DECLINE
Chapter 5
Children of Hypnos Online is a big download for my poor little laptop. It takes all night, so I leave my laptop plugged in and stop it from going to sleep. In the morning, I check the screen and find the install has completed.
But it’s Friday, and I have school.
I do take the second CoH book with me. I won’t wait any longer to find out what happens. Emery’s doppelgänger, the homicidal manifestation of her subconscious, is definitely coming back, but how, and when? Will her little brother, Edgar, be okay? Will she repair her relationship with her grandfather? What about Wes, who has his own issues?
Only one of my teachers scolds me for reading in class. Mr. Coxis a history teacher, but only because he had to teachsomethingso that he could coach football. He’s known for being an absolute shithead to girls and the non-athlete boys, so much so that there’s a running tally of how many students have left his class crying. The only students who like him are the athlete boys.
“That book must be pretty interesting, Evie,” he says, voice flat and annoyed as usual. It’s like he wants everyone to know he’d rather be on the field than in the classroom. The only students he talks to like people are his football boys. “Want to tell us what it’s about?”
“Mental illness,” I say. I’m already closing the book and putting it away, because I know that’s where he’s headed and I’d rather not suffer through the whole conversation. Someone scoffs. Probably one of the football players, because Mr. Cox smirks. His voice gets a little life to it. He has someone to show off for now.
“This is history, not psych,” he says. “You’ll have to go down the hallway for that.”
“Are you giving me permission to leave?” I ask. A few eyes turn to me, and Mr. Cox’s smirk fades. EvenI’msurprised by my willingness to talk back to a teacher. This is not something I do. Ever.
“Watch your tone.” Mr. Cox has his Big Scary Man voice on now, and I’m stunned again by how funny I find it. It would have been terrifying a week ago. Now it just seems like what itis: performative. Defensive. But even I know when to stop poking the bear.
“Sorry,” I say. “I won’t get it out again.”
He’s got his chest puffed up. “No, you won’t. Put it on my desk.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“Put it on my desk, it’s being confiscated.”
The whole room looks at me. I am still bent over, my hand on the book inside my backpack. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. Everyone here knows me as Evie Leigh, rule follower, who wouldn’t ever read a book in class, much less talk back to a teacher. Who would never in a million years disobey a teacher’s commands.Iknow myself as that too, but I am not doing those things now, I am not giving in to my teacher’s demands, I am not doing what an adult tells me just because society has given them the authority.
My heartbeat steadies. Nothing that happens in this classroom matters. He does not matter.
“No,” I say.
An invisible force runs through the classroom, a charge that has every single student sitting up in their seat, looking back and forth between us.
Mr. Cox’s face has drained of color. His jaw tightens. He moves through the desks, to stand before me. I shove the book deep into my backpack, zip it closed, and get up, slinging my backpack over my shoulder so he’ll have to go through me if hewants to get to it. I only reach his chin, but he’s not going to intimidate me today.
“Give me the book, Evie,” he says.
“No.” Anger floods through me, followed by a strange, sharp twist of giddiness. He has no right to take Alissa’s book. She gave it tome. What’s he going to do, manhandle a teenage girl? In front of other teenagers?
“You’ll be written up for this,” Mr. Cox says, his voice low. He’s trying to get his control back, trying to make me cave in front of the rest of the class so he doesn’t look so impotent. This isn’t about a book, this is about his pride. “I’ll send you to the principal.”
The giddiness overwhelms me. I laugh in his face and say, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I’ll go myself. Maybe there I’ll actually learn something.”
I grab my folder and pencil off my desk and slide past Mr. Cox. I know everyone is watching as I leave. I walk fast and hard, wanting to drain away as much of this anger as I can before I reach the main office. I’ve never liked Mr. Cox, but I’ve never acted this way toward him, and I don’t want to do the same thing with the principal.
One two three four five six seven—
One hundred eighty-one steps later, I am explaining the situation to the assistant principal, Ms. Maddox. I tell her exactly what happened, what we both said. In the end, she just sighs sharplythrough her nose and rolls her eyes in a way I don’t think I was meant to see. She pulls a pad out of her desk drawer and scribbles on it. “You can keep your book, and you won’t be written up. I’ll talk to Mr. Cox.” Ms. Maddox tears the top sheet off the pad and hands it to me. It’s an excused absence slip. “Go home for the day. We’ll mark you as excused for the rest of your classes. If any of your teachers ask on Monday, show them this.”
