’t you tell me it was like this?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why?” she yells, shocking me.  “You made me...you made me think there was a better life.  But I guess it’s all the same.” 

She takes off down the hallway at a fast walk.  I don’t know whether to follow her or not.  This is it:  she knows who I really am, a loser who gets beat up.  Of course she’s leaving.  It’s what I have always feared:  she could never sink low enough to hang around with the real me. 

Despite my embarrassment, I trot after her.  I’m afraid she will fly out of the school, only to be shot down by Michael Thorne and his men.  She rounds a corner into the C-wing and lopes down the hallway.  I run faster to catch up. 

“Sammie!” I call.

She freezes in place. 

I sprint to her side.  “Where are you going?”

“I’m trying to find a bathroom.  I need to wash the blood off my hands.”

Sinking my head toward the floor, I begin walking.  Sammie follows me, her footsteps barely audible.  I stop outside of a bathroom door, and she pushes inside without saying a word.

I press my back against the wall and sink to the ground.  I knew this was going to happen.  When have I ever had a smooth day at Boorsville High?  I shut my eyes and replay the scene in the cafeteria in my mind:  Sammie thrusting her palm into Joe Butt’s nose, blood spurting everywhere.  Me standing there helplessly.  Though part of me is glad Butt finally met his match, I’m sorry that it had to be Sammie, sorry I couldn’t preserve for her the illusion of a better life.  Sorry I’m too weak to defend myself.

But the absolute worst part is that now Sammie will have nothing to do with me, that she will leave Boorsville knowing I’m spineless.  I cannot think of anything more awful. 

Strong hands grip both my shoulders and drag me to my feet.  Two men in black suits have me by the arms.  Michael Thorne stands before me, grinning. 

CHAPTER 7

Sammie

I pull up in front of the bathroom sink and twist on the water, filling the room with its hiss.  Without looking at my hands, I thrust them under the faucet and scrub.  I don’t want to see the pink water swirling in the basin, don’t want to be reminded of smacking the red-haired kid in the nose, the tiny pop of his bone snapping.  I clench my eyes shut.  I don’t want to think about anything.

When my hands begin to feel raw, I twist off the water and shake my fingertips, sending droplets flying.  I stare into the mirror.  My hair is a mess, a scraggly-looking cloud of blond that I can never manage to keep from tangling.  My mouth has a hardness to it.  My eyes are cold.  What will Damien think of me now, after he’s seen me in action?  Will he think I’m a freak?  I’m angry at him for lying to me about his school.  I don’t understand why he did it. 

I emerge from the bathroom to find the hallway empty.  Where is Damien?  I crane my neck to the left, then to the right.  There is nothing but silence. 

I jog down the hallway into one of the intersections, then pull a right.  The fluorescent lights blaze.  This is the locker hallway, where rows of metal doors stretch down both sides.  I sprint to Damien’s and spin in the combination, then pop open the door.  His notebooks are still stacked inside, so I don’t think he’s left the school.  Would he do that:  leave me in the bathroom while he flees?  I don’t think so, but after he’s watched me bloody three guys with my bare hands, who’s to say he’s not completely freaked out? 

I shut Damien’s locker and jog back down the hallway, making my way back to where I last saw him, outside the bathroom door.  He has left no trace.  I continue down the hall until I reach the entrance of the building, the lobby with its row of glass doors.  That’s when I see it:  a pair of sunglasses on the floor.  I snatch them and turn them around in my hands.  One lens is broken, cracked like a spiderweb.  Did they drop off the face of a student, some kid who got pushed as he was entering the school?  Or do they belong to...another set of people known for wearing dark sunglasses, perhaps dragging Damien out the door?

Something deep inside me, like an itch, tells me that Damien is in trouble.  I push through the glass doors and take three running steps, then leap into the sky.

Damien

The two men force me into a black car that sits idling by the curb outside my school.  I put up a fight the whole way, elbowing the men and buckling my knees to make them drag me, but reality hits me in the form of a cool leather seat.  I land on my stomach, smashing against the seat so hard that my breath puffs out of me.  Before I can move, one of the men pins me from behind, pressing his weight against my legs.  I thrash as he clutches my arm, yanks it behind my back, and jams something into my muscle. 

"Ow!" I cry. 

Nausea sweeps me.  My body goes slack, and my face crushes into the leather.  I go unconscious.

"Damien."  The voice is muffled, as if it is reaching my ears underwater.

"
Damien!
"  Something smacks me in the cheek, but it doesn't even hurt.  My skin feels thick and numb. 

"Sammie is going to die."

I force my eyes open.  Michael Thorne's face presses close to mine, the skin around his eyes crinkly, his teeth a ghastly yellow. 

"Thought that would get your attention," he says. 

My head slumping forward, I roll my eyeballs around to try to get a look at my surroundings.  It is an enclosed space, but not the backseat of a car, the last place I remember.  The ceiling is low and seems to be made of metal.  The walls are also metal, but punched out with circular windows.  Am I on a boat?  No, a plane.  My body feels like it’s been filled with lead, too heavy to move, but a slight pressure on my wrists indicates that my hands are bound behind me. 

I struggle to get my mouth to form words.  "Going…to…die?"

Thorne presses his face closer, throws his mouth open, and bellows with laughter.  His breath is hot and smells vaguely of licorice.

"Oh, Damien,” he says.  “You are quite gullible.  I was just seeing if you would respond.  And you did."

He takes a deep breath and blows it out, filling my nose with his licorice breath. 

"Can't exactly hide it anymore, can you?" he says.  "You responded to her name.  You know who she is.  You know
where
she is." 

I drag my head back and forth.

Thorne raises his hand and whips it across my face.  This time I feel it.  I open my mouth and drool blood onto the ground. 

"Don't play games with me," he says, snarling.  Then his face softens, and he looks concerned, even parental.  "It's okay," he coos.  "You don't need to tell me where she is.  That's not what I brought you here for." 

He grins and rubs his hands together, then turns his back to me and takes a step toward the door.