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Emily was always tense.
She was ready to fight if needed. It was what constantly drew me. There was a darkness within her that she kept in check. I wanted to tease it out, to find the woman she kept trapped inside.
We all had monsters lurking beneath the surface. The difference between us and everyone else was we embraced it.
What was Emily hiding? Why didn’t she want to come out and play?
“I think it’s your turn to use your knife,” Gael said.
“We’re still talking about the temperamental bastard?” I looked over to see not one, but four security guys restraining him.
This was what separated Drake from us. The guards wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near us. They’d try to intimidate, but they knew who our daddies were, and pushing us would get them fired or dead. I didn’t actually know which one would be the kinder of two evils.
“I’m bored,” River said. “You think if I cut him up, it would be okay?”
“I don’t think anyone gives a shit about Drake which is why he’s always causing trouble.” I was done with this conversation. Getting to my feet, I stepped away from the table and walked away.
It was rare for us to go our separate ways, but it happened. Leaving the cafeteria, I headed down to art class and took my seat in the back. Staring at the blank canvas, which I’d been doing for weeks, I waited for the classroom to fill.
As usual, the teacher was late, but seeing Emily arrive first made me smile. She hated art class. She didn’t have the talent for it, but I found out her father fucked the art teacher, and it gave him a reason to screw her at school. Lame, but that was our parents for you. The one thing you’d learn about your parents, at least if they were ours, was that they were so fucking selfish. In this life, you often have to take care of number one.
Emily sat in front of me. She wasn’t the kind of person to be carrying a bag. It was always in her locker. The only times I ever saw her with it were when she entered school and left.
She ran her fingers through her long, blonde locks, pulling them back. I watched as she used the hair band from her wrist and began to secure her hair into a messy bun on top. She tilted her head left then right before rolling her shoulders.
Again, this was a little routine she seemed to have down. Smiling to myself, I picked up my pencil, and like every single class before, I drew.
The life I had and the one I was running toward wasn’t designed for a normal kid. No one in this school was like other eighteen-year-olds out there in the easy world. This school wasn’t designed for civilians or for what I considered normal. Seeing what Drake did was a clear enough sign of just how messed-up this school was, and what was more, people liked it that way a lot more than they let on. This was who we were.
When the teacher entered, the class didn’t go silent. I was already drawing, so the woman would leave me alone, but as usual, the first person she went to was Emily.
Another smile graced my lips as I watched her gently place a hand on Emily’s shoulder, leaning down.
The complete show of favoritism was clear for all to see. What saved Emily was the fact like all the other times before, she brushed the woman’s hand off her shoulder, picked up a piece of charcoal, and got to work on scrubbing some kind of mess.
By the end of class, Emily would have, in some way, ruined the teacher’s clean white shirt.
I didn’t make it a habit to remember teachers’ names. My father once told me to keep people in their place. You have to show how little they mean to you. Names were important. They were what everyone was given at birth. It was who you were. It was what made you you. Personally, I thought it was all a lot of bullshit, but what did I know? All I knew was the teachers kept a wide berth of me, and for that, I never remembered their names.
Like now, the teacher in question had come around to my domain. My mask was firmly in place even though on the inside, I was pissing myself with laughter. She wouldn’t come too close.
Silence unnerved a lot of people.
My drawing, like so many others, was of Emily. Of course, no one actually knew that as each of my pieces lacked a head. Just a body. What I’d memorized from seeing her in the hallway, or during physical education.
The only other way for me to get a better feel for her would be to touch her. To see her completely naked, and if the rumors are true, her body would be as decorated as mine often was.
