Chaste (7 page)

“Not unless it’s about calling off your boyfriend. He looks at me like he wants to rip my head off every effin’ time he passes me in the hall.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I pull out a textbook at the bottom of the wall, watching as all the books tumble to the ground except two. “Are you really so scared of me that you have to erect barricades?”

“So now you’re being civil?”

I put my paper on the desk and crouch to the floor, reenacting that lovely fantasy I had in the lunch room where Quinn can’t keep his eyes off me. But instead of gaping at my plunging neckline, he averts his gaze and drops to the floor beside me.

“I got this,” he says, staring at the ground. He gathers the books into a pile. I brush his hand, and he draws it back like I’ve burned him. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder.

When I look up, Molly stands between Quinn and me. Her strawberry-blond hair falls in a silky waterfall halfway to the floor. She holds her hands out, palms up while my physics partner gives the books to her. She puts everything back on the desk, and Quinn surprises me then because he doesn’t kiss her or hug her or pinch her ass. Instead he does something downright fatherly. He squeezes her arm in a gesture of thanks.

All at once I’m on the outside looking in. I know it makes no sense, but I feel as if I’m standing in the rain, freezing cold and soaked to the skin. My father used to touch me like that. Now he won’t even look me in the eye.

Molly goes back to her seat. I sit in my chair and stare hard at the table, my thoughts frozen, my fingers tingling numb with cold. I realize that just like my father, a window stands between me and Quinn. And that just like with my dad, I have the urge to press my nose against the glass. It’s a moment of weakness. I should keep my mouth shut; instead I start talking.

“What would it take for you to go out with me?” I blurt, grabbing his leather-bound Bible from the table. It sounds desperate, not like me at all, and I can’t resist turning it into a joke to save face. “Dress like a nun? Read Stephenie Meyer? Worship Glenn Beck?”

“That’s insulting,” he says.

I touch his elbow to get him to look at me. And while he doesn’t refuse to meet my eyes, I can tell I’ve hurt him by the way he blinks.

“Let me buy you lunch sometime,” I say.

“I’d rather swim with piranhas.”

9

Quinn

Kat’s green eyes go from bright to dull when I say I’d rather swim with piranhas than let her buy me lunch. My mother would be appalled at my behavior, but I
so
don’t regret it. I despise being pigeonholed, stuck into a box and shoved to the side like I’m nothing more than a one-dimensional drawing of a person. And just to be clear, I can’t stand Glenn Beck!

The bell rings as I pull out my paper, typed in a rush at two in the morning after I finally got Elijah to nod off. It probably has a ton of typos in it, but I glue on a smile and pretend I’m not worried. Everyone knows Mrs. Williams is nuts. Chances are she won’t even read it.

The teacher in question clears her throat to bring the class to order, and then marches straight to our table with her arms crossed. “Assignment?” she asks.

Kat and I whip out our papers at the exact same time.

Our psycho teacher grabs them from us, walks over to the metal trash can, drops our papers inside and lights a match. My eyes widen. The woman
is
crazy. The contents of the trash flare into flames.

“I asked you to work together,” she says, frowning. “Now I’ll have to fail you for the quarter. If you two plan on passing this class, you’d better take me seriously.”

She goes on to talk about how each partnership will do a science project together, one requiring lots of team work outside of class. When she gets to the part about how this will be half our grade, I groan.

“Do you have a problem, Mr. Walker?” she says, narrowing her eyes at me.

I lower my gaze to the table and shake my head.

“Good.” She turns her attention back to the class. “Team McCormick will do a project on sound.”

Molly turns around to beam at me. Sound. It’s the perfect topic for a musician. I’m jealous of Ben. Not only does he get to sit next to Molly, but now he’ll be working on a project with her. Not just any project either. One Molly and I would’ve done wonders with had we been allowed to work together.

“Team Jackson, you get fire.”

I snort. Figures. I have absolutely no trouble picturing my physics partner as a pyro. Without thinking I blurt out my thoughts. “This is perfect for you, Kat. Playing with fire, destroying everything you touch.”

“We’ll start with that hunk of junk you call a cello,” she snaps.

