I force my gaze to the whiteboard up front, only for it to register what Mrs.Burle has been scribbling on it.
Capital punishment.
My stomach twists.
“All right, everyone, let’s pick up where we left off on Friday,” the elderly woman says briskly. “We were discussing the polarizing opinions on capital punishment. We focused on the position of those against it. Today, let’s discuss the pro position. Once again, using the Thorn case as our example…”
Will Jasmine hate me if I throw up in the middle of class on my first day of school?
Probably. I can already hear her whiningRyan! Whyyyy.
I tamp down the nausea and tune out the voices of my classmates as various students rehash my father’s crimes and offer reasons why he deserves to die. Meanwhile, I feel like a piece of crap. No, even worse than that. At least a piece of crap doesn’t share Gabriel Thorn’s DNA.
Mrs.Burle decides it would be fun to end the class with a vote.Let’s see who thinks Thorn should be executed!Not a single person votes for his life to be spared, so I don’t, either.
The moment the bell rings, I bolt out of the classroom. I’m not only dying to escape—I’m eager to get to my next class. Photography.
Finally, something I like.
The art and media classroom is really cool: a two-story industrial space with exposed pipes on the ceiling and one wall made up entirely of windows. There’s a loft above, and variousgraduated steps with easels set up on them, arranged in a circle and surrounding a sunken space in the center. I walk around the easels and find a few people already gathered on stools near the drafting tables.
I sit next to a girl with a pink pixie cut and a purse that’s shaped like a typewriter. She immediately turns toward me. “You’re the new girl,” she says in a smoky voice. She has dark skin and a tiny nose ring.
I nod. “Ryan.”
“Mar,” she says. “Short for Amaryllis. But anyone who calls me that has not been known to live for long.”
I’m about to respond with anohand maybe find another seat, because the last thing I need is to be associated with another person who considers murder a viable solution to their problems.
But then she giggles and says, “Kidding. I like my name. It’s odd. Anything odd is already a plus in my book. I hear you’re a Shipley.”
It seems my reputation has preceded me. I just hope it’s my fake reputation, and not the real one. “Yup. How did you know?”
“There are only three hundred kids in this school. No one flies under the radar here.”
I wince, hoping she’s wrong about that. Time to change the subject. I point to her binder, which is covered with some gorgeous, artsy photographs, like the kind I take. “Those are amazing.”
“Thanks. I’ve been taking pictures since I was three.”
“Really?” I ask, excited for the first time. “I didn’t startthatyoung, but I love taking photos too. My grandmother gave me a nice camera a few Christmases ago and I’ve been obsessed.”
“Oh, then you’re going to love this class. It’s the best. And we should definitely go out shooting together one day.”
“I’d love that,” I say, smiling shyly.
The rest of the class is even better. There are only five students, including us. The teacher is Mr.Hicks, a young hipster type who—bonus—doesn’t make me stand up and introduce myself. He smiles warmly through his horn-rimmed glasses and says, “Welcome.” I wish all my classes could be this chill.
When the bell rings, Mar and I walk out into the hallway, dodging a sea of students eager to escape for lunch. Before I can even say goodbye to Mar, Jasmine appears and clamps a hand on mine.
“Come on,” my cousin says, dragging me away. “We’re going to lunch.”
I catch her glaring behind me. “Uh…okay? You’re cutting off the circulation in my fingers, though, so—”
“What were you doing talking toher?” Jasmine whispers with contempt.
“Who?”
“Amaryllis Sullivan. She’s soweird.”
