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There was nothing else I could do.
22
I know people who live up North think Florida is some kind of paradise. They talk about the perpetually sunny weather and blue skies like it’s some kind of Xanadu. A Heaven on Earth.
Well let me set the record straight—it’s not.
The minute I got out into the punishingly bright sunshine, I could almost feel the freckles bursting out on my pale skin. Plus, even though it was still not quite mid-morning, the air was already unpleasantly hot and clammy. Walking outside was like moving through tepid soup and the marshy smell of the lake which surrounded the vast green field I found myself on, didn’t help matters either.
Despite my discomfort though, it wasn’t really myself I was thinking of. I could feel Kaitlyn behind me, like a silent, scarred ghost. Though I couldn’t see her, I knew she would be keeping her head down, her eyes locked on the ground so she wouldn’t have to see the reactions of people who looked at her.
And unfortunately, there were plenty of people to look. Already lined up on the verdant green field were thirty other students, their arms behind their backs, as though they were military personnel standing at parade rest. I saw the guys were lined up on the right side of the field and the girls were on the left with a little space of about three feet between the two lines.
Heads turned to look as Coach Vasquez chivvied the two of us out onto the field. Then, instead of letting us just go stand at the end of the girl’s line, she took us to the head of the boy’s line and made us turn, so that our left sides were to them as we faced the end of the field.
“Listen up, class!” she shouted in that booming voice of hers. “These are the two students who made you all wait out in the hot sun for an extra ten minutes today. Take a good look so you can thank them later.”
Then she pushed me and Kaitlyn forward, one hard hand in the center of each of our backs.
“Go on, ladies,” she demanded, “Let the class see you.”
I never liked to be the center of attention so this kind of public shaming was awful—but I could tell it was pure torture for Kaitlyn. She kept her eyes down and walked stiffly, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. But I knew she must feel the curious and revolted stares of our classmates as they examined the ruined left side of her face which she had been hiding for so long.
I tried to come around to her side, so I could shield her from view—at least a little—but Coach Vasquez poked me hard between my shoulder blades.
“I don’t think so, Latimer,” she snapped. “Get back in your place!”
I gave her a swift, furious glare but I was forced to go back to my place to the right of Kaitlyn and the two of us kept walking stoically down the line.
I couldn’t help noticing as we passed by the boys’ line that Sanchez and his crew were in our gym class—which only made everything worse. I couldn’t believe I had the bad luck to share both first and second period with the Drake thugs.
As Kaitlyn passed him, Sanchez began making loud retching noises in the back of his throat.
“That’s enough of that, Sanchez,” Coach Vasquez remarked, laconically. “You know I don’t tolerate that in my class.” But she didn’t really sound angry, I thought. More like she wanted to laugh at his antics but was holding herself back since she was, after all, the teacher. I remembered that they were both Drakes and wondered if she was planning to cut her own kind more slack—it certainly seemed that way.
“Sorry, Coach—it’s just her face is all nasty and melted—like cheese on a pizza!” Sanchez said loudly, pointing at Kaitlyn. “Thought I was gonna lose my breakfast there for a minute!”
He made retching sounds again and the boys around him broke up into trollish laughter. All but one of them, anyway. I saw Reyes, the same guy who had tried to get Sanchez to leave me alone the day before, standing in line white-faced and silent, staring straight ahead. There were two pale dents on either side of his flaring nostrils and I had the feeling he was angry—furious actually. The rage radiated off him in waves, though he didn’t say a word.
When we reached the girls’ line the looks of sharp curiosity and apparent disgust they directed at Kaitlyn left no doubt how our classmates felt.
“I always wondered what she was hiding with all that hair!” whispered one Fae girl—not very quietly—to another.
“Disgusting!” the other Fae agreed. “They shouldn’t allow Norms at the Academy at all—especially not such ugly ones!” And both of them wrinkled their perfect noses as Kaitlyn and I passed by.
