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I was mesmerized, wondering what could possibly be in there. The sack was big and lumpy, and by the way the teacher hefted it around, it seemed heavy. He’d just talked about topics in basic biology—for all I knew, he had a few heads in there.
Judge reached in, grabbed something, and slammed it on one of the jock’s desks with a sharp thud. The boy flinched but then shot a cocky, dim-eyed grin, informing us that he was still, in fact, cool.
We all craned in our seats to see. My secret hope was that he’d laid down a protractor, and Meathead would be forced to perform a series of geometric calculations for us.
No such luck. But, oddly, when the teacher lifted his hand, what he revealed was almost as good. “Today I’m going to teach you the basics of lock picking. ”
Yasuo and I gaped at each other, wide-eyed.
“The first locks date from ancient Egypt four thousand years ago. They utilized a wooden pin tumbler that’s the basis of technology still in use today. ”
Judge walked the room, placing a random assortment of items on each student’s desk. I spied paper clips, forks, flat bits of metal, scissors, and a variety of locks. Padlocks, dead bolts, doorknobs—you name it.
“You were each given a set of tools in your kit. ”
“Did you get tools?” I asked Yasuo in a whisper.
“A tool kit works in the best of circumstances,” the teacher continued. “But, unfortunately, the circumstances are not always best. Are they?”
Yasuo waited for Judge to reach the far end of the classroom before he whispered back, “Yeah, in a little leather roll. ”
“Oh. Duh. ” I smirked. “I’d thought that was, like, a nail kit or something. ”
We shared a quiet laugh, then felt Judge’s eyes on us. I tensed, but the teacher only gave us a smile. Like he, too, felt expansive about all this first- day-of-school lock stuff.
Sitting there whispering with Yasuo, smiling with this teacher who, so far, seemed completely and utterly benign—it all felt so normal. I’d never felt normal. I kind of liked it. I was sure it wouldn’t last.
“You have a torsion wrench in your kit. ” Judge made his way to me, where he set a knife, an empty soda can, and a padlock on my desk. “But, the fact is, you can shim most locks with any bit of metal. ”
I stared at the assortment on my desk in disbelief. It couldn’t be that easy. He walked away, and I immediately turned to Yasuo. “A Coke can? Seriously?”
“Well, look around. ” He nodded to the back of the room.
A few students sat kicked-back and bored, spinning their padlock hinges or idly drumming with strips of metal. They’d been able to pick their locks the moment they’d received them. Crazy.
“I should’ve figured,” I muttered. “Don’t tell me. Are you a lock expert, too?”
Yasuo just waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Looking away, I bit my lips not to laugh. In-class bonding was one thing. But making the teacher’s blacklist on the very first day was another matter entirely.
Judge came back to the front of the class. He leaned his hip against his desk, arms crossed casually in front of him. “Before today’s class is over, you’ll be able to pick your lock using only the materials in front of you. And that’s a promise. ”
Forget swimming. I was going to pick a lock with a soda can and a steak knife? The prospect made me giddy.
I set to slicing open my empty can, actively not thinking about why this was a skill I’d ever need to cultivate. Now, if I could only see past the monsters hiding in the dark, beyond the mean girls, the whip-wielding Initiates, and all that blood, I could really get into this place.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I stood on the steps of the gym. I could do this. It wasn’t even two o’clock on my first day, and already I knew how to shim a padlock, unlock a doorknob without a key, and crack the code on Master combination locks.
I’d even made a friend. After class, Yasuo and I walked to the dining hall and ate lunch together. And the food wasn’t that bad—some sort of creamy fish soup that’d looked disgusting but was actually pretty tasty. Granted, Yasuo didn’t make me feel all wiggly and agitated like Ronan did, but at least I could trust he wasn’t using superhuman powers of persuasion to put thoughts in my head.
After the shock of so many positive events, I figured I could swing gym class.
What did they mean by fitness, anyway? I pictured something like an episode of The Biggest Loser. Hopping around, doing asinine things with body bands and medicine balls, while people yelled at me about my core.
I jogged up the gym stairs before I could think twice. I sensed these vampires had exquisite taste they’d refined through the centuries, and had envisioned a glossy, high-tech health club. I was sorely mistaken. I entered, and it was how I imagined an old-time boxing gymnasium might look. In Russia.
Damp heat and the smell of stale sweat greeted me. Blue mats were stacked in a tower in the corner, faded ropes hung from the ceiling, and a set of gray high bars loomed ominously along the wall. And, of course, in the very center, was a sparring mat.
