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“I don’t know if I can do this, Megan,” she whispered to me and I saw that her one good eye was filled with tears. “I hate this—I hate it so much.”
“I know, hon.”
My heart ached for her and I felt the rage building in me. She shouldn’t have to go through this, damn it! She shouldn’t have to expose herself when she was so vulnerable and hurt—it wasn’t right!
“It’s all right,” I said, trying to reassure her as she finished getting dressed. “I’ll be with you every minute—you won’t be alone. I swear it.”
“Thanks, Megan.” She ducked her head and stood slowly, her scarred arms crossed protectively over her chest. “Okay—no point putting it off,” she said, obviously trying to be strong. “Let’s go.”
I took her hand, lacing my fingers though hers and squeezed, to send courage and reassurance.
She shot me a grateful look and we pushed out of the opposite end of the locker room and into the mercilessly bright Florida sunshine.
Coach Vasquez was already there, marching up and down the line of assembled students like a general inspecting the troops. Sanchez and Reyes were already in the boys’ line, I saw. They had their backs to us but when the big Drake turned his head to the side slightly, I saw the blue imprint of my hand still showing on his left cheek.
Great. I had been hoping that it might somehow have faded but clearly I would have no such luck. I wondered how permanent shame-marking really was. Would I be able to undo it if I could somehow access my blocked magic? And more to the point, did I want to undo it?
Because I still firmly believed that Sanchez deserved to be shamed after the way he had bullied Kaitlyn. He had earned that blue handprint on his face—it was a scar of his own, a consequence of his wrong-doing. And who knew, maybe it would make him think twice about bullying someone again.
I snorted to myself. Yeah, right—like that was going to happen. A bully was a bully and in my experience, they rarely changed their stripes.
“All right, let’s go, let’s go,” Coach Vasquez shouted in that bugle-call voice of hers. “Come on people, get in line—no stragglers!”
I stepped forward but I felt a tug on my hand and saw Kaitlyn hanging back.
“Megan, I just…I can’t.” Her voice was tight with tears. “She’ll make me put my hair back and they’re all going to laugh at me again. I just know it.”
“No, they aren’t,” a cool voice said in my ear.
I looked up in surprise to see Griffin striding past us, right up to the Drake Coach.
“What in the world? Where did he come from?” I muttered as Kaitlyn and I watched him go.
“I don’t know but he did say he might see you before the end of class,” she reminded me. But what is he doing?”
“I have no idea,” I murmured, watching in fascination.
But I had a feeling we were about to find out.
35
Griffin drew the Coach to one side, behind the line of gym students who were facing the field. He was talking to her earnestly, though he was speaking too low for me to understand him.
Coach Vasquez scowled at him at first and shook her head in a short, definite way.
“No exceptions,” I heard her say. “Now go on, Darkheart—you’re holding up my class!”
Griffin raised an eyebrow at her.
“Very well,” I heard him say. “I didn’t want to resort to this but…”
Pulling down the dark glasses he wore during the daytime, he stared directly into her eyes and said something else I couldn’t quite catch. I saw the pupils of his lightning and pitch eyes dilate for a moment and then he put his glasses back up and nodded at the Coach.
“Do you understand?”
For a moment she just stood there, staring at him. Then she nodded, like someone coming out of a dream.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“Good. See to it, then.”
Then he turned and strolled back towards Kaitlyn and me.
“What just now happened? What did you say to her?” I asked him but he only shook his head.
“I’ll see you after class, little witch. Make sure you’re not late.”
Then he was gone, disappearing into the door that led through the boys’ locker room and back out into the school, moving with the easy, slouching grace of a panther.
“Well, I guess we’d better go.” There was a note of resignation in Kaitlyn’s voice.
I squeezed her hand comfortingly.
“It’s okay—I’m with you.”
But as we went to take our places at the end of the girl’s line-up, Coach Vasquez came to intercept us.
“Miss Fellows,” she said to Kaitlyn. “What are you doing here?”
“Um…I was, uh, that is…I’m here for class?” Kaitlyn said uncertainly.
Coach Vasquez frowned.
“Don’t be foolish. You know you’re excused from Physical Education for the rest of the year. Get back into your uniform and go directly to Study Hall. I don’t want to see you out here again!”