“Or maybe we can burn your hair. You use so many products on it, I bet it will—”

“Do you two want to write another paper?” Mrs. William’s cuts in. “Never in all my years of teaching have I seen such rudeness and disrespect. You will do your project without lighting a single match.”

“Fine with me, I’ll use a lighter,” Kat says.

“Or the friction of stick against stick,” I add, pantomiming the technique I learned in scouts for starting a fire without matches.

“A magnifying glass under the sun,” Kat throws out.

“No fire!” Mrs. William’s slams her fist on our desk, staring daggers at Kat and me. “Find a way to do your project without it. Make it work or I’ll fail you both. And believe me, nothing would please me more. The pair of you needs a swift kick in the pants.”

“So what you want us to come up with is a science project about fire that doesn’t involve using fire in any way?” I ask.

She can’t be serious.

Kat does the strangest thing then. She lays her fingers over the tops of mine and says in a voice the whole class can hear. “Don’t worry, Quinn. We’ll be spending lots of time together. We can make our
own
fire.”

“Would you cut that out!” I snap, pulling my hand away.

I hate how Kat treats me like some windup top she can spin around at will, and Molly … even though I can’t see her face, I can tell she’s mad. Her hair is standing on end like a wet cat’s. I put her through a lot last week. First, I fell asleep on the phone while we were talking Friday night. Then, I lied about why I was canceling our Saturday date because I didn’t want her to know I was taking care my nephew after he’d come down with a stomach bug.

And now I have to sit here while Kat makes a fool of me. Everyone’s watching. I can feel their eyes. Even John, who likes Kat for some strange reason, just sits there listening as she taunts me.

“Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much,” she says, twisting Shakespeare’s words around to imply I’m in love with her.

“You flatter yourself.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder, stands and stomps toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Williams asks.

“The ladies room.” She turns and holds her hand out for a pass.

Molly starts laughing. “You goin’ for the tired teen mom look, Kat? Circles under your eyes, snags in your tights, all you need is a spit up stain on your shoulder and your look will be complete.”

Her laughter catches like wild fire. It starts with Ben then spreads through the room. But I can’t laugh because I’m thinking about Amy and the man who left her behind.

Kat bends down to trace her manicured finger along the run in her stocking. “Your precious Quinn can’t keep his hands off me. Someone needs to make him cut his nails.”

That’s it, I’m done! I pick up my physics book and get ready to throw it at Kat’s lying face. Except I can’t. My mother’s words play like a CD in my head, “Only weak men take their anger out on women. You need to be strong, be a man.”

Be a man,
she says. It’s the exact same taunt Kat used on me the first day of school. And it no longer feels like good-natured advice, more like a big stone hanging around my neck. A way to control my actions, words meant to make me a pathetic puppet. Because as much as I want to throw my book at Kat, I just can’t bring myself to do it.

Wound up, I pivot and let it fly at the wooden door, shut tight on its hinges with only a small rectangle of glass above the knob. But my aim is bad and glass shatters all over. I look from the broken window to my glass-covered book to my empty hand. The room goes so silent you can hear a feather drop. I’m shocked, so shocked at what I’ve done, I retreat in my mind as if through a long dark tunnel.

When Mrs. William’s finally speaks, I hear her voice from a distance. Someone puts a hand on my arm and pulls me sideways by the elbow. They lead me over the crunchy glass and through the door.

“Office,” says Molly’s familiar voice.

“Office,” I repeat, thinking how Mike Duvall already wants to kill me. After he hears about this, he’ll be sure to rip my head off. I image myself lying in a pool of blood with my knees bent in the wrong direction.

I’m as good as dead.

10

Katarina

This just sucks! Principal Bates paces the length of the wide conference room, Quinn sits across from me with his eyes down, and the school counselor holds my hand while shooting “concerned” glances in my direction. Does she really think I’m the victim here?

Mrs. Burns leans forward. “Kat, I asked you before if Quinn was bothering you. If you’d confided in me, it never would have come to this.”

Wow, the woman is stupider than she looks!

“He didn’t hurt me, and it’s not a big deal,” I say, hoping to sound polite so I don’t have to go to any more therapy sessions. “I was at least three feet from the door. You will notice I’m completely intact.” I stand and turn to show them how I look. “No bumps, cuts or bruises. Why am I even here?”

The Principal doesn’t answer. Instead he turns his attention to Quinn. “Breaking windows is bad enough. It’s mandatory suspension. If you were eighteen you could be tried for a felony. Add that to the bullying and sexual harassment you’ve put Kat through and we’re looking at expulsion.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I ask. How can adults be so blind? Quinn is a coward. He doesn’t even speed. Just ‘cause my dad will assume the worst if Mrs. Burns tells him Quinn is “harassing me,” and just because the Pastor will make hell for the principal in the same way he did when Molly cheated off my final, doesn’t make this conversation okay.

“Violence against women is a
very
big deal,” says Mrs. Burns in a rough voice. “You need to take care of this now, Kat. Make a stand before it gets worse.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” I point out. “So what if he broke one stupid window?”

“It was an accident,” Quinn mumbles, staring into his fingers.

“How do you
accidently
break a window?” Principal Bates asks.

“It wasn’t premeditated, okay?” Mr. Nice says. “I didn’t wake up this morning and think: Gee, I’d love to throw a book today, break a window and get expelled.”

Principal Bates stares daggers at Quinn. “Don’t you dare cop an attitude with me, Mr. Walker. This is a safety issue. You don’t go around throwing heavy objects in crowded classrooms. You could’ve hurt someone. Then there’s the matter of the broken glass.”

“I told you I didn’t do it on purpose!” he says.

“So you want me to believe that some other person grabbed your arm, pulled it back and made you throw the book against your will?”

Quinn’s head snaps up. “Of course I threw it, but I didn’t mean to hit the window. I’m sorry.” He shuts his eyes as if the words are painful. And that’s when it hits me: I could own his ass.

“Don’t suspend him,” I say. “I’ll pay for the window.”

Principal Bates crosses his arms across his chest. He shakes his head. “We’re not going to punish you for something he
did.”

“Fess up, Kat,” Mrs. Burns says. “Stop enabling him. Admit he’s been harassing—”

“He’s not harassing me!” I nearly shout.

Mrs. Burns frowns, unable to move past her notion of women as helpless victims. “You’re free to go, Ms. Jackson,” the principal says.

As soon as I stand, Mrs. Burns puts a hand on my shoulder. “Kat?”

I turn.

Her eyes are pitying. “Protecting every guy who treats you badly won’t bring your brother back.” I can’t believe she’s using more psycho-babble bullshit on me.

“You know nothing about my brother,” I say.

“Your dad filled me in, so I know more than you think. I know he cut you down and made you fix his messes.”

How dare she stick her nose in my business! “Go to hell,” I say, hitting the doorframe on my way out. I see John a few doors down and rush to catch up with him, too annoyed by Mrs. Burns to glance back at her face.

Shrinks are idiots.

11

Quinn

There’s only one period left before the end of school. As I open my locker in the empty hall and fill my bag with every textbook I have, I think of what happened with Principal Bates. He thinks Kat’s this innocent girl that I’ve gone out of my way to torment, but nothing could be further from the truth.

Katarina Jackson is out to hurt me, I swear it.

As I zip my bag shut, I hear footsteps shuffling toward me. When I lift the heavy bag to my shoulder and turn around, Mike Duvall is scowling down at me.

Crap!

“You messin’ around with my girlfriend?” he says, puffing out his chest like a bull ready to charge. Bulls don’t have clean shaven faces, but they do have steam coming from their nostrils. And Mike’s have flared so wide they take up almost half his face.

He laughs in a bitter way, and I take a step back. My shoulder rams into the edge of my locker.

“You’re awfully loaded down, Quinny boy,” he says, knocking my backpack onto the floor. “And while everyone’s entitled to be stupid, you abuse the privilege.”

“You’re one to talk,” I say, slamming my locker shut and picking up my bag. I try not to show my fear because guys like Mike can smell it. Instead I turn on my heels and walk down the hall.

“Stay away from Kat,” he yells, following me. I increase my speed, but I can hear him gaining. His breathing gets louder. He’s getting himself worked up. “You think you’re such a pretty boy. But you won’t be after I beat your face in. You’ll have to come to school with a swollen lip, broken bones and a couple black eyes.”